The Penniless Protagonist and the Legendary Showdown

I nearly wept with despair when I logged into the game, only to discover an official top-up rebate event offering genuinely good benefits.

As the saying goes, ‘a single penny can stump a hero,’ and at this moment, I was utterly penniless.

Ling Chen had already withheld a portion of my funds in advance, ensuring I wouldn’t starve myself to death.

Why did I loathe the bourgeoisie so fiercely?

The reason was simple: I could never become one of them.

People didn’t despise the wealthy; they grieved over their own inability to achieve wealth.

Alas, why couldn’t I be rich!

Even before my appearance, readers had queried how many girlfriends Ling Chen had. Oh, no, that wasn’t it; they asked how much money I possessed.

I maintained that the author owed an apology to all readers for portraying me as a pauper.

Who wants to read about a penniless protagonist!

How vulgar!

Suddenly, I remembered a novel I hadn’t updated in ages. Could updating it earn me some soft currency?

Perhaps…

No, I’ll just ghost it.

As the Pigeon God once declared, ‘To ghost when you expect me to ghost is, in itself, not ghosting.’

Could an author’s delay truly be called procrastination?

It was merely the accumulation of material. Speaking of which, I needed to manually @ that old scoundrel Togashi.

The profound sense of immorality and guilt from procrastinating on updates somehow diluted the despondency of my poverty.

This was an era of downward comparison, whether between nations, corporations, games, or individuals—everyone was vying to be the least bad.

After all, sometimes people couldn’t find happiness in the joy of others, but they could certainly find it in others’ misfortunes.

A scoundrel like me, for instance, could derive pleasure from the agony readers felt when a story was abandoned or stopped updating.

Yet, upon closer reflection, readers were far wealthier than I was…

How utterly tragic! It turned out I was the sole loser!

No, I had to reclaim my confidence within the game!

“Idiotic game, logging in!”

The empire’s late autumn bore no resemblance to the mortal realm.

It was a desolate scene of rustling leaves, the sky ablaze with the setting sun—the lingering afterglow of an era fading away.

Before the empire’s dilapidated city gates stood a lone figure, seemingly dissolving into the autumnal decay of the long-dead land.

Silence.

Solitude.

‘The barking of dogs at a brushwood gate, a traveler returning on a snowy night.’

He carried a profound indifference and weariness deep in his bones, yet paradoxically, an oppressive killing intent emanated from him.

He was weary, perhaps only because he had grown tired of the endless struggle that stretched before him.

He yearned to kill, simply because he had been repeatedly manipulated by villains.

A sword rested in his hand.

It was a holy blade, forged from pure adamantine and countless rare materials.

Many in the game recognized this sword, and just as many knew the man himself.

He and his sword had gained renown throughout the gaming world when the first World Boss was vanquished by his raid group. Though the version had since updated, and he was no longer the strongest, he refused to lay down his holy blade, and others would not permit him to do so.

To relinquish this sword would signify the end of his glory.

Fame, at times, was like a burden—an inescapable weight.

“9:00 PM. Imperial Capital City Gate, in front of the Holy Light Monastery. Cleanse your throat, and bring your sword!”

He remembered these words, repeatedly broadcast across the game.

As the in-game clock struck 21:00, everyone watching his livestream held their breath.

The sun had set, and a blood-red moon ascended.

A figure strode down the ancient path, cloaked in black robes, their face concealed by a skull mask. A skull staff rested in their hand, and dangerous red light flickered in their eyes. They gazed with a touch of trepidation at the sacred holy sword, awed by its warmth and radiance.

No one saw their footsteps; they drifted forward like a phantom, stopping a dozen meters away, then suddenly spoke in a hoarse voice: “Xiyue.”

“Yes.”

“Is your Holy Mother’s Lament Eleven Swords truly invincible?”

“Not necessarily.”

The figure chuckled, a sneering, cold sound: “I am White Knight 09. Today, I shall cast you, the order-aligned lackey, down from your pedestal.”

“I know.”

“Did you summon me here?”

“I knew you were searching for me. You’ve been slaughtering new players of the order faction across the wilderness, hoping to draw me out for a PK, haven’t you?”

“Indeed. You’re clever. Because I’m going to utterly crush you.”

Xiyue stated calmly: “You are not the only one who wishes to defeat me.”

“The former leader of a raid group, the pinnacle of the Paladin class, the most respected player. If I can achieve victory today, I will immediately make my Demon Lord title resound across the game servers.”

09 sneered, adding, “There are many ways to strike at the morale of the order faction. For instance, we have already destroyed this order-aligned empire. And once I, 09, defeat you, this damned hero, I will completely shatter your order faction’s power.”

Xiyue replied coldly: “Come. I’m tired of this. Is there any point to your constant harassment, always spouting insults and cursing my entire family? If I don’t grind you to dust today, I’ll quit the game entirely.”

“Amusing. Death Coil!”

09 launched a blatant sneak attack, utterly without grace. In the wilderness, both players were flagged red; whoever died would be utterly finished.

Ruined reputation, utter defeat.

Xiyue’s expression darkened. Facing the high-level magic infused with violent destructive power, he swiftly raised his heavy holy sword and decisively activated a skill.

“Holy Light Shield!”

The impact of the colliding skills stirred up countless scattered fallen leaves.

Under the moon, the autumn colors were rich, and the leaves danced in the air like scattered petals from a celestial maiden.

“That idiot Xiyue, he doesn’t know I’m stream-sniping, does he? Haha, livestreaming a PK, he’s practically killing me with laughter.”

Watching the livestream while playing the game was pure bliss.

As the ultimate shut-in, I maintained three monitors: one for videos, one for gaming, and one for data analysis.

If a normal person saw my room, they’d probably think I was a tech guru or a hacker—it looked very advanced.

Simultaneously, a pile of modified second-hand phones lay before me, specifically set up to automatically grind games using scripts I designed.

Of course, I never created cheats involving packet manipulation or memory reading/writing. I only made labor-saving macro scripts for personal use, never for sale or transfer. While I wasn’t sure if it counted as illegal, game developers had largely turned a blind eye for so long that I became a ‘tech party’ member.

However, I advise other players not to imitate my scummy methods. Just focus on grinding for your ‘waifus’ in peace. If the officials ever caught you and banned your account, you’d be beyond tears.

Playing games with technology might seem glorious, but it’s like constantly testing the edge of a cliff; falling off is inevitable. Don’t rely on luck.

I was just such a shameless fellow, much like my stream-sniping during PKs—I’d stop at nothing to achieve my goal.

Xiyue, that guy, had always been my archenemy in the game. Tonight, I was definitely going to teach him a good lesson.

Hehe, whether I actually won was one thing. My objectives were, first, to create buzz, and second, to loot his gear and sell it.

The beauty of this game lay in its highly customizable equipment. Some top players’ gear possessed unique histories, backgrounds, and the distinct imprint of its user, making such one-of-a-kind items extremely valuable for collectors.

If I could manage to make Xiyue drop his gear and then list it on the auction house, hehe, I’d just wait for his fangirls to scramble to throw money at me!

“You have been killed. Your passive resurrection has been used.”

Holy cow, this guy was too strong!

One-shotting me with a single sword strike, that was utterly absurd.

The situation had become somewhat delicate.

But…

“Heh heh, you thought that was all I had.”

During the resurrection cooldown, I opened the announcement board and glanced at the rows of 99+ sparkling World Horns in my inventory. Then, I opened my input method editor and tested my keyboard’s responsiveness.

It seemed it was time once again to protect my family with my hand speed.

Ten-year veteran troll, uninvited!

Take this, little Xiyue!