Chapter 11

Scratch, scratch.

Weed carved in silence, lost in his thoughts.

“It’s really hard to sculpt Seoyoon.”

Even after all these years, he could recall her face perfectly.

From their first meeting, she had always been a difficult subject to sculpt.

If the carving knife made even the slightest error or revealed the wood grain too prominently, her beauty couldn’t be captured.

“She didn’t even feel human—so beautiful, mysterious, distant… and with a tinge of loneliness.”

She was someone whose beauty couldn’t be fully conveyed, even by a master sculptor.

The goddess Sarasvati, who governs art, music, and wisdom, has taken notice of your sculpture.
Fame +200
Art stat +3
The goddess Sarasvati is amazed by the beauty of the sculpture.
Art stat +3
(It is rare for a goddess to personally take interest.)

“Is that so?”

(Only users with extremely high levels and great fame can attract divine attention.)

“Doesn’t matter. I’m not falling for it.”

Even if the gods liked it, this time he wasn’t going to become a Sculptor again.

Weed moved his carving knife according to the image etched in his memory.

Since Royal Road, he hadn’t sculpted in real life.

It had been a long time, but his body still remembered the skills he had honed through countless repetitions.

Fast yet delicate, cautious hands.

Like any true master, there was no hesitation—but the result was still astonishing.

Ssssshhhk.

After a long time carving, Weed’s hands began to slow without him realizing it.

Fatigue was setting in, momentarily shaking his focus.

(Master, it’s been 32 hours since you logged into Roanoke. Perhaps it’s time for some sleep?)

“Not sleeping a little won’t kill me.”

He had spent the whole night grinding in the Hellfire difficulty. Fatigue was inevitable.

But sleeping meant no progress.

Since he’d started late, he had to work harder—and to stop the collapse of the world, he had to get stronger fast.

“I’ve gotten weak. I used to game for 200 hours straight.”

(Back then, you were younger and mostly just clicked a mouse repeatedly.)

“In your teens, you don’t even notice time when gaming. Even in Royal Road, I pulled plenty of all-nighters.”

(A tense body tires much faster.)
(You’ve been operating at full effort in Hellfire difficulty to achieve a 100% completion rate.)
(And you haven’t had a proper rest since the Roanoke incident began.)

The most urgent matter after the Roanoke disaster had been the capsule’s nutrition delivery system.

The tech wasn’t hard, but sourcing materials, manufacturing, and distribution were critical.

100 million people.

Families and governments could only do so much—there would always be blind spots.

There were budget constraints, organizational issues, and more.

The Unicorn Group had poured in massive funding.

“…I have to save as many users as I can.”

It wasn’t just noble idealism.

Roanoke was heading toward doom. The more players he saved, the better chance he had at stopping it—and saving his daughter.

He spared no resources from Unicorn Group for that goal.

“I can overcome sleep.”

Weed refocused and continued carving the sculpture of Seoyoon.

(Master, from a medical standpoint, even a short nap is important for maintaining health.)

“Not sleeping won’t kill me. I can’t sleep when my daughter’s stuck in there.”

He endured the exhaustion, thinking of his daughter still trapped in Roanoke.

He could hold on a little longer. Staying up for days wouldn’t matter. Then, suddenly—

“Is there a way to not sleep ever again?”

He could power through it mentally, but he wanted a fundamental solution.

In games, growth came from investing more time than others.

(You could take a high-performance stimulant, but side effects are likely. Your body can fully recover with just two hours of sleep per day.)

“Two hours a day is 700 hours a year. Just imagine how much more I can grow in that time.”

(It’s not good for your health.)

“People always make unhealthy choices. Administer the stimulant.”

(As you command.)

Moments later, Weed felt his fatigue vanish.

He knew it was bad for his body, but he had no hesitation or regrets.

If this were just about making money, he wouldn’t go this far.

But his daughter’s life was on the line.

And a father would do anything.

Lee Hye-yeon, Hyun’s younger sister, was a board member at Unicorn Group and involved in its management.

“There are many nations facing economic crises due to the Roanoke incident. Unicorn Group must provide support…”

Since Hyun hated being in the public eye, she had taken the lead as a kind of parachute manager.

“It’s already been three days without any contact from Oppa.”

This had never happened since she became an adult.

Her brother had always played the role of guardian and gave his all for the family.

Even when she hung out with delinquents as a teenager, he had tried to guide her.

“At this rate, you’ll end up working at a bar. It’s not too late—meet good friends, study hard.”

Of course, Hye-yeon had ignored him.

“Mind your own business!”

She ran away and joined a bad crowd out of spite.

As a result… Hyun had broken her leg.

“Wow… my brother is seriously crazy.”

It sobered her up fast.

“I’d better behave. Go to school, live clean… before he breaks something else.”

It was late, but she returned as the good little sister.

She was one of the few who knew that Hyun had unified Royal Road and inherited all of Dr. Yoo Byung-joon’s assets.

“It’s really strange that he hasn’t contacted me for three days.”

Hyun would always call her.

For 10 years after his daughter was born, he had sent her pictures every single day.

He bragged about every little thing—winning a preschool talent show, starting school…

The man who secretly ran the world’s largest conglomerate was also a chronic nagger.

“He’s the secret boss of the Unicorn Group, yet he nags me every day.”

Still, to Hye-yeon, he was the greatest man in the world.

She called him, but his phone was off.

“I’m heading home early today.”

She went straight to his house.

It looked like an ordinary home on the city outskirts, but it had layers of security to pass through.

What she found waiting was a letter from Hyun.

I’m going into Roanoke to save Daye.
Until I return, I’m leaving the Unicorn Group’s management to you. Take care of it.

The handwriting was so messy, only family could decipher it.

“Daye… was in Roanoke?”

She knew how dangerous Roanoke was.

Thousands died there daily.

It could become the mass grave of a hundred million people.

“It’s too dangerous.”

Her beautiful niece was trapped there.

But she believed in her brother.

Even without parents in their childhood, she had grown up on his back.

Holding his hand to school, she was never afraid of anything.

“Oppa, you’d better save Daye and come back. Kill anyone who gets in your way.”

Abyss Corp., the ones behind the Roanoke disaster.

Their staff were prepping a new live-streaming service.

Roanoke—the ultimate stage where humans could show their true selves.

“Epic quests, brutal battles, major achievements… imagine missing out on these moments!”

“Exactly. We’re not just showing people dying in Roanoke.”

“Remember, we have a duty to show the fiery last moments of these people’s lives to the world.”

The operations team prepared to feature videos of exceptional battles and adventures in the Hall of Fame.

Most users would die meaningless deaths—but some were different.

A user has cleared Hellfire Difficulty Stage 2.

A system alert popped up on their terminal.

“Huh?”

Yoo Da-hye quickly reported to her supervisor.

“There’s a user currently attempting character creation in Hellfire difficulty.”

Her boss, Bae Joo-hwan, gave her a confused look.

“Did you misspeak? Hellfire difficulty?”

No one had ever cleared it.

It was questionable whether a human even could.

And yet…

“I double-checked. They cleared stages 1 and 2 and are now attempting stage 3.”

“Seriously?”

Bae Joo-hwan hadn’t left work since the incident.

Even without government action, protesters near the company could beat them to death.

“Well, whatever. If they want to die, let them.”

If the user died, that was the end of it.

But—

“You really should see this, sir. This user is… beyond incredible.”

“Huh?”

“They cleared Hellfire stages 1 and 2 with 100% completion.”

That got his full attention.

Even 20% completion in Hellfire 2 was considered exceptional internally.

“100%? In Hellfire?”

Bae Joo-hwan reviewed the footage—and was stunned.

It wasn’t just perfect—it was art.

Sword, bow, dagger—whatever weapon he picked up, he wielded it expertly, using the terrain masterfully.

“Incredible. Absolutely unreal.”

He watched the long-range sniping with a bow and was amazed.

He’d seen countless high-level plays in Roanoke—but never this.

“There shouldn’t be any basic skills yet.”

“Exactly. Isn’t it amazing?”

He agreed: the user’s skills were phenomenal.

“Well done. Though, stage 3 will be too much.”

He didn’t believe Hellfire stage 3 could be cleared.

The difficulty was created by Roanoke’s AI.

From Nightmare mode onward, the difficulty was truly hellish.

It could haunt someone like a real nightmare.

“A shame. Honestly, we never expected anyone to clear Hellfire or Extreme modes.”

“We didn’t?”

“It’s the AI’s true Hellfire difficulty. Humans simply can’t beat it.”

No matter who tried, no one had cleared it.

Because no human could.

Just as Bae Joo-hwan was about to lose interest, a question popped into his mind.

“What’s that user’s name?”

“They go by ‘Weed.’”