After someone reached level 10, the changes to Bluestar were immediate—and monumental.
The most shocking?
The size of the world itself.
The so-called "Map Upgrade" had increased the planet's volume by at least tenfold—based on early, frantic estimates. And that was just the first upgrade. When someone eventually hit level 100, it would happen again.
But it wasn't just bigger. It was smarter.
New territories only spawned at border zones between nations, and these areas were flooded with high-level monsters—barriers designed to delay international conflict, or at least force high-cost passage.
Even then, some countries couldn't wait.
They'd already sacrificed elite squads, pushing them through deadly wildlands to cross into rival nations for espionage, sabotage, and assassinations.
Their targets?People with Myth-level talents—high-priority.Epic-levels—kill on sight if convenient.
Despite their future power, these talents were still vulnerable early on. Snipers. Poisons. Ambushes.
A handful of resurrections meant little when death could be served from a thousand meters away.
Within half a year, 90% of those with Mythic talents had fallen.Even more had died at the epic or legendary level—too many to count.
Next came the main cities.
Massive structures, able to house over a hundred million people, emerged across the world. Each one was placed within the territory of a respective country—but they weren't easy to enter.
Surrounding every city were hordes of monsters stronger than anything people had faced so far.
Could they be cleared with missiles or tanks?Sure.
But those kills wouldn't drop gear.Wouldn't give experience.Wouldn't teach anyone a thing.
Digitization didn't reward brute force.
Then there were the system functions.
Once unlocked, the chat system introduced five major channels:
Current (Local) – Within 1 kilometer.
Regional – For the entire city area.
Guild – Private for members.
National – Everyone in a country.
World – All of Bluestar.
The catch?Outside of Regional and Guild channels, speaking required gold coins—per word.
Regional chat: 1 coin per word.
National: 100 coins.
World chat: 10,000 coins—for just one word.
A single emoji could bankrupt a casual player.
The World Channel is not for chitchat.
"So someone actually hit level 10," Cheng Yao muttered, staring at the sky after the system announcement. "And I'm still stuck at level 5… so sad."
She turned to Wang Xian, who'd been quietly checking his own stats.
"Uncle, you're level 9 already, right? How close are you?"
Wang Xian glanced at his experience bar. "More than halfway through. If things go well, I should hit 10 by the end of today."
"So fast?!" she gasped.
Wang Xian just grunted, adjusted his grip on his mace, and continued hacking through another wave of goblins. Cheng Yao, as usual, remained safely behind, letting her party share bring her passive EXP while she scrolled the forums.
At noon, the air suddenly shifted.
A sharp, guttural roar echoed from deeper within the forest. Trees shook. The remaining goblins screeched and scattered.
A moment later, it appeared.
The Goblin Boss.
"UNCLE! IT'S A BOSS! A REAL BOSS!" Cheng Yao squealed, practically bouncing in place.
Compared to the goblins they'd been grinding, this one was massive—nearly twice the size of its underlings. It wielded a mace nearly the length of a grown man, its bark-like skin covered in crude bone armor.
Wang Xian narrowed his eyes. "Yeah. I see it."
"Go fight it! Kill it, Uncle!" she shouted, completely ignoring his tone.
"Fight it?" Wang Xian repeated, deadpan.
Then, calmly, he sheathed his weapon, walked over to Cheng Yao, and—with zero warning—threw her over his shoulder.
"Wha—UNCLE?!"
"We're running. Hold on."
He bolted out of the forest at full speed.
The Goblin Boss let out a furious snarl and thundered after them.
But its massive mace slowed it down, and after a short chase, it gave up—letting out a final screech before vanishing back into the woods.
Ten minutes later, outside the forest, Wang Xian set Cheng Yao down under the shade of a tree, panting hard.
Even though the world was gamified, it didn't eliminate physical fatigue. Players still got hungry, tired, sore. The digital didn't override biology.
Cheng Yao huffed and straightened her disheveled clothes. "Uncle! What was that about?! Why didn't we fight it?!"
Wang Xian looked at her with a flat expression. "Do I look like I have a death wish?"
"But it's a BOSS!"
"Yeah," Wang Xian said dryly. "A Level 15 Boss. I'm level 9. You're level 5. Your combat ability is zero. What exactly did you expect me to do? Ask it politely to drop loot?"
Cheng Yao opened her mouth.
Closed it.
"...Still. You didn't have to carry me like a sack of potatoes," she muttered.
"You couldn't run fast enough. Carrying you was the most efficient solution," Wang Xian replied, dead serious.
"Could've at least princess-carried me," she grumbled.
"Not happening."