It’s a really random story, but generally speaking, internet broadcasters are worse at games than regular people.
It might seem strange at first that their job is to play games, yet they’re not good at it, but this is actually a very natural phenomenon.
Think about it this way. Who would be better at games? A working professional or a jobless person who spends all day gaming?
Obviously, the jobless one, right?
Broadcasters are in a similar situation.
Sure, it’s true that internet broadcasters’ job is to play games. But what you need to understand is that being “good” at games isn’t the most important part of their job.
What’s important is making it “entertaining.”
This is different from being a jobless person who has nothing going for them except being good at games.
Researching new builds, figuring out more efficient damage cycles, and coming up with better strategies—these have always been the job of the jobless, not the working professionals.
This has been an unchanging truth since the dawn of gaming.
So, why am I suddenly bringing this up? It’s because a bunch of these jobless folks were thrown into the beta testing for <Cosmic Osuary>.
“Wow, we got in too?”
“I didn’t think they’d acknowledge the times I streamed during guild raids. Nobody even watched those since they were just for recording purposes.”
If you’ve streamed for even a minute, you’re eligible to join. This ridiculously lax criterion turned more than half of the server participants into regular folks.
This caused quite a stir.
Because while not all regular people are crazy about games, the ones who are crazy about games are definitely among the regular folks.
The probability of someone being witty enough to stream and also being insanely good at games is lower than the probability of someone having social issues but being insanely good at games. Naturally, the latter is more common.
Talent is something that’s hard to come by in the first place.
“Wow, the difficulty is brutal.”
“Is this supposed to be doable in two weeks?”
And then.
Among those jobless folks, the ones who’ve dedicated their lives to gaming, the deeper ones, also joined the server.
In <Moonlight Sculptor> terms, they’re like dark gamers.
To be more accurate, they’re rice eaters.
Rice eating refers to converting in-game currency into real-world money. It’s something game companies officially prohibit, but they often turn a blind eye.
If they can’t even catch macro farms, how are they going to catch rice eaters? It’s only natural.
Anyway, the people who make a living off rice eating have staked their lives on games.
For them, the game is their workplace and reality. Falling behind means going hungry, so naturally, they put their lives on the line. What’s interesting is that most rice eaters think they’re good at games.
This is an interesting perspective.
Generally, the way to make “money” and the way to be “good” at games are different.
Being good at grinding for money is what rice eating is about, while being good at games requires digging deep into the system and aiming for the top. They’re completely different directions.
Simply put, the person researching how to make in-game currency efficiently and the person researching how to beat the final boss can’t be the same.
But it’s also true that rice eaters dig deep into games. That’s how they make money.
So, are rice eaters good at games?
I can say this definitively: absolutely not.
Isn’t it the most cringe-worthy thing in the world to judge a work you’ve never even seen?
Rice eaters are similar.
Given their structure, they can’t be the vanguard, so there’s content they haven’t experienced. For them to discuss the game is, frankly, nonsense.
But that doesn’t mean rice eaters are bad at games.
They do have some exceptionally outstanding aspects in gaming.
What are they good at?
“Hey, this is going to stir up the Human Empire, isn’t it?”
Surprisingly, rice eaters are all good at causing chaos. It’s always been like that.
Whether it’s because chaos-causing people become rice eaters or because rice eating develops that ability, I don’t know.
When you think about it, rice eating is about finding efficient grinding methods, so why they become good at causing chaos is also a mystery.
Not that I’m complaining. Games are more fun when there are mischievous troublemakers around.
But isn’t it fascinating?
Masters of chaos.
Where else could such a talent bloom if not in games?
Kingtel, a man who ravaged server economies like a swarm of locusts across various games, immediately teamed up with his rice-eating comrades upon joining the <Cosmic Osuary> beta test.
And he pledged allegiance to the Human Empire.
This decision was made after watching Han Yoorim’s gameplay.
Infiltration of ships, intimidating NPCs, and forcing a black hole engine to go critical.
Seeing this level of freedom and NPCs that felt like real people, Kingtel concluded that it was possible to provoke the Human Empire’s emperor into issuing an extermination order against the Unified Alliance.
Han Yoorim again? If you’re asking, yes. It’s Han Yoorim again.
When you’re curious about the cause, pointing at Han Yoorim is right five times out of ten.
So why is Kingtel doing this?
It’s simple.
Because it’s fun.
“Here’s the investigation report.”
Laptern, the Human Empire’s wise god, read the report Kingtel had brought.
It was about a newly formed large-scale alliance targeting a now-abandoned planet once called humanity’s home.
“The reason?”
“Listen to this.”
In response to Laptern’s question, Kingtel played a recording of the players’ conversation.
[If we kill Keraton, we’ll get a big reward, right?]
[They say there’s nothing else out there.]
[What happens if we get it? Wow.]
[Even if we all get it, wouldn’t it feel like we’ve taken over the world?]
Keraton was the official name of the giant space tentacle monster.
Laptern made an intrigued expression.
“Big reward?”
“I’m not sure exactly what it is, but it’s definitely something that could threaten the world.”
Kingtel lied without batting an eye.
It was a chaos tactic. A provocation.
“Considering their scale, if we leave them alone, they’ll become too powerful. It’s a variable in the grand scheme of protecting humanity.”
“A variable.”
Laptern responded indifferently.
In truth, with the current evidence, the Human Empire lacked sufficient motivation to attack the [Unified Alliance].
The universe is vast. No matter what humans imagine, the universe is always vaster.
The Human Empire was a colossal nation that had consumed a third of the universe, and calling it a supermassive state would still be an understatement.
For an empire that even leaves hostile nations alone, why would they bother with some 50,000-strong group of pirates or whatever this new alliance was? There was no reason to mess with them.
Instead of wasting time on such trivial matters, it was far more beneficial to research entropy reversal technology to prevent the impending apocalypse…
“Please listen to this as well.”
Kingtel, who had anticipated this, played the recording he had barely managed to obtain.
[What is Han Yoorim doing now?]
[Probably still wandering around. Or maybe she’s up to some weird stuff like terrorizing the Empire again.]
Click—. Kingtel stopped the playback and continued with a smile.
“It seems Han Yoorim is also connected to this alliance.”
“Han Yoorim…!”
Raptern showed intense emotion for the first time.
“You’re saying she’s in cahoots with that terrorist?”
“That’s correct.”
“Being allied with the Empire’s enemy means declaring war on the Empire, doesn’t it?”
Han Yoorim had been the Empire’s trigger for quite some time now.
Ever since she terrorized the Empire’s energy facilities, destroyed their fleets, and stole their sacred artifacts, it had been like this.
Han Yoorim again? If you’re asking, yes. It’s Han Yoorim again.
When you’re curious about the cause, pointing at Han Yoorim gives you a 50% chance of being right.
“There’s no tampering with the recording.”
“Based on additional intelligence, it’s clear that the organization is indeed connected to Han Yoorim. Not just one or two members, but most of them mention her fondly.”
“There’s nothing more to see.”
With the testimony of the Empire’s top engineer and the head of intelligence, Laitern solemnly declared:
“I hereby declare the [Unified Alliance] an enemy of the Empire. Not a single ant shall be left alive. Wipe them all out.”
From the [Unified Alliance]’s perspective, this was the most unfair framing ever.
I mean, of course, participants would mention the server admin. Who wouldn’t?
And the fact that someone recorded it and snitched was ridiculous, but the idea that a game where such recordings could be used as evidence was even more absurd.
But what could they do?
That’s just how the game worked, and Kingtel had played it better by understanding the rules.
Anyway.
That was the reason the [Unified Alliance] was attacked by the Human Empire.
“Damn, that actually works.”
After quickly grasping the situation through various information networks (donations), Palpal gave the highest praise a gamer could offer and then summarized the situation.
“Feels like we’re being hunted by space pirates? This is a full-on assault.”
“That’s exactly what it feels like.”
“This is so unfair.”
Sure, they were connected to Han Yoorim, but not in the way the Empire thought. The fact that there was no way to clear this misunderstanding made it even more frustrating.
“Hmm.”
After some thought, Palpal quickly made a decision.
“Let’s abandon everything and go straight for the raid.”
“Will that work?”
“All we need is the Freedom Game Creation License. It’s better to quickly take down the giant tentacle monster than to wrestle with the Human Empire.”
“We’re gonna get sandwiched, though…”
It didn’t seem realistic, but honestly, there was no better plan than Palpal’s.
And so, the [Unified Alliance] ignored the Human Empire’s military and attempted to warp to kill the cosmic giant tentacle monster, Keratun.
The sight of nearly 10,000 ships warping simultaneously was spectacular, but with a murderer hot on their heels, it felt more tragic than cool.
“Pour everything into it!”
Under Palpal’s command, the [Unified Alliance] unleashed their attacks on Keratun.
Pulse laser cannons tore through space, and plasma beams intercepted their target.
Keratun roared as it endured an attack akin to tens of thousands of meteor showers.
[Uoooooh—.]
It was clearly a cry of agony.
“It’s working!”
Palpal shouted in joy, and the rest of the [Unified Alliance] felt the same.
Keratun’s tentacles split at hyper speed, destroying dozens of the alliance’s ships. But there were still 10,000 ships left.
They were confident.
If things continued like this, they could succeed in the raid.
“Bro! They’re catching up!”
If only the Human Empire’s military wasn’t hot on their tails.
Tens of thousands of Imperial ships began to appear.
Their latest models were nearly twice the size of the [Unified Alliance]’s ships.
Palpal clicked his tongue inwardly.
Is this the end?
The Imperial ships opened fire.
Their target was the [Unified Alliance], led by humanity’s enemy, Han Yoorim.
“No! That’s not the relationship!”
Whether Palpal’s cry was heard or not, flash—. The 36th Fleet of the Imperial Space Force filled the cosmos with light.
Palpal closed his eyes.
Expecting the “Game Over” screen to appear any moment now.
“How dare you touch my people. This is a declaration of war against me, Han Yoorim, the Queen of Beasts.”
And then he opened his eyes.
And then he opened his mouth.
A sword split the world in half.
“Unnie, isn’t ‘beast’ referring to humans, not animals?”
“Beasts are animals, so there’s no need to distinguish.”
The voices of Han Yoorim and Bunny Run echoed everywhere. It seemed they had gained such an ability.
Han Yoorim, who had sliced through countless photon weapons with her sword, swung her blade—whoosh!—leaving a mark in space as if drawing a line, and declared:
“Those who cross this line to harm my comrades, be prepared to give up your lives.”
To which Palpal muttered softly:
“See, I told you… that’s not the relationship…”