Chapter 351
Chapter 351
The prizes for ranks 100 to 51 were practically participation trophies. Aside from the Limited Edition T-Shirts, everything else could be bought with ordinary money—nothing extravagant. Ten Double Experience Cards and 200,000 game currency, worth only about 200 Rmb, were pocket change for whale players who routinely recharged far more each month.
The rewards for ranks 50 to 31 were significantly better. Two pieces of fine-grade equipment above level 30 could fetch over 300,000 game currency at auction (though prices had stabilized after two weeks of inflation). And the 2,000 skill points were a rare, non-monetary boon.
Then came ranks 30 to 11—another 3,000 skill points, and most crucially, a Flawless-grade Equipment. While fine-grade gear had a tangible market value, Flawless-grade items were priceless. Their soulbound-on-equip nature made them scarce and astronomically expensive in auctions.
Moreover, these rewards allowed players to choose their equipment type, ensuring no mismatches—no martial artists drawing guns, no snipers wielding blunt weapons. It also prevented overlaps with existing powerful gear. Thus, making the top 30 guaranteed a qualitative leap in strength.
In short, Dream Corporation had masterfully calibrated their prizes to tap into player psychology.
Most casual players aimed for the top 30. They knew cracking the top 10 was a stretch (though a few delusional souls always thought themselves invincible). Targeting the top 100 felt too modest, while securing top 50 with a shot at top 30 seemed realistic.
But reality was harsh—Classplayers existed.
Comparing them to swimmers, casuals were weekend hobbyists, while Classplayers trained year-round like pros. Facing them, casuals lost eight out of ten matches.
Still, the top 100 wasn’t a Classplayer monopoly. A few innate talents like Feng Bu Jue emerged, and early clashes among Classplayers often eliminated them. With over 100,000 entrants, random factors meant even Classplayers struggled to secure a top 100 spot.
So while casuals had hope for the top 100, top 30 glory was Classplayers’ territory.
As for the Top 10…
Players ranked 10-4 would randomly receive three skill cards corresponding to their highest proficiency, four random cards from other proficiencies, and 5,000 skill points.
Feng Bu Jue instantly calculated. A player’s skill grid held twelve slots. At level 29 (he’d missed Sandbox rewards, stalling at 29), he had nine skills. Discounting the borrowed Moon Step and Storm Leg, plus the disposable Stinky Egg, only six counted—plus a title technique that didn’t occupy a slot.
Yet the top 10 reward offered seven skill cards, three tailored to his strongest proficiency. Unlike equipment, skills provided lasting, holistic power. And 5,000 skill points? Enough to buy Flawless-grade gear with a little top-up.
Feng Bu Jue’s pulse quickened. But the next lines left him stunned.
Summit Confrontation’s bronze medalist would receive a random Legendary-Level Equipment matching their level, plus 10,000 skill points.
Silver medalist: a random Legendary-Level Equipment (type selectable) plus 20,000 skill points.
Summit Confrontation’s Champion: a mysterious gift from Dream Corporation.
Feng Bu Jue muttered after a two-minute stare: “Millions play Terrifying Paradise. Ten thousand competitors is a conservative guess. To rank top 3 among them… those guys are monsters. And these rewards? They’ll turn monsters into gods.” He snorted, “Typical Dream. Every tier’s prize doubles in value—except the champion’s ‘mysterious gift.’ What a cop-out.”
He stretched in his chair. “Still… ‘mysterious gift’—genius. Unknowable rewards are priceless. I’d applaud their planners… if I weren’t so damn impressed.”
“Miao~” Assass leaped onto the desk, pawing the monitor.
“You agree, huh?” Feng Bu Jue teased, lifting the cat to prevent screen scratches. “Think I’ll make Top 10? Heh… Maybe after I hit 30. Time to test my limits.”
……
Meanwhile, in Shiva’s conference room…
The Gods studio’s four elites—Shiva, Vishnu, Brahma, and Yama—gathered.
“He accepted my friend request, then vanished into sleep mode,” Shiva reported. “But I’m certain the anonymous second place on today’s combat power leaderboard is ‘Mad Bu Jue.’”
“If he hasn’t logged in since the update,” Vishnu noted, “the system would default to hiding his name.”
Brahma scoffed, “Why overcomplicate? The boss was second. He beat the boss—simple as that.”
Yama twirled his blue bangs, “But before this scenario, he wasn’t even top 20. Those anonymous names? We already know them. He wasn’t one. Either he lucked into victory and rode the scenario’s boost… or his strength was already peak-tier mid-scenario, as the boss described.”
“Cunning too,” Vishnu added. “A real strategist.”
Shiva murmured, shadows hiding his face. “Before my demise, he dropped cryptic hints. Didn’t make sense. Better to dismiss his words and deduce rationally.” He paused. “The only logical explanation? Hidden tasks, new skills, or items amplified his power mid-scenario.”
“Makes sense,” Yama nodded. “Capturing Robin, provoking Net of Gods, Freeze-grade Equipment—proof of his resourcefulness.”
Shiva sighed. “He took down Zhao Ying Wang, killed me… and Seven Kill’s no match either.” (Shiva hadn’t learned Seven Kill’s Batman Set, assuming Feng’s victory.) “Emerging the day before Summit Confrontation… unwelcome news.”
Brahma grinned, “But he added you as a friend. Proof he’s recruitable. His guild, ‘Hell Front’—obscure. A casual crew. Let them join us.”
“Finally using that brain?” Vishnu quipped.
“Who’re you calling—”
Vishnu ignored him. “A rare talent like him’s worth tolerating a hundred newbies. He’d be our hidden ace against Order.”
Shiva hesitated, biting back, I suspect he’s unhinged. “I’ll message him again. Talk when he replies.”
(End of Chapter)
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