Chapter 228
Chapter 228
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 228
Chapter Title: 98. Spirit Mausoleum (1)
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This unicorn guy.
Not only did he suddenly hit me up, but he even tracked down Foxgame out of nowhere.
It's a bit startling, but you can't just ghost a friend you haven't messaged in ages.
I calmed myself and fired back a cool reply.
Strictly speaking, we're on each other's block lists.
Or maybe Foxgame talked a big game about blocking me but never actually did.
Countless users have proven it—no one's ever met this Skeleton in real life and walked away thinking he's a pushover.
Everyone takes me pretty damn seriously.
"......"
Tap tap
Whether it was my overconfident vibe or Unicorn's usual fondness and respect for me, he soon spilled his troubles.
Come to think of it, I logged into Monster Park briefly the other day, and some weirdo was wandering right in front of me.
Was that Unicorn?
His story lines up perfectly.
No one plays that turd of a game, as far as I know.
The sole exception? This guy.
Anyway, Unicorn18 is one of the few VIPs I give special treatment on our board.
Especially since he's tied to the exact intel I'm dying to know.
Awkward rubbing elbows with Foxgame, but scoring points with Unicorn18? Solid trade.
Said it with full swagger.
But reality bites hard.
My years online screamed it: Foxgame blocked me.
No response.
But he's not idle—he's spamming the board right this second.
"......"
One hundred percent blocked.
That human trash strutting around with his little mod armband, basking in the admiration of countless users—he's evolved into the kind of guy who couldn't care less about peons like me.
When you're dissed online, what's the play?
Most rational fix: lean on a mutual contact.
No such bridge between me and Foxgame.
Plan B: admin intervention.
This Skeleton's got some cred with the board ops, at least.
I pinged the admin for backup.
Viva Bot's consistent—zero help when it counts.
Third option it is, then.
The classic, time-honored solution: drag reality into the internet.
I know exactly where Foxgame crashes and how to break in.
And that his combat chops wouldn't last five seconds against me.
"What? Gonna step out for a bit—fill the paddy with water, yeah?"
I radioed Cheon Youngjae to handle today's chores.
"Sure, I'll do it if you say so. But you griped about me showing up, and now you're putting me to work the second I get here?"
As I soothed his bitching and geared up to head out—
"......"
Foxgame, you spared Unicorn the block.
Three-day extension, though.
Setting aside my beef with Foxgame, not a bad outcome.
A game with one player? Keeping it alive is charity work.
Bombed on earning Unicorn's favor, but this doesn't suck.
Just as I waved off the mini-crisis—
Unicorn18 dropped the invite out of the blue.
Monster Park.
Once the last online game standing post-apocalypse, it pulled in crowds. Now? Shutdown's locked in—a world on death row.
The graveyards that blanketed it back in the day? All scrubbed clean. This text-based realm was empty... except for us.
My nick wasn't Skeleton in this dying game because it was a bog-standard throwaway account.
A rare remnant from my chummy days with Foxgame.
Swapped it per Unicorn's tip, and he tossed a party invite.
"Party" meant the leader hijacks your movement—drags you wherever like a puppet.
Primitive, barebones game mechanics at their finest.
Accepted, and Unicorn—as Monster Park's last survivor—yanked me god-speed to some spot.
Text blurred by in a frenzy.
Scroll frenzy over, black backdrop faded in with crisp white text crawling across: A small, weathered castle stands.
The sign out front reads: "Unicorn's Castle."
This...
Heard whispers.
Monster Park had housing—build your dream pad in the digital ether.
Endgame content for high-levers. Us noobs? Barely knew it existed.
But the final boss player? Unicorn owned a full-on castle.
Unicorn piped up through his game avatar.
Unicorn griped as he led me inside.
Castle? Text construct.
Description? A handful of lines, probably Unicorn-penned.
He beamed with pride, clearly.
Unicorn's hype clashed with my guest-tourist ennui, which grew by the minute.
Data scraps dressed up? Still just lame text lines. Zero charm in "Unicorn's Castle."
Didn't wanna sour things, though. Forced the over-the-top act.
Soulless hype like that? Short shelf life.
Unicorn started pumped, touring his endless pile—but clocked my apathy quick.
Blunt. Dead serious.
Mulled it over.
Honesty wins.
I craved truth from him. Faking it for the truth-seeker? Pointless hypocrisy.
Unicorn18's avatar? Pure text blob. No visuals.
But right then, I swear I envisioned him gazing at his masterpiece-cum-memory lane.
Hit home.
For time-rich wrecks like us, a blind obsession? It's lifeblood.
That line? Couldn't help smirking.
Tap tap
Unicorn's curveball forced me to chew on his angle awhile.
You get that, right?
Mulled, then typed back a question.
Not a thought I'd never had.
Humans crave legacy—screaming "I existed!" to the future.
Pyramids. Dolmens. Timeless proof.
My spin?
Quirky dream.
Raw honesty slipped out—nailed my real question on the first swing. Shocked myself.
Enter key regret? Nah—felt right after.
Oh yeah—heard about Chinese demanding the Failnet server on my Seoul trip.
Ominous artifact. But this critical?
Easy? Hard? Nah—straight impossible.
Rad hellhole trek? Suicide. Data yank? Fantasy.
Then Unicorn hits with the bait.