The Constellation's Game: [Laika]

Truth be told, in the week it took me to actually commit to entering a Gate, I did quite a bit of soul-searching.

It wasn't that the Gates themselves scared me.

After passing through more of them than I could count, there was no way I'd feel any aversion to the things.

The problem was that unlike the beta version—where death simply rolled you back to the beginning—death here meant dying for real.

Which is to say… I really, really didn't want to die.

If I hadn't met my family again yet, I probably wouldn't have had much attachment to life in the first place. But the human heart is a fickle, conniving thing.

"Just in case, son—"

"Yes, Father."

"I'd rather you never… go anywhere near those Gates. Not once."

"……."

And yet I chose the Gate anyway. In the end, it came down to money.

By pure chance, I'd overheard my parents talking, and what I learned was that our family's finances were far worse off than I'd imagined.

"Honey. Now that Gun-yool is back… I think it really is time for us to move, don't you?"

"I've been thinking the same thing. There's no point staying here and bleeding out on interest this steep."

The loan interest alone was eating millions of won every month, and from what I could tell, my parents' income could barely cover even that.

In other words: a mortgage of at least a billion won, on top of which they were constantly borrowing just to cover living expenses.

Selling the house wouldn't even clear the debt, and even if they'd wanted to, moving wasn't easy with Dad's convenience store to think about.

They kept calling it "a bit of a rough patch," but from where I stood, it was far worse than that.

If I'd come back even a little later, my family would have been out on the street.

Which meant that if I wanted to atone for being an unfilial son, simply getting some ordinary job was never going to cut it.

I realized I needed far, far more money than I'd thought.

In the end… the Gate really is the answer.

So once I'd made up my mind to enter the Gate, I laid out my plans with as much method as I could muster.

The only weapon I had was over a thousand loops of experience that no one else on Earth possessed. Leveraging it to earn as much Laika Point (LP) as possible—that was the only road to real money available to me.

Just don't overextend. And while I'm at it, find every way to squeeze out as much cash as I can.

And so I had come to the Gate for one reason, and one reason only: to make money.

"Ho ho, new adventurers are always welcome. Yes, it was Dave, wasn't it?"

More important to me than saving the world was the well-being of the family I'd only just been reunited with after a lifetime away.

"Rest as long as you like here in Bereshit, until you are ready to set out on your adventure."

And no matter how trash-tier a hero I might be, things were bound to be a little different—at least inside the Beginner's Island.

Because on Earth's live server, no one could possibly have leveled a character over a thousand times the way I had.

Apparently, the average player on the Earth ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠server prepared enormously before entering these Gates.

Makes sense—this was the place where you had to put your life on the line.

They'd sink money into a full equipment setup first, then grind through all manner of training in virtual simulation spaces, and only then attempt to enter a Gate.

So to those "normal" aspiring hunters, something like the [Apprentice Hero's Equipment Box] was essentially meaningless.

Most of them entered with two- or three-tier gear, fully kitted out at a cost of tens of millions of won at minimum.

Nobody was going to put stock in a handout item that was one-tier equipment.

But I, of course, was in no position to be picky.

I'd had no choice but to walk into the Gate stone broke.

For me, this Apprentice Hero's Equipment Box was… nothing less than precious starting capital.

So even choosing among the basic handout gear demanded every ounce of caution I had.

I had to earn as much money as possible on the lowest possible upkeep.

"Hmm."

Right—with that in mind, first things first: the Apprentice Hunter's Bow was out.

That was a weapon you did not pick in this lifetime.

Unless my ancestors were planning to buy my arrows for me, anyway.

I'd heard plenty of aspiring hunters favored it for the low-risk hunting you could do at range, but… arrow prices in Laika were no joke.

Worse, the costs only grew more punishing as you leveled up.

Just like every other piece of equipment, arrows only delivered real power at higher tiers.

Apparently, a quiver of a hundred tier-5-and-up arrows cost over ten million won.

So, then. What was the correct answer here…?

The staff it was.

Wait, isn't mage the money-hemorrhaging class?

It absolutely was.

In a sense, it demanded even more cash than archery.

Which is exactly why playing a mage was also strictly off the table.

But if you asked why I chose the staff anyway…

Because it was the most expensive of the three.

Those 15 LP were the seed money that would fund my growth from here on out.

Good. Same prices as the beta, too.

If anyone had watched me cash-farm my starter equipment, they'd have shaken their heads until their necks ached.

No equipment means no hunting, and no hunting means no income—it's that simple a structure.

And to replace gear of a similar level, you'd actually have to pay more than it's worth.

So no matter how broke you were, selling this thing was…

By any conventional standard, unambiguously idiotic.

But who was I, again?

A dedicated Beginner's Island main, that's who.

I had a way to stretch that 15 LP of seed capital to its absolute limit.

After offloading the staff, I headed for the smithy on the edge of the village.

"An adventurer I've never seen before! What business brings you here?"

Now, this was not the smithy that ordinary players frequented.

"I'm sorry, what? You came here to buy what?"

It was a smithy that specialized, above all else, in farm tools.

And here, I intended to acquire the single most cost-effective weapon in the game.

"Hm, can't say I've ever had an adventurer come buying a shovel… but nothing says I can't sell you one."

"There we go! Now that's fine craftsmanship."

In raw attack power, this Sturdy Iron Shovel naturally fell short of the Apprentice Adventurer's Sword.

But it had triple the durability, weighed less…

…and cost a mere third of the staff's price, to boot!

If something this good existed, and you sold your box weapon instead of buying it…

Wouldn't you be starting out ten LP in the hole from square one?

Sure, my dignity as a hero took a bit of a hit—but pride didn't put food on the table.

Then what's left is…

I already knew exactly what I'd buy with the remainder, too.

Potions?

Yeah, right.

The cash-farming hero doesn't drink potions.

Anyone who hunts while chugging potions was never built to make money in the first place.

So what I emptied my pockets for was the bare minimum of insurance for survival.

Anything can happen inside a Gate, so carrying a life insurance policy of this kind was non-negotiable.

Good. That's the hunting prep done.

Now, at last, it was time to begin.

Clocking in, ready to work.

Starting with the front yard of Bereshit.

And so, for the first time since my return… I set off for the hunting grounds. Or rather, the workplace.

Back in the days I spent with the fairies, I'd tried my hand at countless classes.

Among them, naturally, had been the Architect.

And the very first weapon the guild had issued me upon advancing to Architect was—of all things—a shovel.

"You want me to… fight with this?"

"Naturally. The shovel is a far finer weapon than you'd think."

In fact, among the Architect's early combat skills, there were even weapon arts built around the shovel.

It felt like swordsmanship and shield technique stirred together…

Grrrrowl—!

And against witless monsters like this one, which bared its teeth without a moment's hesitation, it was an excellent skill.

Of course, I didn't actually have that skill anymore…

But if I reproduced the motions perfectly, I could pull off roughly eighty percent of the real thing's power.

Just like so.

Whack—

Raise the shovel vertically, intercept in a disciplined stance—

Then, once the beast had smashed its snout into an iron shovel and gone dazed, deliver divine judgment straight down onto the crown of its head—

Crack—!

—and finish the fight clean by driving the shovel straight down into the mouth of the stunned creature.

With any weapon other than the shovel, I couldn't have taken this thing down nearly so easily.

And that's not me rationalizing. It's the truth.

Among early-game equipment, there simply wasn't another weapon that let you switch between offense and defense so freely.

If I'd been holding a sword, I'd have been at death's door the moment I killed one.

Get bitten properly even once, and your HP would be cut clean in half.

I could have dodged everything and killed it that way… maybe. Probably.

Oh, and how strong could the monsters in the village front yard possibly be, you ask?

Simple: I'd gone looking for the toughest thing in the neighborhood.

Because the Starve Dog—resident bully and newbies' nightmare of the front yard—was a level 4 monster.

Get bitten by a level 4 beast at level 1, and ending up half-dead is just common sense, isn't it?

Now, if you ask why I'm pushing myself from the very start when I claimed I'd play it safe—

—the answer is titles.

Killing a Starve Dog at level 1 was the single easiest way to get this one.

The acquisition condition was slay an enemy whose every stat is at least double your own—which meant the higher your level climbed, the difficulty of earning it spiked exponentially.

A tier-5, Hero-grade title wasn't going to come easy, after all.

In other words: now was the only chance to get it for free.

"Ahem."

Scooping up every single one of these free upgrades—no money required—was, I'd argue…

an essential virtue of the freebie-farming hero. The rice-farming hero, rather.

You know it is.

Anyway, having cleared my first objective without a hitch, the shortfall in my equipment compared to everyone else was covered to a respectable degree.

Conditional or not, an all-stats-30 equip effect was nearly equivalent to wearing a full set of tier-2 gear.

Watching a mangy cur crumple from a single shovel strike, I could confirm the performance was absolutely legit.

Even with my attacks striking its weaknesses with surgical precision, a level 2 one-shotting a level 4 is no small feat.

Either way, my hunting speed shot way up, and after downing about two more, loot started dropping as well.

Not that a scrawny thing like this was going to drop anything valuable…

But as the old saying goes, drops of water make an ocean—and if I cleaned and prepped meat like this properly, it'd fetch maybe 0.1 LP.

With the LP-to-won exchange rate sitting at roughly ten thousand won per point, that was a full thousand won.

Wait, hold on. This is worth a thousand won?

Back in the beta, this was junk I wouldn't even bother to pick up…

and yet suddenly this stinking slab of meat was starting to feel precious.

Even better—caught up in the thrill, I'd hunted everything ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠that moved, and one drop came that sits under a twenty percent drop rate.

This one I could haul straight to the general store, and the old man there would pay a whole 0.3 LP for it.

"Hoo."

Admittedly, it had been—generously speaking—some seven thousand years since I'd last bent my back to pick ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠one of these up. But today, it felt incredibly precious.

I'd never once thought like this in the beta.

It was like finding an Americano coupon lying on the street.

Who knew that mindless grind-hunting was actually this much fun?

Come to think of it—maybe my true talent was cash-farming all along?

WHAM—!

Whine—!

And just as that thought crossed my mind…

The one I'd just killed dropped a chicken coupon I hadn't even hoped for.

An exclamation burst out of me before I could stop it.

Holy crap.

My pupils dilated of their own accord, and a shiver ran down my spine.

I could probably get 2.3 LP for this.

With that, I could even afford the whole fried chicken combo.

So farming a single tier-1 accessory could set off this much dopamine, huh…

Turns out everything ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠really does come down to a person's state of mind.

But for now, the thing to do was equip it.

At this level, every single stat point counted for a great deal.

Crack—!

Carried away, slaughtering cur after cur—before I knew it, I'd leveled up again.

One more level, and I could no longer hunt here.

Once I matched the Starve Dog—the highest-level monster in the front yard—I'd stop qualifying for the Giant Slayer effect.

So I'd have to move on to the Beginner's Forest ahead of schedule.

Just picturing the violent reindeer that roamed there had my mouth watering.

Wild Reindeer, wasn't it? The ones that drop antler velvet.

The Wild Reindeer dropped a medicinal ingredient called antler velvet at a very low rate.

And that stuff—get this—sold at a market price of 13 LP.

Which is to say: omakase. The chef picks for you, and you pay for the privilege.

"Haahhh."

Hunting had suddenly become so much fun.

Looks like I'd have to retract my promise to only earn lunch money and call it a day.

Before I knew it, my feet were already carrying me toward the Beginner's Forest.