Ethan did the math. Even if he had mountains of gold to exchange, worth billions, sinking it all into a single machine... How many fortress captures, how many city sieges would it take to turn a profit? He’d have to build entertainnt districts for casual players, hoping to recoup the costs through tourism and attractions.
Sure, the leisure industry inside Ethereal was projected to be incredibly lucrative. Not every player was a hardcore battler; most regular folks just logged in at night to unwind and enjoy the side benefit of deep, restful sleep. But the ROI tiline was daunting. The numbers kept circling in his head, refusing to settle, each projection gloomier than the last.
More pressingly, that theoretical mountain of gold wasn’t in his pocket yet. Even when it arrived, he had no idea how much Trusty007 would manage to secure for him in the next couple of days. Finances might be limitless in the future, but right now, they were tight.
Eventually, he stopped trying to wrestle the math into optimism and let the frustration burn itself out. ’Let’s just get the damn thing moving,’ he decided.
’A frontal ram, a few boosters for speed. That’s it.’ At the current average player level, even if they managed to climb onto the thing, they couldn’t scratch its paint.
He laid out his scaled-back plan for the Mad Engineer: just the ram, the boosters, and funding to continue R&D on the Magethrower. How much?
The man imdiately shot up two fingers.
Ethan thought for a second, then pulled twenty thousand gold from his inventory and tossed it over. "Make it happen. I believe in this machine, and I believe in you." He masked his internal wincing with a tone of solid support.
"Yes, Boss! You’re the best! Seriously, you’re like a brother to ..." the Engineer gushed, then hesitated. "Hey, bro... can you spot another thousand?"
Ethan, already turning to leave, stopped and sighed. "Another thousand? For what?"
"The crew! These guys haven’t been paid in over a month! This is just the night shift; there’s a whole other day crew," NoPaperOnTheBigOne said, gesturing to the engineers around him, who nodded vigorously.
"Fine. Take it," Ethan said, transferring the funds. He was almost impressed. These guys had worked for over half a month for free, staying loyal even while being verbally chewed out by their brilliant but volatile leader. He knew a thousand gold was more than enough to cover a month’s wages for two shifts of ~200 people each, but he didn’t call him on it. The Mad Engineer had earned a little trust.
Leaving the engineering shop, Ethan headed for the auction house. The auction system was separate from player-owned shops; it was entirely automated by the system, with no option to appoint managers. He was curious to see what revenue it had generated during its operation.
As he cut through the central plaza, a particular shout caught his ear.
"...All-You-Need Potions delivery service! Add for details! Paynt on delivery, just a small convenience fee!"
He heard it from several people. They were using his shop’s na.
"What the hell?" Ethan’s gaze sharpened, tracking the voices.
He saw a handful of players, all Druids by the look of their starter gear, hawking this service. They were practically broke, scraping by as errand runners. Their desperation showed in the way they leaned into each pitch, voices cracking from overuse and hope.
’Gods, are Druids really that hard up?’ he wondered, watching the small, ragged groups.
Then he noticed it. They all wore the sa insignia on their chests. It wasn’t a guild crest. Ethan looked closer, recognizing the emblem’s base design: a crescent moon cradling a sun. This was the standard template for a Club insignia, a system separate from Guilds.
Clubs were loose, free-form associations. Players could co and go as they pleased. They beca more common later in the ga’s life, popular among casual players. Leadership was usually elected, but held little real power. Unlike guilds, there were no shared vaults or major revenue streams. Clubs were essentially community hubs, often for more vulnerable players—those who couldn’t get into top guilds, didn’t want to join a small guild and beco a target, or lone wolves who chafed under guild discipline.
They were perfect for rcenary types. Clubs had two key features: they were cross-faction, and mbership didn’t conflict with guild affiliation. Even elite guild mbers could join one for fun, though the rewards from guild missions far outweighed anything a Club could offer.
But forming a Club wasn’t easy. It required a founder and ten thousand player signatures on the petition just to establish it.
’That’s what’s strange,’ Ethan thought. ’The ga’s only been live for six months. It’s way too early for Clubs to be appearing. They weren’t around this early last ti.’
His eyes dropped below the standard moon-and-sun motif to the custom design this particular Club had chosen. It depicted a single beastly body with four distinct heads, each representing one of the Druid’s core forms: Bear, Panther, Owl, and Stag.
’Is this a Club specifically for Druids?’
The idea intrigued him, but he didn’t approach. He just committed the insignia to mory and continued toward the auction house.
He’d stopped wearing his signature black cloak; it was far too recognizable. Blending in with the crowd was a better strategy now.
That strategy lasted all of about ten seconds.
He reached the auction house steps just as a group of a dozen or so players spilled out. They didn’t seem to be together, but their fashion choice made Ethan do a double-take so hard he nearly tripped.
Every single one of them was wrapped from head to toe in a black cloak, with a deep hood obscuring their faces.
"You gotta be kidding ," he muttered under his breath.
He looked around. The problem was worse than he thought. The streets were now dotted with players sporting black cloaks, grey cloaks, white cloaks... cloaks of every conceivable color.
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