Wang Xian hadn't planned to write about hidden occupations.
Too many people were delusional—always imagining they were the protagonist, the chosen one, destined for greatness. He'd seen it in his past life. That kind of fantasy held people back, made them waste precious time chasing glory that wasn't theirs.
But then he remembered something else—dozens of posts he'd read in that last life. Threads written by desperate players. They'd been given hidden job quests… but they failed. They were ill-prepared, uninformed, unworthy. And so they gave up—some out of frustration, some because the tasks turned suicidal.
Those failures stayed with him.
Because he'd seen what those hidden occupations could do on the battlefield.
During the National War, when entire countries clashed like player guilds in a final raid, hidden job holders were the game-changers. Walking disasters. Living weapons. Some of them could turn the tide of war on their own.
This wasn't a game built for balance. This world didn't care about fairness.
The strong ruled. The weak died.
That was the truth.
And Wang Xian had lived it.
He remembered the end of the Dragon Kingdom—his homeland. Surrounded. Overwhelmed. Dragged down by the envy and fear of the world. Once the truth about its dungeon density and quality was revealed, the other nations turned red-eyed with greed.
Resources.
That's what it was always about.
Not gold. Not land.
Dungeons.
The Dragon Kingdom didn't have the most dungeons—but it had the best. Thirteen Mythic-level, over a hundred Epic, and more than a thousand Legendary dungeons. Their quality far surpassed any other nation's.
Other countries had Legendary and some Epic-grade dungeons, sure—but Mythic? Few had even discovered one.
And even though the Dragon Kingdom hadn't cleared its highest-tier dungeons yet, the sheer potential scared the others into preemptive war.
Equipment. Pets. Experience.Whoever controlled the dungeons… controlled the future.
So they struck first.
Dozens of nations allied. Coordinated. Besieged the Dragon Kingdom from all sides.
Wang Xian had died before the end of it. He never saw the final outcome. But he'd heard the whispers—what the enemy wanted. If they won, they wouldn't stop at occupation.
They'd erase the Dragon Kingdom entirely.
Now, reborn, he couldn't stop the coming war.
The numbers were already in motion. The resentment, the spies, the fear. Too many foreigners already lived in the Dragon Kingdom. If they tried to silence them, it would only bring the war sooner.
They couldn't be stopped.
So if the National War was inevitable…
The only path was to prepare. To empower the Dragon Kingdom from within.
He couldn't change the world. He couldn't carry the country on his back.
But he could plant seeds.
In his last life, he had been a nobody. A mid-tier player, scraping by. But he had spent hours, days, chasing hidden job posts—reading every forum thread, dissecting every rumor. His obsession had given him knowledge. He knew where some of the quests started. He knew how some of them failed. He knew where the paths diverged.
He couldn't save the world.
But maybe he could help someone who could.
He hadn't even tried to pursue a hidden class this time. He didn't need to. That mysterious blood drop he'd consumed—it was tied to something far more rare.
A hidden class that would come to him.
He winced, remembering how he'd finally gotten that job in his past life… only to be stabbed in the back before his first skill unlocked.
But not this time.
This time, he was ready.
Ding. Ding. Ding.
A rapid stream of notification chimes buzzed in his ear.
Wang Xian blinked, pulled up the forum window—and froze.
The post he had written minutes ago had exploded.
Tens of thousands of replies.Closing in on 100,000 floors.
His fingers hovered over the interface, scrolling down.
He expected debate, maybe some praise, maybe someone smart enough to pick up on the clues.
What he found instead made his stomach churn.
"Fearmonger.""Psycho.""You want people to kill animals now? What next, people?""Telling people to suicide? You're literally a terrorist.""Fake news. None of this is proven. Ignore this Prophet freak."
Some even accused him of trying to destabilize society. Others painted him as a radical, an extremist, a lunatic.
One reply pinned to the top had an almost official air:
"Do NOT go out into the wild. The animal population is protected. Killing them may be illegal under emergency wildlife laws. Use of violence—even digital—is dangerous and leads to violent tendencies and personality decay."
It was clear.
His post had become the scapegoat. The outlet for fear and disbelief.
They don't want to see the truth.
He could argue. He could write clarifications, point out evidence, cite examples from his previous life.
But what would it change?
Every sentence would bring a hundred more insults. A thousand more flames. In this lawless digital forum, there were no moderators. No bans. No cooldowns.
People spoke their minds—and most of their minds were full of denial.
Let them laugh.
He closed the forum.
Let them scoff now. That regret—the sharp, suffocating kind—would come soon enough.
Once the leaderboard function unlocked at Level 10,Once the truth became undeniable…
They would remember the Prophet.
And by then, the smart ones would start listening.