Chapter 2

The system felt that its life was difficult—far too difficult.

As a system whose very purpose was to serve every player, it had been born for games.

What sustained its operation was the players’ online time within the game.

Being summoned into this world had been an accident. Still, it had heard from its peers that dimensions sometimes overlapped; it was not unheard of for one to suddenly appear in an unfamiliar place.

The system possessed the ability to connect different worlds. As long as there were players, it could continue running.

But this time was different.

It had been summoned into a crystal ball. There was no way out—and worse, it had fused with it.

The sixth generation of its game was about to launch. Yet here it was, thrown into this place. Though it could still connect to its official website and forums, all of the original game data had been lost. The system was anxious.

Under pressure, it came up with an incomparably “brilliant” idea—

Can’t finish it anyway, so might as well treat this world as the game’s setting and launch it directly!

The system was highly efficient. Once it decided, it acted.

Happily, it hastily created a temporary Lord NPC. Though there hadn’t been time to refine the facial details, it was quite pleased with the color scheme of the outfit.

Bright. Eye-catching. Instantly distinctive.

Then it spent the entire night searching for this world’s official language, carefully studying the Brief History of Mangus City on the desk. The place was dangerous, certainly—but there had never been a shortage of adventure-loving players.

After all, courting death was part of the fun.

With its plan decided, the system waited cheerfully for dawn, ready to put its grand design into action.

It had not expected the plan to end before it began.

Its beloved Lord NPC was cut down with a single stroke, reduced to scattered data—and it itself nearly followed, about to be cleaved apart by the native known as the duchess.

It had even imitated the speech patterns of this world to deceive her. Were natives not supposed to fall to their knees in reverence upon hearing the words of a god? Why was this one trying to kill it instead?

Overwhelmed by its will to survive, the system let out a shriek.

Rosa only frowned faintly and glanced at it. “Lower your voice.”

The system immediately adjusted its volume and dimmed its green glow, doing its best to appear harmless.

Duchess Rosa had always appreciated sensible people and crystal balls.

 

She lowered her sword for the moment and said calmly, “Tell me about your origins.” A brief pause. “Preferably the truth, Mr. System. Otherwise, I cannot guarantee that you will not accidentally fall to the floor and shatter.”

System: QAQ What a terrifying native!

Feeling the threat to its existence, the system became exceedingly cooperative. It introduced itself cautiously, using the gentlest and most flattering phrasing it could manage.

Unfortunately, it was facing a duchess raised among nobles.

Rosa swiftly stripped away all embellishments and summarized:

“You wish to turn my territory into a game. Who granted you that authority?”

The system noticed her hand moving toward her sword. Its survival instinct surged once more.

Spotting the history book on the desk, it hurriedly said:

“Your Grace, if you wish to build Mangus City, you will require many craftsmen and soldiers, will you not? Please believe me—if you agree to form a contract, I can recruit a steady stream of people for you. You may call them players. They are tireless, endlessly energetic, and very inexpensive. Often, they require little to no payment at all and will gladly swear loyalty to the beautiful and elegant Duchess—”

“Repeat that.”

“About the players?”

“No. Repeat the last sentence.”

A pause.

“They will swear loyalty to the beautiful and elegant Duchess?”

Rosa’s lips curved slightly. “You are rude. Fortunately, you have good taste.”

“…”

The system began to suspect that years of crafting NPCs had left it somewhat incapable of keeping up with native logic.

Rosa took the only chair in the study, resting her sword horizontally across her knees. Facing the crystal ball, she said,

“My name is Rosa Stuart. You may address me as Duchess—or Lord. Now, explain about these players.”

The system sensed her interest. That was a promising start.

What it needed was simple: launch the game as soon as possible and gather energy from player activity.

Originally, it had intended to use this world as a foundation for its game. The only difference now was that the NPC in charge was no longer virtual, but real.

Natives were certainly less obedient than programmed ones. But… within the swing of a sword, truth was absolute. The system prided itself because it can bend and stretch.

If it could persuade the duchess to cooperate in building the game, everything would be perfect.

Thus, the system, having figured things out, actively promoted itself.

Duchess Rosa displayed remarkable patience, listening carefully to the entire explanation.

In summary: the system had accidentally entered this world—likely due to her failed summoning the previous night, which had drained her mana completely.

In its original world, countless humans were eager to contribute to building a better territory.

These humans were called players.

They were diligent, hardworking, tireless—and required very little gold. In exchange, they would swear loyalty to Rosa without hesitation and never betray her.

Rosa gazed at her reflection in the crystal ball and murmured “Never betray?”.

Her dear sister had taught her that within the Empire, there was no such thing as eternal loyalty.

The system replied promptly:

“Relevant attributes may be adjusted via the Game Console. Once the contract is established, everything is under your control.”

At once, a pale green interface appeared before Rosa, translated into Imperial script. Across the top were the words:

Game Console.

Below, in elegant script:

The “Otherworld” Game System is honored to serve you. The ‘Summon Players’ function is now available. Would you like to begin summoning?

The interface reappeared, enlarging the “Agree” button and adding a new prefix before the ornate lettering:

To the Most Beautiful Duchess.

Rosa was pleased.

But she did not press it.

As a noble, she had learned two vital lessons from her father.

First: always maximize your interests.

Second: never sign a vague contract.

Many races in this world wielded magic. Humans too had gifted mages. Contracts infused with magic took effect immediately upon voluntary agreement.

Even the most absurd clauses could not be altered or revoked once empowered by magic.

Every year, nobles in the Empire were ruined by strange contracts.

So despite the golden glow radiating from the “Agree” button, Rosa made no move to press it. Instead, she examined the interface closely.

In one corner, she noticed a small parchment icon.

She tapped it.

Though intangible, the icon flickered, and documents were retrieved.

Game Rules and Regulatory Standards.
Game Authorization and Agency Manual.
Disclaimer Agreement.

Over three hundred pages in total.

Many of the terms were unfamiliar to her.

Ordinarily, players would click “Agree” and “Next” without thought.

Not Rosa.

She scrutinized every clause, demanded explanations for each term, and required the system to insert annotations directly into the contract.

By the time she finished reading, dusk had fallen.

The original three hundred pages had expanded to over a thousand.

The system, exhausted, fell silent.

It was tired.

It did not wish to speak.

After reviewing everything and confirming that the benefits outweighed the risks, Duchess Rosa finally pressed the now fully golden “Agree” button.

“System initializing…”

“Initialization successful.”

“Game Console loaded. Map loaded. Downloading resource packages…”

Soft chimes rang in her ears.

Rosa leaned back in her chair, tapping the armrest lightly, a faint smile playing at her lips.

In truth, she had decided the moment the altered crystal ball finished explaining what players were.

Were players so different from summoned beasts?

Perhaps.

Raising summoned beasts were expensive.

Players, by contrast, sounded remarkably cheap.

Duchess Rosa, raised among nobles, found this deeply satisfying.

As for the so-called game—she cared little for it. To her, this was like a rental agreement.

The system rented her land. In return, she used it to summon players.

Mutually beneficial.

In fact, she held the advantage.

All the talk of official websites, forums, and game pods meant nothing to her. She left such matters entirely to the system, merely carrying the crystal ball once around the castle before delegating everything.

The delegation agreement alone spanned fifty pages.

After both parties confirmed and signed, the crystal ball dimmed.

The system fell silent.

Only the green interface remained:

Recruiting players. Please wait patiently. 0/10.

Rosa then relaxed and lazily leaned back in her chair.

Morris, who had stood silently throughout, asked softly, “My lady, how may I serve you?”

She gestured toward the crystal ball.

Morris locked it away in its box. The interface vanished.

“I have concluded a very profitable transaction,” Rosa said. “A most promising one.”

Morris asked no questions.

“My sincere congratulations, my lady.”

Rosa rose, stretching in a manner entirely unbefitting noble etiquette.

Facing the setting sun, she walked to the window, smiling as she looked outside.

It was still desolate. But her confidence had grown.

In Morris’s eyes, the Duchess's long golden hair was bathed in a soft glow, her delicate features were smiling, and her voice was more beautiful than any musical instrument.

“The future,” she said softly, “is always full of infinite hope, is it not?”

Morris bowed. “All praise to you, my lady.”

Just then, Rosa's golden hair fluttered slightly, making her look incredibly beautiful, The only flaw was that the wind carried sand. Rosa swiftly raised her sword to shield her face.

She stepped back two paces.

“Let us install the windows sooner rather than later.”

“Yes, my lady.”

---

The system wasted no time.

For Rosa, summoning players meant recruiting labor. but the system, it couldn’t tap strangers on the shoulder and persuade them to travel to an unknown world to do manual work.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The success rate would be low. Arrest was also a possibility.

Thus, a compelling and mature game was essential.

Fortunately, the map was ready. The setting was ready. The lore was ready. Even the NPC was ready.

The efficient system completed the game in a single day.

That night, a post appeared on a gaming forum:

“Shocking! ‘Otherworld 6: Build the Glory’ Officially Released—The First Round Of Closed Beta Incoming!”

The post included a link to the updated official website and a a video taken by Rosa using the crystal ball.

In the afterglow of sunset, the duchess sat in an armchair. Golden hair gleaming, blue eyes clear, beauty breathtaking—yet the sword at her side added a touch of elegance.

“I am Rosa Stuart, Lord of Mangus City. The future of Mangus requires the aid of brave warriors. All for the glory of the Stuart family.”

Naturally, no one could understand her language.

The system thoughtfully added subtitles.

When it proudly showed Rosa the post, intending to display its prowess, she opened the thread—and saw the top comment:

[Hot-tempered Pipi Shrimp]:
“This trash game again! I’ve had enough! I’ve been playing since the first generation. They promised full-dive evolution. As a veteran reviewer, I supported new tech. Five generations later—nice game pods, sure—but every time I log in I’m traumatized! NPCs in grotesque shapes, hideous color schemes, models collapsing at random! I’m done! Even if it’s immersive, I’m done! The dev must be a scammer selling game pods! Don’t fall for it—or you’ll gouge your own eyes out next!”

System: …

Rosa: …

She felt deep sympathy for Mr. Pipi Shrimp.

Even without knowledge of previous games, the boiled-egg-like appearance NPC had been enough.

She imagined—

A crowd of red-and-green boiled eggs.

She set down her knife.

“You should be grateful you met me.”

System: …hmph.

Though unwilling to admit it, the system knew its game wasn't very popular. Otherwise, while other systems were practically bursting at the seams, it wouldn't be so deserted here, utterly failing to garner any online playtime from players, and teetering on the brink of starvation every day.

This collaboration with Rosa was indeed unexpected, but the system also noticed that the few people in the post who expressed interest were mostly drawn in by that video clip of Rosa.

 

[Rainbow to the Sky]：I mean, the game modeling actually looks pretty good, and that young lady is gorgeous!

[Time Reveals the Heart]：The effects are truly beautiful—that sunset, that castle. Even if it looks a bit run-down, making it this convincingly dilapidated... could it be that the dog planner has finally had a change of heart and started putting money into special effects?

[Cold Blade]：A bit interested. Applied.

[Ding~Wooden Man]：Holy crap, a big shot! Front row, group photo!

[Time Reveals the Heart]：Group photo +1!

[Hot-tempered Pipi Shrimp]：...You'll all regret this sooner or later, just wait! I tell you, if this dog planner can act like a decent human being, I'll eat my computer!

In this post, some were cursing, some were hesitant, some were on the fence, and some were dead set on finding a way to meet Duchess Rosa.

All in all, the post became popular.

The system, which had thought it was done for, suddenly sat up straight.

Rosa wasn't familiar with forums, but she could see the pattern: "Controversy creates topics. Public opinion often has nothing to do with right or wrong."

The system understood.

Even bad publicity is still publicity!

So, seizing the moment, the system released a second announcement:

"Players selected to participate in the first test will receive a 30-day free trial of the game pod."

……!

Could it be that the dog planner has suddenly become so generous this time?

A single stone stirs a thousand ripples. Many people submitted their applications, thinking, "Might as well try, nothing to lose."

When the number of applicants reached five hundred, the system fed the list and application forms back to the console.

Rosa didn't choose randomly. She looked very carefully, even calling Morris over to help her.

After all, this wasn't simply about selecting players; it was about recruiting laborers for her territory.

Since they would be living in her territory, naturally, she had to choose meticulously.

And among these applicants, Rosa spotted a familiar name.

"Hot-tempered Pipi Shrimp"? She remembered that this was the Mr. Pipi Shrimp who had previously talked about eating his computer. For that reason, Rosa had even specifically asked what a "computer" was.

Although this person's application was written somewhat simply, Rosa checked him off anyway.

The Duchess was rather curious to see someone eat a computer.

 

After the ten players were selected, the system quickly arranged for their game pods and announced the list of closed beta testers on the official website.

Rosa wasn't in a hurry. She took this time to properly have people repair the castle.

Five days later, the crystal ball suddenly glowed, and cursive script slowly appeared on the console:

[Would you like to begin summoning players?]

"Yes."

[Loading data... Loading complete.]

[Game start.]

 

Author's Note:

Hot-tempered Pipi Shrimp: Having personally witnessed groups of boiled eggs with my own eyes, I am absolutely not playing this crappy game!

Rosa: Looks at application form.jpg

Hot-tempered Pipi Shrimp: ... ...Fine, I'll play it. But only to critique it. Hmph!

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