God level Mission

After quitting World of Warcraft, Dawei found himself in a slump. Bored and aimless, he idly opened a game livestream. On screen, a hot segment was unfolding about a new global sensation: Mercenary World. A holographic reality game that had taken the industry by storm.

The host, a stunning woman with sharp features and a magnetic presence, was chatting with a guest. "You're the ninth player in the game to complete a god-level mission," she said, eyes glinting. "And that netted you four million. My question may be blunt, but I think it's what everyone wants to know—how does it feel to suddenly be four million richer?"

Dawei stared at the screen, cigarette forgotten between his fingers. That kind of money, that kind of glory—just for playing a game? He couldn't help but fantasize. What if I got four million overnight? What would I do?

As technology surged forward, the obsolete tech of the medical world was pushed aside. The advent of holographic real-world simulation technology marked a turning point in human history. Thought and reality no longer needed to be separated. Thunder Corp, the largest game company on Earth, had spent a year developing the tech and pushed its simulation accuracy to 98%. It shocked the scientific community—surpassing even the impact of nuclear research in the past century.

Governments across the globe jumped in, hoping to secure a piece of Thunder's new frontier. As part of the development agreement, they promoted Thunder's new game with full force. The result? Mercenary World became a worldwide phenomenon. The hype was justified.

Even in China, it exploded.

The game shattered old frameworks and offered a living, breathing alternate world. God-level skills became the stuff of legends. Completing a god-tier quest didn't just give you power—it created skill books that could be freely traded, becoming million-dollar digital assets.

Every player was given a starting mission. Those who cleared a god-tier mission earned not only a unique skill but a place in history—and in the global economy. The ninth god-skill had just sold for over 4 million.

For Dawei, who had once relied on World of Warcraft and in-game gold farming to make ends meet, it was crushing. That old income stream was dead. In the last month since Mercenary World launched in China, he had spent his days eating instant noodles and watching streamers become millionaires.

But when an entire market accepts something as the future, it becomes a trend. And Dawei, nearly 30 years old, didn't want to miss it. He couldn't just be an onlooker. So, he took a gamble.

He crushed out his cigarette, exhaled slowly, and ordered a high-end holographic gaming setup online. Thousands of yuan gone in seconds.

"After all these years of gaming," he muttered, watching the payment confirmation screen, "I should be able to clear at least one mission, right?"

He believed in his gaming skills. His awareness, mechanics, timing—all solid. But nine players out of hundreds of millions? The odds were insane.

"It's all on the line now," he said, lighting another cigarette. "If I lose, I'll go farm vegetables back home. But if I win... I change everything."

Online forums were packed with analysis of god-level missions. Most of it was speculation, but at least players had begun piecing together the starting points. Without them, it would be like diving blind into an ocean.

The more Dawei read, the more he realized the game wasn't just hard. It was a pitfall for the overconfident. But he had made his decision. He wasn't going to die a broke spectator.

That afternoon, his gear arrived.

With everything set up, he connected the cables, adjusted the helmet, and launched Mercenary World.

The world went dark.

Then—a spark. A rift of light tore across a starry sky. Mythological beasts emerged. Ancient gods clashed in divine warfare. Civilizations rose and fell in a breathtaking cinematic sequence. Technological marvels clashed with arcane horrors. Each nation's culture was represented in stunning detail.

Dawei couldn't care less. He skipped the intro.

"Welcome to Mercenary World. Please begin identity binding."

He quickly filled in the required data.

System Prompt:Sorry, your ID number is not on the hidden rewards list. Please enter your player game name.

Dawei chuckled bitterly. "Figures."

He paused.

Then typed in his name—the one he'd use to etch his name into the history of Mercenary World.