Because the flow of ti inside Rita’s room differed from the outside world, the ssages she saw in the group chat updated painfully slowly.
Outside, two ssages might be separated by only a few seconds.
For Rita, seven or eight hours could pass before the next one appeared.
anwhile, the players assigned to learning-type gas looked like they were spamming the chat from everyone else’s perspective.
Hundreds, sotis thousands of ssages flashed by every second.
There was no need to explain why.
Their ti flow was completely different from everyone else’s.
Not only was it difficult to hold a conversation, but whenever important information appeared, it often took ages before the follow-up ssages arrived.
Rita eventually left all chat managent to Nivalis.
Nivalis would collect and organize the information before passing it along.
anwhile, Rita focused entirely on alchemy.
For two whole years, she didn’t touch a single ingredient.
Instead, she spent all her ti reading.
And what she discovered surprised her.
The alchemical knowledge here was remarkably primitive.
It wasn’t even close to the level Apache had taught her.
Many potion formulas were crude to the point of being embarrassing.
Mistblade’s gemstone formulas would be considered priceless treasures in this era.
Nor was alchemy the only field affected.
The sa was true for magic inscriptions, enchanting, engineering, leatherworking, blacksmithing, and countless other disciplines.
Even cooking, the supposedly useless subject Mistblade had been assigned, followed the sa pattern.
The Tingo JE recipes Rita shared made the local recipes look pathetic by comparison.
The difference was like comparing ordinary food to glowing legendary cuisine.
Mistblade had been in a terrible mood lately.
Rita had rarely seen her this irritated.
The head prefect of Moonlight Marsh.
The foremost of the Nine Moon Emperors.
Ever since being assigned to a cooking class, she had been miserable.
[Mistblade (Starsea)]: These hands belong to a Moon Emperor. They’re not ant for cooking.
[Mistblade (Starsea)]: I can casually fry an egg and it cos out Master-tier. Why couldn’t this talent be sothing useful?
[Mistblade (Starsea)]: Why do I need to cook with my own hands?
But she wasn’t the only one suffering.
Cicada was equally furious.
[Cicada (Starsea)]: Just because I have a Violet-Gold tailoring talent doesn’t an I have to use it.
[Cicada (Starsea)]: I hate this place.
[Cicada (Starsea)]: The First Epoch disgusts .
She had apparently been assigned to sewing lessons.
[Quex (Starsea)]: Why is my talent music??? I hate music.
No one knew yet what kind of conspiracy the First Epoch truly concealed.
But one thing was certain.
This place was obsessed with developing talent.
It explored every conceivable field.
And it was perfectly willing to train people from scratch.
At this point, one of Rita’s favorite forms of entertainnt was watching her friends lose their minds in chat.
Even better were the delayed reactions from other players.
The experience felt like browsing the internet with terrible connection speeds.
[JE (Quiet Mountain)]: What exactly do you an by "Tingo JE Recipes"?
[JE (Starsea)]: Don’t worry about Starsea business...
Several hours passed.
[JE (Quiet Mountain)]: ??? What do you an don’t worry about it? What kind of life are you living over there? These aren’t Wind Whale recipes. These are JE recipes. You’ve literally been turned into food and got your own cookbook, and you’re telling not to care? Don’t tell you’re my original self.
[JE (Starsea)]: Then don’t think of as your original self...
Several more hours passed.
[JE (Quiet Mountain)]: How does it taste??
[Crab]: Pretty good. Sea Pony likes it.
Quiet Mountain JE never spoke again.
Her worldview had probably collapsed.
Having a recipe nad after her was one thing.
Finding out people had actually cooked and eaten it was another.
Still, there was a strange charm to chatting through a connection this slow.
During their downti, players also compared their Prisoner IDs.
Everyone shared the sa prefix.
The middle section varied.
Just like their world nas.
Deceitful Bloom, Cicada, Smoke Tune, and Spring Guest all carried "Beacon."
Maple Syrup, Pine Bloom, and Peach Crown belonged to "Forest Sea."
Mistblade, Flowering Edge, and the other Moonfoxes were marked "Snowland."
Lightchaser, who originated from Isolated Isle, carried the na of the elves’ holand:
"Blood Moon."
It was as though world nas had replaced racial identities.
The final segnt consisted of unique nine-digit numbers.
What intrigued everyone was that players who had entered the prison at nearly the sa ti possessed vastly different serial numbers.
Most likely, they had inherited the identifiers of deceased Prisoners.
Beginning in the third year, players outside the learning gas gradually completed their tasks.
With their return ca more information.
Additional prisoners had appeared in many cells.
Successfully completing a ga increased a Prisoner’s rank.
Players could even choose which direction their prison cube would move by one space during the next rotation.
Yet none of these discoveries compared to the revelation they had feared most.
The prison confiscated newly learned skills.
Every player still possessed only five skill slots.
Any additional skills were automatically seized.
The only freedom they retained was choosing which five skills to keep.
Newly acquired abilities could replace existing ones.
Nothing more.
Foolishness, who had been assigned a Creation Ga, lost patience with the primitive knowledge of the First Epoch.
She casually created a toy that t the ga’s requirents and submitted the crafting blueprint.
The result was exactly the sa.
Like skills, the crafted item either had to be surrendered or replace one of the items she had originally brought into prison.
The discovery poisoned everyone’s mood.
The players had long since transcended Divine Gifts.
They weren’t upset about losing newly learned skills or disposable items.
What truly disgusted them was sothing else.
For the first ti in their lives, they experienced what it felt like to be livestock.
To be raised as raw material.
Inside this cube prison, the talents they had once been proud of were nothing more than resources to be harvested endlessly.
Only now did the reality of being a Prisoner truly settle into everyone’s mind.
No.
It was worse than being a Prisoner.
The bookshelves lining the rooms.
The carefully selected enemies.
The custom-tailored gas designed around each person’s strengths.
All of it was feed.
Specialized feed crafted according to their talents.
Feed intended to fatten them up before slaughter.
It was an insult to everything they were.
Neither Divine Ga nor the Demon Gas had ever created such a feeling.
Those gas established rules.
They offered rewards.
Failure brought divine punishnt.
Players succeeded or failed through their own choices.
The consequences belonged to them.
This place was different.
Here, knowledge was bestowed.
And then paynt was extracted by force.
The players of the Tenth Epoch had endured only a single round of gas and already felt sickened.
What about the prisoners who had spent years trapped here?
Learning.
Creating.
Discovering.
Then watching everything they produced get taken away and handed to soone else.
If they stopped progressing, they would be erased.
So they could only swallow their disgust and continue using their talents to survive.
Would such a life ever end?
And how could anyone ever escape this humiliation?
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