https://novelcool.info/chapter/Chapter-56-Garlic-Invincible-Arc-Part-3-/13510936/
Chapter 55
Chapter 55
A Classplayer—on the surface, it sounds like a dream job. Turning gaming into a career, even achieving fame and fortune… who hasn’t fantasized about that?
By 2055, it had become a socially recognized profession. Top-tier players wielded influence comparable to star athletes.
Classplayers typically ranged from fourteen to thirty-five years old. Younger prodigies existed, but age restrictions on certain games often barred them from entering the field.
Generally, Classplayers fell into two categories: star players and the blue-collar players who formed the industry’s backbone.
Star players usually retired around thirty. Some transitioned to amateur play, others took management roles in studios, while a few shifted to related careers like commentators, referees, or event organizers. A lucky few became entrepreneurs, their pockets lined with winnings.
Everyone entering the field aspired to become a star. Yet many joined straight out of middle school, only to hit thirty without achieving anything. They’d eventually re-enter the job market, gambling their youth on uncertain odds. These non-stars—blue-collar players—were the industry’s true foundation. Without them, studios couldn’t function, and stars wouldn’t have the support to shine.
But the harshest reality of this profession was its cutthroat competition.
Any game achieving temporary popularity inevitably featured "competition." If a game lacked ways for players to prove superiority, no studio would invest in it, and player interest would dwindle.
Take multiplayer online games: whether competitive or not, even simple monster-hunting and gear-grinding eventually led to Pvp showdowns.
For Classplayers, proving their worth boiled down to one word—winning.
Alas, there are no eternal champions. No one stays undefeated forever.
Age, fluctuating performance, or a game’s decline could erase even the most revered "gods" from the spotlight. Few managed to retire at their peak.
The fiercer the studio, the fiercer the competition. Top studios sought fresh blood—young players with relentless drive, hungry enough to dethrone established legends.
In short: ambitious geniuses. Like… Tian Tian Gui Xiao.
Order Studio had deployed four teams into Terrifying Paradise, ten players each. Each team included one or two stars and the rest seasoned blue-collar players.
Tian Tian Gui Xiao was the sole rookie under twenty across all four teams.
Order had high hopes for him, assigning him to the first wave of players entering the game. His team leader gave him no specific tasks—just play freely. But during a killing game mode, he recklessly challenged Fearless Hero’s trio and defeated them. His arrogant stunt earned him a "paid leave"—deserved, really.
Of course, Fearless Hero wasn’t even top-tier among Order’s stars. By past achievements or popularity, he didn’t rank in the top ten. Though his team claimed first place in the closed beta’s level-20 race, Order’s true power remained untapped.
These four teams were merely "pioneers." The studio’s elite had only created accounts and locked in their nicknames, never logging in. In other words, Order’s real heavy hitters hadn’t been deployed yet. The studio’s leadership was waiting, watching—deciding whether to invest their top talent only after Dream Corporation opened currency exchange and monetization services.
But enough about that. You’re probably wondering: Where does Feng Bu Jue fit in? What about the Nooka City scenario?
Let me circle back in three short sections.
Regarding studios, Feng Bu Jue’s scenario included one too.
But unlike Order’s elite, he belonged to a third-rate studio—a one-man operation run by himself as owner, financier, and player.
He was Jibu Shao Ye.
Yes, you guessed it. His studio was called "Hiei Studio."
Jibu Shao Ye was twenty-three in real life, a recent college grad. His father owned a factory, leaving the family with modest savings—enough to fund his gaming venture. Starting a studio wasn’t expensive: rent a space, buy a few Gaming Pods. Labor costs? Negligible. His employees were his college buddies.
Currently, Hiei Studio had only three staff besides him: Name Zhen Nan Qu, currently in the same scenario, and two others nicknamed Namereallyhardtodecide and Reallyhardtoname. Jibu once insisted they use cooler names like "Haba" or "Ninomiya", but they flatly refused. When he threatened to withhold pay, they "rewarded" him with a virtual groin attack.
The studio rotated shifts, splitting into two teams. The other two were currently on break, grabbing midnight snacks outside the game.
Jibu’s in-game avatar was a slender, pale man with delicate features—close to his real appearance, though his face had been tweaked.
Name Zhen Nan Qu was of average build, slightly shorter than Jibu. His avatar matched his name: unkempt, even slovenly. He’d chosen a bald look, claiming he wanted to "experience baldness in-game."
Jibu’s title, A Swordsman, seemed like a system joke. He wielded a dadao—a common-quality weapon resembling the generic swords used by henchmen in wuxia dramas. No attributes, no special effects. At least it was a proper weapon.
Unlike Jibu’s forgettable title, Name Zhen Nan Qu’s was striking: Outwardly Strong, Inwardly Weak. His bald, rugged appearance clashed comically with his Terror Value. He didn’t even have a proper weapon—just two baseball bats and a rusted iron pipe scavenged from who-knows-where.
Their luck held. They’d spawned only a block apart, quickly regrouping.
Though they seemed unreliable, they had their strengths. After all, running a studio required some skill. Jibu made a smart call: forget the mission—find a gun shop first.
The city’s layout screamed "evil American empire", so a gun shop was likely. Even if it lacked heavy artillery, standard pistols, shotguns, and rifles—with ample ammo—would be invaluable.
As they moved, scattered blood wolf zombies roamed the streets. Weak foes. They’d sidestep them if possible, or bash their heads in if cornered. The zombies’ speed spiked when closing in, but careful play kept them safe.
After two blocks, Jibu ducked into a phone booth. The line was dead, but he wasn’t calling anyone—911 wasn’t an option here. He flipped through the directory, found the nearest gun shop, and hurried off with Name Zhen Nan Qu (henceforth dubbed Xiao Ming for sanity).
Ten minutes later, they neared the shop but froze at the sight ahead:
Thirty-odd blood wolf zombie corpses littered the street, their heads blown to pulp. The carnage led straight to the gun shop door.
In the road’s center stood a giant Gatorade-branded ice bucket, filled with red liquid. Nearby, empty blood bags scattered the ground, their metallic stench overpowering even for human noses.
Two sound systems blared The Toreador March beside the "blood bucket", dragged from a shop across the street. A nearby power box had been stripped, cables snaking to the systems.
"What the hell?" Xiao Ming whispered.
Jibu had no answers. But then, a blood wolf zombie flew backward from a corner.
A blood-smeared man emerged. One hand gripped a dagger, the other a pipe wrench. Over his shoulders hung garlic strings, X-crossed and crimson-stained.
He danced to the march, mimicking the Axe Gang’s choreography from Kung Fu, chewing something white like gum. He minced the fallen zombie’s head, splattering gore.
Noticing Jibu and Xiao Ming, he straightened, locking eyes with them.
"Run!" they screamed in unison, bolting.
Feng Bu Jue chased, wanting to shout, "You idiots? I’m a player too!"—but his mouth full of garlic muffled him.
Seeing Feng’s pursuit, Xiao Ming’s Terror Value spiked. "We’re dead! Your fault! Why find a gun shop? Of course it’s guarded by a mini-boss!"
Jibu glanced back. "My fault? How’d I know?!" He paused. "Wait—he’s faster than us!"
"Obviously! He’s superhuman!" Xiao Ming yelled.
Twenty meters back, Feng heard them. "Pfft. I’ve got Jazzy Moves. You two think you can outrun me?"
Suddenly, the pair shouted in sync: "Split up!"
At the next intersection, they veered left and right.
Feng blinked. "Cunning little bastards." He followed Jibu.
"Dammit!" Jibu cursed. "Why ignore the obvious bald guy? Must be my handsome face!"
As Feng closed in, Jibu’s Terror Value skyrocketed. Better to fight than die from behind. He halted, swung his dadao—
—and froze. The system halted his attack.
Feng skidded to a stop, panting. "I… am… your ally, you idiot!"
The system bleeped "idiot", but Feng’s tone was pure exasperation, not malice.
Jibu collapsed to his knees, pale. "S-sorry", he stammered.
(End of Chapter)
Chapter end
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