Chapter 134: [134] : The Eradicator Descends, Defending Sector 7 (2)
Inside the Iron Bastion, the situation was completely out of control.
The massive stone courtyard was packed with thousands of players. They were running around in pure and unfiltered panic. People were slamming their fists against the heavy iron gates. Some were trying to climb the spiked walls, only to get knocked back down by the energy barrier.
"Let me out!" A player screamed as he pulled frantically at his system interface. "Where is the leave button?! Where is the menu?!"
"It is gone!" A woman next to him sobbed. She dropped her rusted iron sword on the ground. "The prompt said host expiration. If we die here, we die!"
"We cannot fight a Level 100!"
"Look at the sky! It is a literal machine god!"
Up on the high stone balcony of the central keep, Commander Richter stood perfectly still.
The Level 75 Vanguard was fully geared in his pristine white and blue tactical power armor. He held his heavy railgun in his hands. But he wasn’t aiming it. He was just staring at the massive red optical lens of the Apex Eradicator hovering above the city.
Sloane was standing next to him. The Quartermaster had her glowing digital clipboard out. Her hands were shaking so badly she could barely tap the screen.
"Richter," Sloane said as her voice cracked. "Tell me you have a plan. Tell me your Praetorian Guard guys can shoot that thing down."
Richter slowly lowered his railgun. His battle scarred face was completely pale.
"We can’t," Richter stated flatly. His voice sounded entirely defeated. "Sloane, you don’t understand the level scaling in this game. That is a Level 100 System Purge Entity."
"So what?" Sloane argued. "We have heavy cannons! We have Bram’s turrets!"
"It doesn’t matter," Richter shook his head. "I’ve seen one of those things before. Back in Sector 1. It wiped out an entire heavily fortified military base in less than three minutes. It ignores standard damage. It deletes physical matter just by looking at it."
Richter looked down at the screaming players in the courtyard.
"We are totally dead. The shield will fall, and that army of millions will flood the streets. It is a mathematical certainty."
"I really hate it when people talk about math," a cold and heavy voice echoed from behind them.
Richter and Sloane spun around.
Declan stepped out of the shadows of the keep. His Abyssal Sovereign aura rolled off him in thick dark waves. He looked completely relaxed.
"Declan!" Sloane gasped. "Did you see the prompt?! They locked the server! If the players die!"
"I saw it," Declan said smoothly. He walked up to the balcony railing and looked down.
Down in the crafting zone, Bram was furiously hammering away at a massive control console. The Level 30 Master Artificer was ignoring the panic entirely. He was using his black obsidian arm to violently crank heavy gears into place.
"Turrets are online, boss!" Bram roared over the noise of the crowd. "The Mana Breaker Cannon is fully charged! But we have too many targets! The auto targeting system is going to overload!"
"Hold your fire until they hit the barrier," Declan ordered.
He turned back to Sloane.
"Quartermaster. We have a motivation problem."
Sloane stared at him like he was crazy. "Motivation?! Declan, they are terrified! They are Level 5 newbies with rusted swords! They are looking at an army of millions!"
"Fear is a terrible motivator for a prolonged fight," Declan agreed casually. "They think they are going to die anyway, so they aren’t even going to swing their swords. We need to change their perspective."
"How?" Richter asked while narrowing his eyes.
"We make them greedy," Declan smiled.
He tapped his system interface. He opened the master treasury of the Iron Bastion.
He had completely robbed the Neon Syndicate. He had millions of Origin Points sitting in the bank. He had mountains of high tier gear and raw materials.
Declan linked his Warlord administrative privileges directly to Sloane’s Quartermaster clipboard.
"Sloane, open the city bounty board," Declan commanded. "I want you to post a massive Origin Point reward for every single monster killed outside those walls."
Sloane blinked. She looked down at her clipboard. Her retail manager instincts slowly started to override her panic.
"How much?" Sloane asked.
"Fifty Origin Points for a basic mob. Five hundred for an Elite. Five thousand for a boss," Declan listed off the numbers easily. "And tell them they can use those points immediately at your desk to buy high tier health potions and upgraded weapons."
The jaws of everyone on the balcony dropped as they stared at Declan as though he had run mad!
"Are you insane?!" Richter gasped. "That will bankrupt the city in an hour! There are millions of monsters out there!"
"I have eighty five million points," Declan looked at the Vanguard coldly. "I can afford it. And I would rather be broke than dead."
Sloane didn’t argue. A sharp and ruthless capitalist gleam appeared in her eyes. She rapidly tapped her glowing screen.
"Posting the bounties now," Sloane said. "Linking the reward payouts directly to their combat logs. It will auto deposit into their accounts the second they get a kill."
A massive golden notification board suddenly materialized in the center of the crowded courtyard. It was fifty feet tall. Everyone could see it.
The screaming players stopped. They looked at the board.
[IRON BASTION EMERGENCY BOUNTIES]
↳ Basic Enemy: 50 Origin Points
↳ Elite Enemy: 500 Origin Points
↳ Boss Enemy: 5,000 Origin Points
↳ All payouts are instant. All shop items are currently discounted by 50%.
The courtyard went completely silent.
For a Level 5 player, fifty Origin Points was a fortune. It was enough to buy a full set of decent armor. Five hundred points was enough to buy a rare skill book.
They looked at the glowing numbers. Then, they looked at the massive iron gates.
They weren’t looking at a terrifying army of death anymore.
They were looking at millions of walking paychecks!
"Fifty points a kill?" A guy in a ruined business suit whispered. He tightened his grip on his heavy wooden club.
"If I kill ten of those things, I can buy the Fireball skill," a woman next to him muttered. Her eyes were suddenly completely focused.
The sheer raw power of capitalism hit the crowd like a shockwave.
The panic vanished. It was instantly replaced by pure and unadulterated greed.
"Open the gates!" A warrior in the front row screamed. He raised his rusted broadsword high into the air. "I claim the left flank! Nobody touch my mobs!"
"Get out of my way!" Another player yelled while shoving his way forward. "I need points for a new shield!"
The entire crowd surged toward the walls. They weren’t running away. They were lining up to get out! They were practically foaming at the mouth to go fight the apocalypse.
Declan watched the absolute shift in mob psychology from the balcony.
"See?" Declan smirked as he crossed his arms over his black coat. "They just needed a little financial incentive."
Richter stared at the fanatic militia forming below them. He shook his head in pure disbelief.
"You turned a refugee camp into a mercenary army in two minutes," Richter breathed.
"I am a very good boss," Declan said. "Now. Let’s go delete a Level 100."
