Drawing the Big Picture - Part 2

Even though the Endless Grassland was a unique zone where one revived immediately on the spot upon death to resume combat, dying and reviving 4,444 times took far longer than anticipated.

Sanghyuk spent three full days with virtually no sleep just to tally those 4,444 deaths and retries. Calculated purely by time, it amounted to nearly sixty continuous hours.

With the steady advancement of virtual reality technology, legitimate VR media—barring illegal underground programs—now formally implemented shock-prevention protocols. Even if a user suffered severe physical trauma inside the simulation, in reality they felt only mild discomfort or momentary faintness.

Of course, no matter how refined the technology became, people unaccustomed to attacking others or being battered were prone to psychological distress. Yet game developers mitigated even that through an assortment of mental-stabilization algorithms, shielding players as much as possible.

Even with such safeguards, however, the sensation of one's own death remained thoroughly repulsive.

Because of this, certain players utilized a feature known as Death Skip, which forcibly transitioned their VR connection into a light sleep state whenever they found themselves in fatal danger. While Death Skip was strictly banned at the competitive level, it was widely embraced among general users.

Naturally, Sanghyuk was no masochist who relished dying, and had it been an option, he would have enabled Death Skip without hesitation. But the feature was disabled here in the Endless Grassland. He had no choice but to endure every single agonizing death raw.

Fortunately, his seasoned background in virtual reality allowed him to grit his teeth and weather all 4,444 deaths.

And the instant he endured that 4,444th demise, reviving once more before the onslaught of the monster wave, the prompt he had yearned for finally materialized before his eyes.

"Phew. All right!"

Sanghyuk clenched his fist with a low murmur, then reached down and grasped the hilt of the plain iron sword that had remained driven into the soil, untouched until now.

Even at that very moment, swarms of monsters resembling giant cicadas were hurtling straight toward him. Having achieved his foremost objective, he no longer had to stand there and let them tear into him ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠without resistance. For now, that simple fact brought him immense satisfaction.

"From here on out... I'm the one who slaughters you!"

Shring! Drawing the blade with a fierce shout, Sanghyuk brandished the weapon with seamless, instinctive familiarity.

To put it bluntly, Sanghyuk in his past life had tasted every flavor EL had to offer—sweet, bitter, salty, pungent, sour, and rotten alike. He had been utterly consumed by the game. Consequently, there was practically no weapon he did not know how to wield.

He was fully capable of handling every weapon variety that had sprouted from the earth, yet he chose to sweep through all twenty waves using only that single, plain iron sword. Furthermore, when skill books materialized in succession afterward, he refused to select any of them, relying strictly on the iron blade in his hand to carve through the encroaching hordes.

His reasoning was simple.

About a year from now, it would become standard beginner knowledge, but at this point in time, no one knew the secret: if a traveler endured the Endless Grassland all the way to Level 10 using only a single weapon and refusing every skill choice, the weapon they held would become theirs permanently.

Astoundingly, every weapon provided in the Endless Grassland was a Rare-grade item.

Barely three days had passed since the official launch, an era when not even Magic-grade equipment had begun circulating in meaningful numbers. In such a climate, a Rare-grade weapon possessed unfathomable value.

Flash!

The instant he attained Level 10, Sanghyuk was instantly transferred to Planet Trinark. Simply put, Planet Trinark was the first continent EL users were destined to experience. Thereafter, new planetary worlds would unlock every one to three years; in Sanghyuk's memories, the final expansion had introduced the seventh planet.

When the blinding brilliance receded, the surrounding vista had transformed entirely. The distant, mellow cadence of a bugle and the weathered facade of an inn in Falcon City aligned flawlessly with the fragments of memory tucked away in Sanghyuk's mind.

Both outside and within the inn, a bustling crowd of players who had likewise attained Level 10 and crossed over chattered noisily.

By design, EL operated on a single, global integrated server capable of accommodating every user on Earth. Under older internet infrastructure, such an endeavor would have been unthinkable, but on the modern Deep Network, server strain was virtually non-existent, allowing almost every contemporary game to run on unified worlds. Naturally, a channel system existed to curb congestion within bustling urban hubs, but its application was kept to a strict minimum in a few heavily packed zones.

Ultimately, what Eternal Life pursued was one colossal, unified reality.

Near the tavern, newcomers who had picked up the game over the past few days were vigorously exchanging information. Because EL had launched with virtually zero public documentation, players had no choice but to pool their findings to make any headway.

Ordinary games naturally guided users through quest chains, but EL offered no such courtesy. Dimensional Travelers hurled onto Trinark were given absolutely nothing. A ragged outfit that barely covered their skin was all they possessed, and formal quests were nowhere to be seen.

To determine what to do next, one either had to strike up conversations with NPCs or inquire among players who had already navigated the process.

Sanghyuk, of course, spoke to neither NPCs nor other players. Knowing the exact answer as he always did, he bypassed the scratch work entirely and headed straight for the solution.

Upon reaching Level 10 and becoming a Dimensional Traveler, the very first prerequisite was Soul Imprinting. Anyone could glean this detail simply by speaking with the NPCs lounging around the arrival inn. Without undergoing Soul Imprinting, a character could not acquire Karma at all, making it an absolute, non-negotiable priority. In essence, Soul Imprinting served as the system's class selection.

The underlying lore dictated that one carved a Soul Hole into their spiritual core, inlaid it with Ancient Knowledge, and manifested their power through that conduit. It was precisely here that EL introduced its most unorthodox design.

There were thousands of distinct types of Ancient Knowledge that could be engraved into the soul, at least among those Sanghyuk knew. What made the system even more fascinating was that there was no hard cap on the number of Ancient Knowledges one could imprint. In theory, if a person were determined enough, they could etch all thousands of them into their soul. Yet no one ever dared to carve that many.

Though the quantity of possible imprints had no theoretical limit, each additional Ancient Knowledge imposed a devastating penalty. Consequently, ninety-nine percent of players maintained between one and five imprints.

The penalty scale for expanding one's imprints was straightforward: carving a single Ancient Knowledge carried no penalty whatsoever. Adding a second to hold two knowledges doubled the Karma required to level up. Adding a third quadrupled the requirement. Four knowledges increased it eightfold; five knowledges multiplied it by sixteen. Because the required Karma scaled exponentially, progressing beyond five imprints was practically impossible.

Crucially, Soul Imprinting could only be performed at Level 10, and the sole method to erase engraved Ancient Knowledge was to reset one's character back to Level 10. In short, it meant discarding all accumulated Karma—the term EL used for experience—and starting from scratch. Once chosen, it was a burden a player had to carry nearly to the end.

Inevitably, endless debates erupted across the community regarding how many imprints one should realistically carve into their soul. The argument raged for years, and only around the game's fifth anniversary did a general consensus firmly settle.

Casual users should stick to One Soul without question. Hardcore players aiming for ranker status should pursue Double Soul or Triple Soul. And those who championed Quadra Soul or Penta Soul all wound up broken in the end. Even that Middle Eastern oil baron who flaunted outrageous cash spending chose Quadra Soul, only to throw in the towel and reset his level. Triple is the practical limit.

Sanghyuk remembered with crystal clarity how those who had proposed the theoretical viability of Quadra and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Penta Souls—and attempted to put them into practice—eventually collapsed.

"Even so... I'm going with Quadra!"

Sanghyuk understood the boundaries of Quadra Soul better than anyone. It wasn't some vague assumption of difficulty; he knew as a concrete historical fact that even a wealthy magnate who had poured roughly five billion won into EL couldn't overcome Quadra Soul's monstrous Karma penalties and abandoned the build midway. Even so, he was choosing Quadra.

The reason lay entirely in the title he had bled for in the Endless Grassland: Never-Giving-Up Challenger.

Because he held this title, Sanghyuk could bypass Triple Soul and challenge Quadra Soul directly. With this single perk, he could advance a Quadra Soul build with the exact Karma curve of a Triple Soul. While a fourfold Karma requirement was still a staggering burden, Sanghyuk was entirely confident he could overcome it by leveraging his encyclopedic future knowledge.

In his past life, a select few top-tier rankers had successfully nurtured Triple Soul configurations into devastating powerhouses.

While organizing his thoughts, Sanghyuk arrived at the Hall of Souls. Such halls were established in nearly every major city, making them readily accessible to any traveler. The process of imprinting Ancient Knowledge involved piercing receptacle holes in one's soul at the hall, then socketing acquired Ancient Knowledge into those cavities.

Ancient Knowledge was capable of both evolution and exchange, though both avenues required completing arduous quests. Consequently, slotting an Ancient Knowledge demanded utmost deliberation. Furthermore, one had to commit to the exact number of Soul Holes during the initial imprinting. Piercing one hole initially with the intent of adding another later was fundamentally impossible.

Once a player pierced their holes, altering their count required giving up everything, resetting back to Level 10, and starting over. In that process, even slotted Ancient Knowledge was destroyed, so virtually no one chose to walk that path once settled. For now, players across the game would inevitably endure repeated trial and error amidst the informational void, but that was no concern of Sanghyuk's.

"Traveler, may the blessings of the Earth Mother Goddess and the Heavenly Martial God watch over you."

The NPC attending the Hall of Souls invoked the names of the patron deities, bestowing a solemn blessing upon Sanghyuk.

Four Soul Holes... Now all that's left is to fill them with the Ancient Knowledge I need, one by one.

Having pierced four Soul Holes free of charge at the Hall of Souls, Sanghyuk nodded slowly as he stepped out of the sanctuary.

A staggering variety of Ancient Knowledge existed. Curiously, Ancient Knowledge possessed no inherent rarity tiers. While some were excruciatingly difficult to obtain and others were commonplace, that distinction did not translate into rigid ranks. Visiting the Great Library of a metropolis allowed anyone to purchase baseline Ancient Knowledge at modest prices, and those entry-level disciplines were far from useless.

Because Ancient Knowledge could evolve and be exchanged, a player could gradually reshape their arsenal to suit their playstyle as they advanced.

For example, Iron Guardian—which five years down the road would be universally recognized as the pinnacle tanking knowledge—evolved directly from Guardian Knight, one of the most accessible basic knowledges in the game. Paths for developing Ancient Knowledge constituted vital strategic intelligence in EL, to the extent that brokers specializing exclusively in trading evolution methods emerged later on.

Naturally, lacking Ancient Knowledge did not leave a player helpless. Skills in EL were broadly categorized into two branches: Soul Skills derived from Ancient Knowledge, and Basic Skills acquired independently of it.

Soul Skills could be accumulated endlessly according to the Ancient Knowledge one wielded, whereas Basic Skill slots scaled strictly with character level. One slot was unlocked every ten levels. Although EL's boundless level cap technically imposed no ceiling on character growth, the Karma curve scaled so brutally in the higher ranges that one could not learn Basic Skills without limit.

At this moment, Sanghyuk was drafting an immense picture.

The canvas was so grand that in the early stages, his build might even appear underwhelming or awkward. Yet rather than fixating on immediate gratification, Sanghyuk looked toward the distant horizon, envisioning heights no ordinary player would ever dare ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠dream of.

It was an undertaking only someone armed with knowledge of the future could dare attempt. Without foresight, conceptualizing the design Sanghyuk now drafted was impossible—in fact, no one could have managed a blueprint even half its scale.

Sanghyuk had begun sketching a monumental grand design that even the game's architects could never have anticipated. His legend as a One-Man Army began with these very lines.