Chapter 65: Exploded

In the end, the Digimon found a small grove outside the city, slipped inside, and logged off right there. This grove, though somewhat secluded, wasn’t entirely hidden—after all, it lay just beyond the gates of the small Tyrannosaurus City. Still, it would buy him some time. As long as he wasn’t ambushed the moment he logged back in, he was confident that with his current combat strength, he could charge straight into Tyrannosaurus City without much trouble.

After logging out of the game, he removed his helmet, his face expressionless. Yet, if one looked carefully into his eyes, they would catch a faint, smoldering glint of anger. Clearly, having been ambushed so suddenly—and nearly defeated—he was burning up inside. He simply chose not to show it.

Glancing at the clock, he saw it was twenty past four—not too late, not too early. Figuring he still had time, he decided against exercising first and instead turned on his computer, heading straight to the official website of the Digital Monster Corporation, eager to see if he could find any relevant information.

If the ambush he suffered had been an isolated incident, there would likely be no news on the Digital Monster Corporation’s website. But if the game forums were in an uproar, that would mean this wasn’t just a one-off.

Upon entering the game section of the corporation’s website, he was confronted with the very scenario he had least wanted to see: the forums were indeed in chaos. Countless players were discussing who had killed them.

From this, two main issues had arisen. One was that players were demanding the officials hunt down those responsible for the ambushes and bring them to justice. The other was that players were urging the developers to revise the death penalty, preferably making it similar to other games.

In “Digital Source World,” death meant your account was finished. True, a few people had the ability to transfer their data to a new account, but if the new account died again, it was gone for good. Even they would have no choice but to start fresh with a brand-new account.

By contrast, the death penalties in other games were far less severe. At worst, one might lose a percentage of current experience or perhaps a level or two. Disabling another player’s character was nearly impossible.

For example, if dying cost a single level, and a player at level 100 was attacked while standing still, it would take ninety-nine kills to reduce them to level one. Even then, they could simply start leveling up again, unlike “Digital Source World,” where a single death meant complete erasure.

He remembered reading before about why the Digital Monster Corporation had implemented such a unique death penalty. At the time, the corporation had stated, “We are all fans of Digimon; we should be companions, not enemies. Thus, we wish to avoid any extreme behavior among fellow enthusiasts.”

Indeed, the terrifying death penalty wasn’t intended to facilitate purges, but to encourage cooperation and mutual development. Before “Digital Source World,” the corporation had released other Digimon games, but they were mostly breeding simulators: you’d start with a digital egg, raise it to ultimate form, and maybe pit your Digimon against others to see who was stronger. But that was the extent of it.

He couldn’t help but agree with the corporation’s philosophy. Until today, while some players had lost their accounts, most were wiped out by dungeon bosses, and only a tiny fraction fell victim to personal grudges.

So, although a few players had previously grumbled about the harsh death penalty, these complaints were in the minority. Most had never died, so the issue had little direct impact on them.

Now, however, eleven servers were reporting large numbers of player deaths, mostly from ambushes. Some managed to fight back successfully, but most were caught off guard and eliminated.

According to some insiders, the ambushers weren’t Digimon fans. Their usernames didn’t end with “mon,” as true fans’ names often did. Instead, their names resembled handles from other games: “White Emperor,” “Don’t Laugh, Your Majesty,” “God Said Let There Be Light,” “Lele,” “Madness Unaware,” and so on—even self-aggrandizing names like “I Am the Lord of the World” or “Sorrowful Wind.” None sounded like Digimon enthusiasts.

He read these posts in silence, a cold glint flickering in his eyes. Unlike others, he noticed something unusual in the flood of messages.

Some threads called for the death penalty to be made less severe, as in other games. Others demanded strict punishment for the ambushers. Still others quietly criticized the officials for inaction.

It was clear that the second group consisted of players who had been killed in ambushes—their requests were reasonable. But the first and third groups seemed to be shaping public opinion. Whether these two groups were actually the same people was anyone’s guess. Even those fanning the flames likely didn’t know the full picture; only the very top orchestrators would.

After skimming through enough threads to grasp the situation, he lost interest in reading further. For someone like him, arguing online was pointless.

Shaking his head with a look of indifference, he reached to shut down his computer and begin his workout. Just then, as he was about to close the laptop, his gaze landed on a particular post in the Digital Monster Corporation’s game forum. His eyes suddenly took on a deep, contemplative look…