Warcraft and the Kids - October 1, 1994

If you call yourself a true PC gamer, today is a date you must remember.

Return to Castle Wolfenstein, the official sequel to Wolfenstein, has just launched. The story follows protagonist William Joseph Blazkowicz—better known as BJ—the man who barely escaped the nightmarish Nazi bio-experiments at Wolfenstein Castle in the previous game. Now he returns to crush everything in his path: pursuing Nazi artifact hunters, stopping V2 rocket launches, sabotaging new weapon development, and ultimately taking down the completed biological super-soldiers.

Leveraging the full power of the latest 3D acceleration cards, the game delivered graphics that left players speechless by 1994 standards. It also boldly blended RPG elements into the FPS formula.

Yoo Jae-won nodded in approval as he read the article from GameSpot, the premier computer gaming magazine displayed on his monitor. Compared to the previous piece he had seen—which had baselessly trashed a game purely for clicks—this one felt refreshingly fair. It seemed like an unusual number of articles were deliberately stirring controversy around Return to Castle Wolfenstein. Given the original’s towering reputation, reviews were flooding in. Many simply used sensational headlines to drive traffic. Others felt like thinly veiled sabotage from competitors.

This particular review, however, stood out. It began with solid background on the story and moved into thoughtful technical analysis. Jae-won found himself reading it from start to finish instead of skimming past the headline.

“Heh. That’s not all they did,” Jae-won murmured.

John Romero, who had sharpened his blade with the firm intention of surpassing his rivals this time, had poured equal passion into multiplayer. He strengthened the netcode to support deathmatches with up to sixteen players on a single map and boosted communication between server and client to thirty times per second. The result was a level of responsiveness that felt nearly identical to single-player.

“Exactly. Ignore sound and the whole game falls apart,” Jae-won said with a knowing smile.

The story of how Romero had completely overhauled the sound team after receiving Chairman Yoo’s feedback during beta testing had already become legendary. The lead developer took the criticism to heart, scrapped everything his team had produced, and brought in a professional studio. Following Jae-won’s suggestions to the letter, they hired both a full orchestra and a talented rock band for the score. Gunfire sounds were recorded in multiple real-world conditions to capture authentic variations.

Yoo Jae-won let out a low whistle after reading the review to the end.

“That’s exactly the score it deserves.”

Both he and ID Entertainment had placed enormous expectations on RTCW. Inside the company, a small betting pool had formed around which of the games releasing sequentially from August would perform best. The clear favorite—at the shortest odds—was Return to Castle Wolfenstein. Quake followed closely behind. The long shots, carrying the highest payouts, were Warcraft and the PlayStation expansion for Doom 1.

Yoo Jae-won, of course, had joined the bet. Since it had been created in the ID Talk group chat, anyone with access ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠could participate. Never one to miss out on fun, he had naturally placed his wager. However, picking the obvious favorite would have been boring, so he deliberately chose the underdog: Warcraft.

“I wonder how many copies have sold by now?”

Only a few hours had passed since launch, yet curiosity about the bet’s outcome gnawed at him. Jae-won immediately launched the Battle.net monitoring program.

A few years ago, calculating sales figures would have taken considerable time. Real-time tracking was impossible; distributors only settled accounts after three months. Now things were different. Because ID handled one hundred percent of its own packaging, order volumes could be checked instantly. Furthermore, by requiring gamers to register CD keys on Battle.net, they could see the exact number of active users in real time.

These advantages were worth spreading. That was why Quake, scheduled for release next month, along with all future PC games from ID Entertainment, would integrate their multiplayer exclusively through Battle.net.

Jae-won’s vision for Battle.net was far grander. While it currently supported only multiplayer, he planned to expand it into a full game launcher. Combined with online sales through ESD.com, the entire journey—from purchase to execution—could be unified on a single platform. It would be more convenient for users and allow developers to meet all their customers through one gateway, maximizing efficiency.

Offline distributors and retail stores would undoubtedly feel the impact.

The monitoring program connected to Battle.net quickly displayed the number of CD keys being registered for RTCW.

“Whoa! Over a hundred thousand keys already registered.”

Only a few hours since official sales began, and gamers’ purchasing power had already exceeded expectations. The game’s massive name recognition and dedicated fanbase made the difference. The speed of CD key registrations on day one was visibly faster than Warcraft’s had been.

Of course, these numbers also meant Jae-won was likely to lose the office bet. Still, no matter who won, his own pockets only grew fatter. He couldn’t help but smile.

At the same time, he confirmed that RTCW was following the same pattern he had observed with Warcraft.

“Sigh. Once again, most players are heading straight into multiplayer.”

Yoo Jae-won clicked his tongue while examining the monitoring data. Players who had spent less than an hour in the game were all jumping into multiplayer servers. The single-player campaign in Return to Castle Wolfenstein had received just as much care as Warcraft’s. Although it lacked cinematic CG, it introduced groundbreaking in-engine event scenes. Yet many gamers were skipping that carefully crafted experience entirely.

“It’s not like they get any bonus for starting with multiplayer. Hmm. Is fighting other people just that much more fun?”

Warcraft at least had a bronze, silver, and gold ranking system. Starting multiplayer early and securing a high initial rank made climbing the ladder easier for early players. Since rankings were based on relative rather than absolute performance, even modest skill could secure a good position at the beginning.

RTCW, however, did not divide players into separate ranks. As an FPS, such divisions held little meaning. Instead, players earned experience with every match, and accumulated points gradually increased their military rank—from Private all the way to Field Marshal. The amount of experience required increased exponentially, making promotions difficult once the higher ranks came into view.

Still, there was no need to obsess over rank. Matchmaking did not consider military grade at all. A hidden ELO system calculated true skill. Winning streaks would match players against others of similar ability, while losing streaks would pair them with beginners so they could still taste victory.

“After all, nothing ruins the fun faster than being mocked for being bad at the game.”

Among the biggest sources of conflict in gaming communities were people insulting the game itself and others criticizing individual skill. Having a visible rank made the latter inevitable. Even if it meant many players would skip the lovingly crafted single-player content, Jae-won reminded himself to simply feel grateful that they had bought the game at all.

“At this rate, they’ll hit a million copies in five days.”

Pre-orders through offline channels alone had reached 1.5 million units. While shipments did not equal immediate sales, the blistering pace of CD key registration suggested inventory would disappear quickly.

“I wonder if the Deokjin-ri factory can keep up.”

His thoughts naturally turned to packaging production. Among ID Group’s Korean organizations, the largest by far was ID Display, which was busy mass-producing mobile panels for Tiffany Phones as well as LCD panels for laptops and monitors. A separate research institute focused on advancing LCD technology.

The second-largest operation was the packaging factory in Deokjin-ri. Though technically part of ID Technology rather than an independent entity, it now employed more than a thousand workers. The fears some employees had expressed about layoffs when floppy disk production was eliminated had proven groundless. On the contrary, the factory had hired aggressively, drawing workers not only from Yeoju but from across Gyeonggi Province.

Korea’s economy was booming, so factories everywhere were running day and night. Yet nowhere treated production-line workers better than ID Group, which explained the factory’s popularity.

Alongside the influx of manpower, the company had embraced automation. As a result, they could now produce tens of thousands of packages per day. Even that capacity would soon be tested. Packages for Warcraft through Quake were already in production, and they would soon need to prepare for Android 95 and ID Office 95, both scheduled for a late November Thanksgiving release.

Computer manufacturers had previously received only CD keys and created their own bundled versions. From now on, except for a few major partners, all systems would ship with boxed retail packages produced at the Deokjin-ri factory.

A handful of unscrupulous manufacturers had leaked their CD keys into the gray market, creating victims and allowing thousands of PCs to register using the same key. While these were clearly individual users and no keys were revoked, the situation remained infuriating.

Companies like TG, Dell, HP, and Compaq, along with major electronics firms in other countries, were given the choice between the old and new methods. All remaining manufacturers were required to adopt the packaged approach without exception.

This left smaller operations like those in Yongsan Electronics Market, which assembled their own systems and installed Android for free. The only solution was occasional copyright enforcement raids to instill a healthy sense of caution.

“Still, if more people would buy from ESD.com, it would ease the burden on the packaging plant.”

Thinking of ESD.com, Jae-won clicked the bookmark in his web browser and navigated to the site. The main page featured large promotional images for both Warcraft, released a month earlier, and today’s launch title, RTCW. Digital download versions were being sold alongside the physical packages.

Scrolling further revealed every piece of software ID Group had ever released. Older titles carried massive discounts—some reaching ninety percent off. Even new releases received a ten-percent discount to offset packaging costs, a bold policy.

“The gap between offline and online sales is still enormous.”

The difference in RTCW numbers was striking. Physical pre-orders had exceeded one million, while ESD.com had sold only about five thousand digital copies. This followed the typical ESD.com pattern: strong opening day numbers followed by a sharp decline. Warcraft had sold two thousand copies on day one but was now moving only thirty to forty copies daily, nearly a month later.

“The biggest issue is still download speed. There’s also the psychological disadvantage of not having a physical product in your hands.”

Owning ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a physical box you could display on a shelf gave a sense of satisfaction. The larger and more elaborate the package, the greater the pride. That was why RTCW’s limited edition, despite costing twice as much as the standard version, was selling well.

File size presented another problem. At one megabyte per second, downloading RTCW took twenty minutes. Slower connections required over an hour. With many users still on modems, ESD.com’s customer base remained limited.

“It looks like it will take another ten years before ESD revenue surpasses physical sales. I wonder how Nextcomcast is doing.”

Contemplating ESD.com naturally led Jae-won to think about Nextcomcast. The interconnected nature ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of ID Group’s businesses meant one topic flowed seamlessly into the next.

He opened ID Talk and found the latest report from President Henry Samuel.

“This is already a month old.”

Since he had already read it and it was only a summary document, it lacked detailed figures. Jae-won sent Henry a quick message requesting more specific data on Information Superhighway construction progress and current broadband internet penetration rates.

A few seconds later, ID Talk chimed again. He expected a swift reply from Henry, but the message was from someone else.

“Oh? It’s the Alpha Team.”

It was a note from the Alpha Team, whose contact had grown infrequent lately. During the operating system development in Redmond, questions had poured in daily. After the project ended, communication had abruptly stopped. Receiving a message after so long felt pleasant.

However, this note was not personal. It contained something far more important: a compiled report analyzing the performance and features of security software submitted for the Secure Area.

Jae-won had maintained a neutral stance on vendor selection. Choosing any single company would inevitably provoke backlash from the others. Some had even attempted to apply subtle pressure by mobilizing mutual connections—Stanford professors and San Francisco-area politicians. It was never overt coercion. Jae-won had no need to yield, and the professors and politicians understood ID Group’s immense influence. In fact, he had heavily penalized any company that tried to leverage personal networks.

“Let’s see what we have.”

He downloaded the attached ID Word Processor file and opened it. The ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Alpha Team had clearly adapted to his preferences; the most critical information appeared on the very first page—rankings from first to last place.

“Symantec in first place, as expected.”

The Alpha Team’s rankings largely matched the security industry’s established reputation. Symantec had taken the top spot among roughly thirty competing companies. Comodo, less known to consumers but popular with businesses, placed second. McAfee came in third.

Yet there were surprises.

“Hmm?”

The fourth-place name was strikingly familiar. Kim Lab—the security company founded by Kim Cheol-su, the medical student who had gained national fame as “the second Yoo Jae-won” after developing the V6 vaccine—had earned a respectable 90.5 points and secured fourth place.

Some might argue that anything short of first place was meaningless. They would be wrong.

When announcing Android 95’s security policy, Yoo Jae-won had deliberately included provisions for regional priority.