Geulk? — When Success Breeds Diplomatic Incidents
Geulk?
Doom's Hell Slayer was slowly dying.
It technically had multiplayer, but that had never been more than a side feature, and once you cleared every stage, there was simply nothing left to do.
And yet Doom's Hell Slayer had planted the seed that would make countless games bloom endlessly, and then moved on.
Numbers of illusion-magic specialists had pivoted into game development, built their own titles, and signed contracts with us — and thanks to them, the gaming ecosystem was growing livelier and more diverse by the day.
That said, it was also true that no game had yet hit the kind of megahit status that Doom's Hell Slayer had achieved.
Was the game business a flash in the pan destined to fizzle out?
Decent-but-unremarkable titles kept coming out, but honestly, it was still too early to sink massive capital into making a truly serious game.
Then, one day, as those murmurs were circulating through the Wyrod Dimension—
"Didn't they say this game was made by pouring in 10,000 gold coins?"
"What lunatic drops ten thousand gold on a game? What absolute dumbass."
"They say it was Elsie Bwenner of the Black Magic Tower!"
"So I'm the dumbass, huh. A game Elsie Bwenner dumped 10,000 gold into? Yeah, I can't let that slide. What game is this?"
War Era 2 launched.
People wondered why it was called War Era 2 and not 1, but before long, the question of what the 2 in the title meant had become entirely irrelevant.
"You son of a bitch! The same strategy AGAIN, you bastard!"
"Mmhm. Feeling salty? Then you could always use it too."
"I'm losing my mind. I snapped out of it and three whole days had gone by."
War Era 2 was fun.
Not just regular fun — it was batshit insane levels of fun.
The rumors about the 10,000 gold investment were no exaggeration.
A fresh, original system. Gripping gameplay. Meticulously tuned map and race balance.
And above all, the graphics were a ludicrous leap forward compared to the cheap, cobbled-together look of Doom's Hell Slayer's afterthought-quality visuals.
The game captivated the entire Wyrod Dimension in the blink of an eye.
We hadn't even advertised all that heavily.
Out of fairness to the other games, War Era 2 got ads on Soul Net at roughly the same level of promotion everyone else was running.
But after a while, the game caught on so hard that advertising became completely unnecessary.
When something's genuinely fun, people come running. And when people come running—
The ecosystem grew on its own, word of mouth spread, and the game marketed itself.
There was no advertising better than this.
And the War Era 2 Gallery was considerably more foul-mouthed than the other galleries.
It couldn't help but be.
Friends. Family. A complete stranger matched at random online.
Lose to any of them and get beaten down, and that night was a sleepless night.
And that was precisely the charm of War Era 2 — or to be more precise, of real-time strategy simulation games.
Today you lost, but you knew that if you picked the same race and ran the same strategy, you could win just the same way next time.
You knew that with a bit more skill, you could grind that bastard's face into the dirt.
And so War Era 2 went absolutely supernova.
A million copies sold?
That milestone had long since been obliterated.
The Black Magic Tower was once again overflowing with customers flocking to buy Mana Fruit, and the Blizzard Guild got rich.
And the Blizzard Guild getting rich meant exactly one thing: its owner, the Black Magic Tower, got rich.
"Ten thousand gold coins? An investment more than justified. MORE than justified!"
"Do you have any idea what the Mana Fruit revenue looks like right now, Elsie? Bwahahaha!"
"This isn't just one game selling well! Soul Net's user count is climbing all over again! It's the exact same phenomenon as the Doom's Hell Slayer boom!"
"Ad rates went up again! AGAIN!"
The investment had long since paid for itself and then some.
And so I scored another historic, legend-making success, and my word began to be treated as gospel inside the Black Magic Tower.
But what I prized most about this success wasn't the money.
The money?
Obviously, we made an astronomical amount. Sales had passed a million copies and were closing in on two million, still climbing with no sign of slowing.
Besides, having invested the 10,000 gold, I'd prepared every other type of business model in advance, too.
Skin sales for in-game units and buildings would, even after copy sales dipped, keep steadily lining our pockets — a beautiful, reliable revenue stream.
But more than the money, what felt like the true triumph was that people had begun to feel the thrill of competition through games.
We didn't yet have a video platform or a full-fledged broadcasting system.
That would take a bit more time.
But the moment that system was complete—
everyone would come flooding in to watch others compete through games.
Given the popularity and heat surrounding games right now, that much was a foregone conclusion.
And at that point? That becomes a brand-new sport.
With burning passion, I began pouring time and effort into building Soul Net's video platform and completing the live broadcasting system.
After the games' back-to-back successes, bullets were no longer in short supply — I had money to burn.
Cost as much as it wants. I would build the sturdiest, most flawless new system the world had ever seen, and unveil it to all!
Then, one day, as I was pouring my grand dream into development—
I realized that War Era 2 had succeeded a little too well.
"Elsie! Elsie! It's a disaster! You need to come to the imperial palace, right now!"
And when something succeeds too much, well—
"The wood elves and the dwarves! And the Orc Great Warchief have come to the imperial court to lodge a formal protest! They say they don't like how their races are portrayed in War Era 2!"
problems have a way of finding you.
Puaroda, the elven kingdom guarding the World Tree.
Rondaim, the subterranean dwarven kingdom dwelling in vast ore veins deep within craggy mountains.
And Korwell, the confederation of orc tribes who roamed the great plains, hunting astride wolves.
These three were, among all the non-human races of the Wyrod Dimension, the only ones judged capable of surviving a full-scale war against human power.
The elves, with their overwhelming spirit arts and magic.
The dwarves, with their absurdly advanced weaponry and magic.
And the orcs, with raw physicality, sheer numbers — and magic.
Roughly a hundred years ago, the human Valrod Empire and elven Puaroda, orcish Korwell, and dwarven Rondaim had waged a colossal total war known as the Tooth War.
After that catastrophic conflict, in which countless lives perished and perished again—
with the execution of the Fallen King Gilmore, the war's root cause, the four races swore peace to one another.
Never again, they vowed, would they wage such a terrible war.
And yet that peace was so fragile that every single year it wobbled on the brink — so fragile that the leaders of each nation had to gather annually and issue a joint declaration promising to strive for peace.
Why?
"Those arrogant, pointy-eared bastards who worship trees in their forests."
"Those disgusting stump-legged diggers who do nothing but tunnel in the dirt."
"Tsk. I smell the stench of midgets and soft-skins."
""Filthy orc scum, the lot of them!""
The races had never gotten along to begin with.
Because the peace could shatter at any moment, the heads of each nation had to meet every year, smile and shake hands, put on their little show of striving for peace, and suppress the loathing and fury smoldering between them.
And right in the middle of all that came—
War Era 2.
The problem was that the game was simply too much fun.
"Human. What exactly are you doing right now?"
"Ah! Your Excellency! It's a game. A game."
"A... game? It seems our race appears in it?"
"Yes! You all appear in it. As an extremely powerful race, no less."
".........Hold on. Isn't that a filthy orc beating down our race inside the game right now?"
"Well, yes, but it's a game. A game. Hahaha!"
"A game or not! Are you telling me it's acceptable to display our race being slaughtered?! Tell me! What is this game? I shall make our race the strongest race in it!"
Elves, dwarves, and orcs who interacted with humans found their way into War Era 2 through one channel or another — and just like that, they transformed into the most ferociously passionate players the game had ever seen.
What's more, the orc, elf, and dwarf players weren't playing merely because the game was fun.
"This is about our race's PRIDE! We cannot lose!"
"Watching those arrogant pointy-eared bastards drop dead even if only inside a game does a man's heart some good."
"Tsk! As expected, orcs are the strongest!"
They played with their race's pride on the line.
And because pride was on the line, the game sold better and better and grew bigger and bigger.
Young orcs, elves, and dwarves swarming the nearest Black Magic Tower branch to buy Mana Fruit became such a common sight across the Wyrod Dimension — the Valrod Empire included — that no one batted an eye anymore.
And when the heads of each nation watched the game spread through their young generations and actually looked at its contents—
"You're telling me this is a game where our elves are murdered! By orcs! By dwarves! By humans!"
"You've drawn us as nothing but ugly little stump-legged diggers!"
"Tsk! What is this?! You've painted us orcs as ignorant buffoons!"
They were incandescent with rage.
This wasn't about harmful content or addictive design or any of that.
They were furious at how their own peoples were depicted inside the game.
The leaders of each nation dispatched delegations to lodge formal protests, and the delegations converged on the imperial palace of the Valrod Empire, largest and grandest of the human realms.
Me. The Tower Master. And the five founders of the Blizzard Guild, naturally, were all summoned as well.
And there, gathered in that palace chamber, we received—
"Draw the dwarven race more handsomely! Especially the beards! What in the blazes is this?! Our dwarves' faces do not look like this!"
"Tsk! You've made us orcs out to be nothing but a mindless race that wins by flooding the field with bodies! I refuse to accept this game! Change the game! If you will not change the game's very nature, we shall protest politically!"
"Delete this game! You dare make a game in which our elven people are slaughtered?! By the name of our Mother Tree, we cannot tolerate this! Delete it! Delete it NOW!"
We got absolutely carpet-bombed by the delegations of three nations.
And to make matters worse, what the three races' representatives wanted was subtly, maddeningly different from one another.
The dwarves demanded graphical improvements to the in-game dwarf race. The orcs demanded a change to the game's race mechanics.
The elves, meanwhile, demanded that the game be deleted outright.
"Now, now! Everyone, please, calm down! Calm! I'm quite sure Elsie Bwenner and the mages of the Black Magic Tower had no intention of insulting the races gathered here!"
His Imperial Majesty, receiving the delegations, tried his utmost to smooth things over with a smile, but the representatives of each race showed not the slightest sign of backing down.
"You have made a mockery of us dwarves! The beards, especially! What is this?! Our beards are a matter of great importance to us! This is an insult! We cannot tolerate being portrayed this way!"
"You've painted us orcs — tsk! — as nothing but moronic cripples with big numbers! And we're supposed to sit still for that?! Change the traits of our race in the game! Make them valiant and mighty warriors!"
"Delete the game! Now! We cannot stand by and watch our noble Guardians of the Tree slaughtered — not even in a game!"
Before the bellowing fury of the three races' representatives, the five Blizzard Guild developers floundered and bowed their heads, while the Tower Master tried desperately to talk them down — but in my view, both approaches were dead wrong.
I waved my hands to calm the room, then stepped carefully forward.
"I am truly, deeply sorry. We never had any intention of insulting you through this game. We will accommodate your requests to the fullest extent possible. The appearance of the beards on the in-game dwarves? We will accept your feedback and improve them. The issue of the orcs' depiction? We will fix it. We will do our absolute best. And we offer our sincere apologies."
I bowed my head carefully, keeping close watch on the three representatives.
The dwarf and the orc looked satisfied with my words.
"There we go! So long as you fix the beards, we have no complaints! It really is a fun game, I'll grant you that!"
"Tsk! Our young orcs love the game too. So long as you do something about how we're depicted, we have no complai—"
"DELETE it! I said delete it! The game itself is unacceptable! We cannot stand by and watch the Guardians of our Tree consumed as mere entertainment!"
But the elves would not stop there.
I kept my head bowed in apology — and at the same time, my eyes gleamed.
There.
Instinct told me that that was exactly the fault line I needed to drive a wedge into.
"Understood. At the Guardian of the Tree's request, we shall delete the game. However, it is already a game enjoyed by a great many people. Not only humans, but many young orcs and dwarves as well. Deleting it may well mean snatching that joy away from them."
I paused for a beat, put on the most pitiful expression I could muster, and pressed the request once more.
"But if the elven people could show just a measure of magnanimity and allow the game to remain—"
"Absolutely not! We cannot watch our elves butchered so mercilessly! NEVER! So delete it. We will not tolerate depictions of our kin dying!"
At the elf representative's words, I slowly turned my gaze to the dwarf and orc representatives.
".........I apologize. At the request of the Kingdom of Puaroda, we will regrettably have to delete the game. I'm sorry to stir up discord between the two of you in this manner."
At my words, the faces of the orc and dwarf representatives twisted in a very particular way.
And the elf representative, too busy spewing fury, failed to notice the change in the other two.
"Never make such a vulgar, imbecilic game again! The moment our elves appear in a game as villains or as fodder to be slaughtered, we shall protest again!"
And at that exact moment — the very instant the elf representative shouted those words with such triumphant confidence—
"Tsk. Your Imperial Majesty. On reflection, we orcs withdraw our protest regarding the portrayal of the orc race in the game."
"The Kingdom of Rondaim, land of the dwarves, likewise withdraws its protest on this matter. The beards — eh, whatever. It wasn't really that hideous anyway. A little polish would still be nice, mind you."
At the dwarves' and orcs' sudden about-face, bewilderment bloomed across the elf representative's face.
And as the orc and dwarf representatives looked back at him with something close to mockery, they continued.
"Tsk. We orcs are magnanimous warriors of the plains. We have no interest in getting our feathers ruffled over how we look inside some trivial bit of entertainment."
"The same goes for us dwarves. The beard matters to us, yes, but we can be patient. It's only a game, after all."
"Having played it — tsk — it's fun, I'll admit. We'll enjoy entertainment for exactly what it is. The orc tribes of Korwell formally retract our protest."
"The dwarven kingdom of Rondaim shall extend its grace as well. We're not so petty as to demand a game be deleted just because our race happens to die in it."
The meaning behind those words was crystal clear.
Petty, pointy-eared bastards.
You got that butthurt over a GAME?
That was exactly what it meant.