Might of Players

---Viktor's POV---

My expression became serious as I studied the orb more carefully. The golden light pulsed weakly under my scrutiny, like a dying flashlight trying to convince someone it still had battery life.

"So you're not just a sentient fragment of divine essence, but a fragment that became sentient?"

That was like finding a self-aware USB stick in a world that hadn't invented electricity yet.

For a divine essence, a tool with such an instrumental and functional nature, to give birth to consciousness was already incredible. And yet, this light orb wasn't even a complete divine essence?

What kind of ridiculous luck was this?

The light orb looked up at me in confusion. "What is 'sentient'?"

"You don't need to know." Something you claim to be but clearly aren't.

"Oh." The light orb sulked and fell silent.

I watched as the orb dimmed and brightened rhythmically, like a nervous pulse. From its submissive posture and flickering light, I could guess it was probably trying to convince itself to behave.

While watching its pathetic display, I turned my attention to examining what I'd actually gained.

My head throbbed as I assessed my authorities.

It was comparable to scraps left behind by the God of Life. The authority of Life Revival and Life Purification sounded decent, but the skills that could be developed from it were nowhere near the God of Life's level of creating life.

At most, it could speed up the growth of a target or heal serious injuries.

For example, the Light Technique learned by every follower of the God of Light—which both healed wounds and damaged monsters—originated from these two authorities.

But that was it.

The authority had extremely low potential. The God of Life could create existence itself, and I got what amounted to a magical band-aid.

Wonderful.

I didn't know whether to cry or laugh. Forget it, no point in expecting too much at once. It's good enough to have something usable.

Looking at the next line that displayed [Divine Power: 99], my mental avatar in my inner sanctum stroked its chin.

"Ninety-nine divine power... I wonder how much that can heal..." As I spoke, my thought moved, and the number on the panel for divine power began to slowly decrease.

The light orb, watching the number change on the panel, was suddenly filled with panic. "Stop!" it shouted loudly. "Wait! You can't just—"

"I can't just what? Use what's mine now? Funny how that works."

I suddenly felt a warm current flow through my body. The pain, which had clung to me like bone cancer, eased slightly.

Even the panel data changed.

---

[Name: Viktor]

[...]

[Divine Power: 89]

[Followers: None]

[Special Items: Int??dim??Net??Spirit??, Divine Contract (Reversed)]

[Status: Severely Injured, Weakness, Frostbite, Burns, Poisoning, Inner Sanctum Collapse, ...]

[Summary: Dying Undead]

[Remaining survival time: 5 days 23 hours 14 minutes]

---

On the status bar, one negative buff—Bone Fracture—disappeared, and my survival time increased by two days.

When the divine power stopped at 89 points, the light orb's glow suddenly stabilized, and it let out what sounded suspiciously like a relieved sigh.

"Oh thank the heavens," it muttered. "I thought... I thought you were going to..."

"You should be grateful it worked at all!" the orb added defensively.

I chuckled. "Oh, I'm grateful. Grateful I didn't trust you. You weren't afraid when you tricked me into signing a contract. Are you scared now?"

The current predicament of the light orb was exactly what it had initially tried to do to me. Of course, I wasn't foolish enough to use all the divine power at once.

The first time was just a test.

Looking at my three full rows of negative buffs, I clicked my tongue. "It's somewhat useful, but not much."

It had only removed a single fracture buff.

Leaving my inner sanctum briefly, I checked my body lying lifelessly in the dirt. At a glance, I could see the bones that had been broken by the magical backlash explosion had reconnected. I had even grown two rib-like new bones.

If I were to use the Osseous Vitae to treat this, it would probably require 500 grams. So—10 points of divine power was equivalent to 500 grams of Osseous Vitae. On the magic trade market, its estimated price was around 5,000 gold coins.

Considering that Osseous Vitae was extremely difficult to create and also a forbidden material, this price could go even higher. Even so—the effect of 10 points of divine power was a bit... underwhelming.

In other words, the 99 points of divine power were only worth 5 kilos of Osseous Vitae?

When in doubt, ask the source.

I stared suspiciously at the light orb. "Why do you only have this little divine power?"

This limited amount of power was going to make my next plans very difficult...

The light orb's body glowed faintly pink, as though blushing in shame. "It's not my fault. Earlier, you were turning me into a system and inspecting your body, or else I'd still have triple digits of divine power!"

"What triple digits?"

"100."

I was speechless.

"So turning you into a system only consumed 1 point of divine power..." I paused, finally realizing something. "Wait—turning you into something equivalent to a data panel used up 1 point of divine power?!"

"One point of divine power for a system interface? That's like using a diamond to scratch an itch!"

My voice involuntarily rose. The purchasing power—no, the value of divine power—was even lower than I imagined. 1 point of divine power was equivalent to a third-level Life Sigil spell...

The reality hit me hard, almost driving me crazy. "And before that? Even for a niche god, this amount of divine power is laughable. What, did you have like three followers worshipping you over the millennia?"

"Of course not!" the light orb hastily retorted. "I had to find someone worthy!"

"And you spent all your divine power window shopping? Brilliant strategy."

"The search for a successor is a sacred duty!" the orb defended.

"A sacred duty that left you with pocket change for power. How inspirational."

"Divine power needs to be channeled to where it is most likely to revive the God of Creativity. I'm just a fragment of the God of Creativity's divine essence, not complete, so I didn't get the main share of the divine power. After that, I used up most of my divine power to search for a mage with the potential to become a god…"

The orb's light flickered erratically. "Do you have any idea how long I wandered across this wretched continent? Years! Years of using precious divine power just to find someone—anyone—with a spark of godly potential!"

I watched with mild amusement as the orb's glow pulsed with each word, like a malfunctioning lantern.

"And then—" The orb's light dimmed to almost nothing. "Then I finally find someone worthy, and it's... it's..."

"A half-dead undead who turned the tables on you?" I offered helpfully.

The orb flared briefly in frustration. "If only the God of Time would give me another chance! I should have stayed in the divine realm. Even fading into nothing would be better than... than this!"

Watching a divine essence throw a tantrum is certainly a new one.

I looked wordlessly at the light orb, which was growing increasingly distraught, and said, "So, in short, you spent all your divine power on yourself?"

Your economic sense is worse than a drunk merchant at a fire sale. No wonder I could so easily turn the tables on it.

The rest of the attributes on the panel didn't need much scrutiny. With the fragment of the God of Creativity's divine essence, I was effectively a pseudo-god, albeit below the god-level in strength.

Naturally, I could attract followers.

The special items were: a glowing orb connected to Earth's network and a reverse contract between me and the golden light orb.

Nothing else could help me repair my body or complete my virtual reality game project.

Putting the panel aside, I looked at the glowing blue orb. While speaking, I hadn't stopped channeling mana into the orb. Now, my access to Earth's network had expanded slightly.

Though most secure systems still blocked me out, I could finally browse the regular internet.

I thought. From what I see online, Earth already has the technology to create virtual reality games, and there's even one being promoted right now...

If I ride this wave of hype, I should be able to attract quite a few leeks—ah no, players!

Let's do it.

Before my transmigration, I had learned a bit about web design as a hobby, and I still remembered some of the skills. Now was the perfect time to use them to create the official game website. Once the website was ready, I could promote the game and recruit players.

At least I won't have to worry about mobile optimization. Small mercies.

I briefly left my inner sanctum to check my surroundings.

The monks from the Radiant Church were still at it, unwilling to give up as they returned for another search.

I had to suppress a chuckle watching them meticulously scan the area, completely oblivious to what lay right beneath their feet. Some things never change—their persistence was matched only by their cluelessness.

Finding nothing, they began removing their exploration equipment from around the stone altar. Keep looking, gentlemen.

I smirked to myself before returning to my inner sanctum, where I could focus on my work with proper enthusiasm. Their fruitless search would make excellent background noise for my project.

---Third POV: On Earth---

If there was one hot topic in the gaming world recently, it had to be the game Netherworld Revolution that Skyrain Company was promoting heavily. This game was said to be a 100% realistic virtual reality game.

"Skyrain's Latest Venture: Innovation or Illusion?" blared the headlines across gaming news sites.

However, the only materials released so far were a ten-minute concept video and a bunch of marketing claims like "I heard", "My friend works at Skyrain", or "Someone who participated in internal testing said..."

The authenticity was entirely questionable.

"Another day, another Skyrain scam. Who's surprised?" A typical forum post summarized the general sentiment.

Still—as a major internet company, Skyrain's greatest skill was viral marketing. Even if this was just a concept video for attracting investors—whether the game itself even existed was uncertain—Skyrain's announcement of developing Netherworld Revolution had reached 80% of gaming enthusiasts.

On YouTube, the concept video hit 20 million views in just three days. This kind of attention had only been seen with "Elven Ring" three years ago.

However, unlike the comment section for "Elven Ring," which was filled with hopeful anticipation, Netherworld Revolution's comment section was much more complicated:

"How do I get this video off my homepage?"

"Skyrain is laundering money again!"

"Oh look, Skyrain made another CG game?"

"Virtual reality games? That's such a tired gimmick. Why bring it back?"

"If this game is real, I'll eat ten pounds!"

Due to Skyrain Company's "reputation", no one believed the game was real. Everyone assumed it was just another cash grab.

Virtual reality games? Ha! What a joke!

"Current brainwave technology is simply inadequate for true VR gaming," declared a prominent tech analyst in their latest industry report.

Although brainwave-reading technology had emerged several years ago, it could only read basic brainwave signals from the brain's surface. The technology was more often used in mechanical operations, such as controlling drones without remote controls, but it was far from what gamers imagined for developing virtual reality games.

Game companies had tried to use this technology to create virtual reality games, but every attempt was a huge failure. Because brainwaves varied in strength between individuals, few players could even enter the game, let alone live in a game world like real life.

Most couldn't even issue simple movement commands like walking up, down, left, or right.

The technology was impossible to popularize.

Moreover, the graphics couldn't simulate reality and were inferior even to VR games from over a decade ago. The rough, uncanny character models were enough to scare off players with weak constitutions.

Low realism, but 100% fright factor!

In summary—for this kind of "scam" game promoted through shady marketing tactics, players were in an uproar. But Skyrain Company's goal was still achieved.

Netherworld Revolution had gone viral.

On every platform, any content even remotely related to Netherworld Revolution was being criticized. The level of discussion skyrocketed. Whether fans or haters, next time Netherworld Revolution released news, it would surely get plenty of attention.

That's the benefit of "bad publicity."

The game gained popularity, players vented their anger at Skyrain, and game streamers got traffic—a win-win-win. It even reignited discussions about the feasibility of virtual reality games.

Logan was one of those riding the wave of Netherworld Revolution's popularity.

"Hey everyone, NeverShowOff here with another honest gaming review," Logan's voice rang out clear and confident through his stream setup.

"Logan always tells it like it is!" scrolled a viewer comment.

Thanks guys, though honesty doesn't pay the bills...

His fans affectionately called him "Show Master."

He was a veteran game streamer on Twitch.

While he wasn't the absolute best, he was definitely among the top tiers of the gaming world.

He had decent gaming and video editing skills.

Yet, he wasn't famous.

After four to five years as a content creator, he still only had a pitiful 100,000 followers. The money he earned barely covered his living expenses.

The reason? He was just too unlucky.

Every time there was a hot topic in the gaming world, Logan somehow managed to miss it. And without riding trends, how could he grow his audience, let alone "break into other platforms"—cough, ahem.

Never mind.

But this time, Netherworld Revolution's explosion in popularity had finally given him a chance.

Despite his struggles, Logan never considered switching careers.

He had held on because of his deep love for gaming. Before becoming a streamer, he was a hardcore gaming enthusiast.

A virtual reality gaming fanatic.

From the first time he encountered the concept of virtual reality games as a child, he was hooked on the idea of such a game world.

A second life, a utopia indistinguishable from reality, and skills that truly came from within himself—

Who wouldn't want that?

He was incredibly knowledgeable about the progress of virtual reality games from every major gaming company. When brainwave-reading technology appeared years ago, he checked for updates daily.

But in the end, it only brought endless disappointment.

Yet Logan never gave up.

He firmly believed that in his lifetime, he would get to play a virtual reality game. And if he couldn't, his children or grandchildren would have to burn him a gaming pod in the afterlife.

Because he knew so much about the virtual reality field, when he first saw Netherworld Revolution's concept video, he immediately criticized it.

"Look at these rendering artifacts. Classic CG tells," he pointed out to his viewers. "They're not even trying to hide the pre-rendered scenes."

"Finally someone speaking truth about this scam!" his chat erupted.

Fake!

Fake beyond fake!

The whole thing was CG with no signs of virtual reality technology. And they dared to call this a virtual reality game?

It wasn't even good enough to be an investor pitch; it was just another scam game. But Logan couldn't stand that they were trying to deceive people in the name of virtual reality.

The development of holographic technology was already incredibly difficult. If Skyrain muddied the waters now, when a real virtual reality game eventually appeared, players wouldn't trust it.

Virtual reality game development costs were massive. Failing to recoup costs quickly was essentially a death sentence.

By doing this, Skyrain was crushing the future potential of virtual reality games.

Fueled by anger, he spent two hours creating a rant video about Netherworld Revolution's concept trailer. He had only intended to vent his frustration and warn players not to be fooled.

Unexpectedly, Netherworld Revolution blew up.

Because Logan uploaded his video early, its stats soared as well.

In the comment section, a group of like-minded gaming enthusiasts gathered to join him in cursing Skyrain. The video's views, comments, likes, and shares were ten times higher than usual.

Logan had initially posted the video on impulse.

When he checked the stats, his eyes nearly popped out of his head.

After so many years—

Finally, it was his turn to catch the trend. He was going to be famous!

He immediately started working on the second and third episodes of his Netherworld Revolution rant series.

Whether he ate canned food or steak next month would depend on these videos. He had to ride the wave while everyone was still fired up about Netherworld Revolution.

More content meant more views, more followers, and more success!