(An extra chapter for our brother 'Midsummer's Recklessness,' 5/5)
"Even if you flood the forums until they crash, that won't extend your playtime! I've told you already, I'm not the god of creation. How am I supposed to change this real world however you want?
"You players are adorable, but could you stop being so unreasonable?"
In the underground river passage beneath Blood Vulture Corridor, Murphy clutched the core orb and listened to the players' anguished complaints echoing from within.
He sighed too.
If he could, he'd much rather have these adorable, useful players online twenty-four hours a day. Then he'd have reliable help whenever he needed it, and his labor shortage would be solved.
He wouldn't even have to feel so cold and lonely, stranded in another world.
But for now, he was just an ordinary test administrator. The game's playtime and the helmet's locked features wouldn't unlock at his command.
That all depended on advancing the "game's progress." So, when all was said and done, instead of complaining, the players ought to work harder for the vampires!
"What are you doing back there? Muttering to yourself? Planning to put on a funny-face show for me? Your expression just now was like you'd seen a debt collector."
Old Knight Finoc's displeased voice came from ahead.
The Gold-rank White Knight stood amid the ruins of a ghostly encampment, its remains charred by blue-white purifying flames.
While the players had been challenging the second boss, Tribune Kudell, Murphy and the old knight had cleared out this ghost camp, which had existed for at least three hundred years.
The cleanup had gone like this: the old knight charged ahead, slaughtering a horde of elite ghosts, while Murphy did the bare minimum behind him.
It wasn't that he was deliberately slacking off.
The