Sweet Waters Throne - Chapter 37

Western VRMMO【DEMONDAL】was known for its extremely harsh game system. To begin with, there were no levels. There were no skills. There were no guilds. There was no inventory. There were no convenient system messages or maps of any kind either. It was so needlessly realistic that it was already basically a VR life simulator.

As for anything game-like, it was basically limited to weapon masteries; a proficiency level that you got from using your weapon, as well as physical strength that increased as well. That was it.

It was a fantasy game so there was magic, but forming a contract with a spirit was extremely difficult, and only 1% of the playerbase were magicians.

In this VR game【DEMONDAL】that was ridiculously close to reality, the protagonist Kei who was a well known mounted archery expert, was one day sent to another world with his Russian【DEMONDAL】friend.

The game that was severe to begin with had turned into a reality, and the harshness increased again――

Mysterious occurrences loom; the entire world dramatically changes.The fate of individuals and nations becomes bound to AnalogHorror (rule kaidan), and once the chosen of destiny fail, it means countless people in their corresponding nation will be slaughtered by the strange phenomena.The entire world falls into unrest, panic, and despair.Until an absolutely unexpected individual joins the AnalogHorror game.Xiao Yiwang glanced at the weird world before him and then at the examination admission ticket in his hand.“Have middle school entrance exams always been this complicated? Well, it does prove my intelligence!”“I am retarded, but selected to join the analoghorror game?!”

All I ever wanted was for famous detectives like Sherlock Holmes or Arsène Lupin to appear in my dreams and share their wisdom. But instead, why am I hearing the voices of notorious serial killers in my head, guiding me to solve a string of mysterious cases?

It was understood that this was a capitalist country, where the possession of the greatest amount of capital determined to whom the nation effectively belonged.The smile that had been resting on William Sheffield’s face was abruptly erased as his expression turned cold. In a tone laced with determination, it was demanded by him that the police be contacted immediately so that they could crush those who stood in their way. The reasoning behind his words seemed clear: if such actions had been taken before by someone like Rockefeller, then why should it not also be possible for Sheffield?A sense of irony hung in the air as the sentiment was expressed—this was America, where each day seemed to unfold as though it were part of an ongoing shootout, with battles fought not just with guns but with power, influence, and wealth.