Former Ranker's Newbie Life

Chapter 81

The light handed Do-Jin a glowing golden thread.

“This is the Thread of Fate,” the light said. “It leads anything to the destiny it’s meant for.”

Do-Jin frowned. “How the hell do I use it? This isn’t even an item.”

Since it didn’t go into his inventory, that meant it wasn’t classified as an item but as a physical object.

“Am I supposed to use this now?” he asked.

“No, not necessarily,” the light replied. “It’ll stick around until you let go of it.”

Do-Jin narrowed his eyes. “What happens if I do?”

“Once fate leaves your hand, it never returns.”

“So it disappears, then!” he snapped.

The entity nodded its whole body like some preachy old fart. “Whether it is chance or fate, that’s how it goes,” it said in an increasingly distant voice as its body began to fade.

—Oh no, looks like we’re running out of time.

Wait, what? Do-Jin thought, realizing that he couldn’t speak anymore.

—I’m glad I was able to tell you this much. I’ll be waiting for the day we meet again. Farewell, reckless human. Ah, I almost forgot to say this. Thanks for giving me another chance. Because of you, I think I’ll be able to return someday. Goodbye.

Do-Jin wanted to shout, “What the hell does that mean?!” but the words refused to come out.

The light vanished and the white world was swallowed in black. In the blink of an eye, everything turned bright again. He was back outside the Tower of Trials.

“What the fuck just happened...” Do-Jin muttered.

His head was spinning, and it felt like he had just woken up from a dream. Maybe that was because too much had happened all at once. However, it definitely wasn’t a dream. The proof was this golden thread still fluttering in his hand.

“I’ve got a ton of shit to sort through... but first, I better deal with this,” he said, narrowing his eyes at the thread.

It still wasn’t an item but a physical object. If letting it go made it vanish, that meant he had to use it right now, one way or another.

A thread that leads anything to the destiny it’s meant for... he thought, frowning. How the hell am I supposed to use that?

It didn’t make sense for the light to hand it over like this if it couldn’t be used. He needed to be sure it really couldn’t go into his inventory. To check again, Do-Jin opened his inventory and moved the thread closer.

“Huh?” he grunted.

Just like before, it stopped right at the boundary between the air and the inventory, refusing to go in.

However, something was different this time. Even though it couldn’t be stored, the thread kept tugging lightly in the direction of the inventory’s black hole, almost like it was being pulled by something inside. It was as if something in there was calling out to it.

Is it reacting to something in the inventory? he wondered.

To test the theory, Do-Jin started taking things out one by one, trying to find what the thread was drawn to. That experiment ended with the very first item.

“Of course,” he muttered with a tired scoff. “Nothing else in here makes sense anyway.”

The Thread of Fate responded violently to the “Egg Left Behind by the Spirit Dragon” the moment he pulled it out. Maybe it was designed to react more strongly to beings or objects with a grander fate.

“Fuck it. I’ll figure it out somehow!”

There was no reason to overthink it. His hand was cramping just from pinching down on this string for so long. Do-Jin pressed the fluttering golden thread to the jewel-like egg. It unraveled and shot outward, scattering into strings of glowing letters in the air.

[You have used the Thread of Fate on the Egg Left Behind by the Spirit Dragon.]

[The Thread of Fate is reading the destiny tied to the Egg Left Behind by the Spirit Dragon.]

However, before Do-Jin could even make sense of what the shapes meant, the golden letters were sucked into his body.

[The Thread of Fate will guide you until the associated quest for Egg Left Behind by the Spirit Dragon is complete.]

The meaning of “guiding fate” became instantly clear.

[The Spirit Dragon’s Legacy]

Grade: Hidden

Long after the Spirit Dragon’s death, when its body began to decay, a brief moment of resurrection may have been a final act to lay this egg into the world. However, the egg has been left alone for far too long. It no longer seems viable enough to hatch. If your heart aches for it, take good care of the egg.

The tooltip for the hidden quest he already had blurred out on its own, and a new one popped up. This one, however, wasn’t just a clue. It was practically an answer sheet, kindly laying out exactly how to proceed with the hidden quest.

[The Spirit Dragon’s Legacy]

Grade: Hidden

The name of the Spirit Dragon, whose body was left behind in silence, was D’Askandar. There is someone who might know how to hatch its egg. Seek out the legendary spiritualist, Tegran Begrif.

“So this is how it works...” Do-Jin muttered, staring at his now-empty hand.

The golden thread was gone. He glanced back at the hologram window that now laid out the exact steps for a quest he had all but forgotten about. Furthermore, Do-Jin knew exactly who this spiritualist was. Tegran Begrif was the boss monster of a dungeon called the Forest That Sings of Eternity. Not only that, he was an undead monster who had been around for a long time.

Haa... This is gonna be a pain in the ass.

“You’re telling me to go meet a dungeon boss? Not even take it down, but... just meet him?” Do-Jin frowned, pressing a hand to his brow like the whole thing was giving him a headache. “This is fucking ridiculous.”

Even so, the corners of his lips twitched. He had to admit that it was sort of intriguing. There was a certain satisfaction in breezing through problems he’d already known the answer to. Nonetheless, the real thrill came from the unknown. He’d rather dive in and wrestle with a challenge until he made sense of it.

“Well, guess I don’t have a choice. If I hold back my curiosity, I might actually go crazy. Looks like this is next on the list.”

With that, Do-Jin tossed the egg back into his inventory. The jewel-like orb vanished into the black hole as if it had never been there.

***

LOST’s very first large-scale event, the Tower of Trials, was a spectacle from the start. Just the fact that it was the game’s first massive event was enough to get everyone’s attention, but then they went and made it a battle between the Star of Creation and the Star of Ruin, turning every single player into a fate-sharing hostage.

If progress stalled in the Tower, one’s own EXP points and loot were on the line. So naturally, everyone had their eyes glued to the top-tier players and how far they were getting. When every single top-tier raid team kept failing on Floor 8, and the Star of Ruin debuff spread across the server like a plague, everything came to a dead halt. The entire community turned into a horde of zombies, drunk on rage and panic.

└ They talked all that shit about skill, but when it came down to it, they were all fucking trash.

└ All they had going for them was their fat wallets. They dropped cash to get stronger, strutted around like they were hot stuff... Look at them now.

└ What, you’re using viewers’ money to whale? Don’t some of those top guilds have corporate sponsors now? It must be nice making money just to suck at the game.

The guilds and streamers who’d been so cocky, yelling about “100% clearing the Tower of Trials” on their live streams, were now getting roasted to hell and back. The public was tearing into these players, and the stress was eating through their guts like acid.

However, that was when Do-Jin cleared Floor 8 completely solo. Just like that, the Star of Ruin debuff was gone. That didn’t mean the ones who had failed were suddenly off the hook. It only made things worse for them.

└ Wait... you’re telling me one guy cleared it alone, and none of you fuckers could do it together?

└ Please. Just quit streaming, quit gaming, or quit life. Pick one and get the hell out.

Suddenly, people went nuts. The story going around was that some solo bastard cleared what full-on raid teams couldn’t even get through. It wasn’t the whole picture, not even close, but those who were chronically online didn’t care. They kept running their mouths, tossing out hate comments, and laughing like it was all some kind of joke.

The ones on the receiving end of all this flak had no choice but to clench their teeth, push down the humiliation, and throw themselves at Floor 9 like their lives depended on it. However, the second Challenge Floor hit back harder than anything before, making Floor 8 feel like just a warm-up. Kusa, the final guardian, didn’t feel like a boss that was meant to be cleared. He felt like some twisted mistake the devs had made, like they had designed him with the sole purpose of breaking players.

「We’ve seriously tried every setup that’s even possible right now. There’s just no fucking way to clear this. The devs put up a wall on purpose. There’s no way in hell this was meant to be beat at current specs.」

「This will be our last attempt. Our guild’s done with the raid stream after this. Every single member of the raid party is completely burned out. We’re really sorry, but we can’t keep going like this.」

「They expect us to beat this? Don’t fuck with me. If anyone actually clears this shit before the event ends, I’ll give them 10 Gold myself.」

Most of the top players had already thrown in the towel. Too many raid teams had stepped up, taken the beating, and walked away with their pride in pieces. Getting torn to shreds by the public while pushing through hopeless runs was more than enough to break anyone.

When the Star of Ruin flared up again, the debuff that had briefly faded also returned with a vengeance. A few teams kept at it, grinding their teeth and pushing forward in silence. With each passing day, though, whatever hope they had left was dying out.

[The light of Raves, Star of Ruin, fades away.]

[Bella, Star of Creation, shines with radiant light.]

When the two system messages came and spread across the entire world, announcing that Floor 9 had been cleared, the curse was finally lifted and a blessing took its place.Exactly one week later, a new video dropped on Do-Jin’s channel, this time titled “9.”

Given how important it was, the entire content team at Rael Entertainment had pulled a week of overtime to plan, storyboard, adapt, and edit the thing. Do-Jin’s combat scenes, although jaw-dropping on their own, had been polished to a shine with the sweat, blood, and tears of professionals.

Naturally, the reaction was explosive. It looked more like a blockbuster film than a game clip, with a kicker highlight right at the very end.

[If you do not open that door, the power suppressing the Star of Ruin will soon run out. However, if you do open it, the Star of Ruin will remain dim until this tower vanishes.]

[I’ve made my choice. I choose to move forward. If my choice stops all of Lostania from going to hell, then it’s worth it.]

The guardian’s warning was blunt: if no one stepped up to clear Floor 10 and risk everything they’d earned so far, the curse would sweep across all of Lostania without a doubt. However, Do-Jin didn’t hesitate. He walked straight into the challenge, fully prepared to lose it all.

Thanks to some clever editing, any signs of hesitation were cut entirely. What the audience saw was dramatic, stone-cold resolve that looked nearly heroic. The final cut hit hard, pulling viewers into the moment and leaving them buzzing with adrenaline.

└ Now this is a fucking MMO. This is what an RPG’s supposed to feel like.

└ Sacrifice. Risk. Do-Jin.

└ I remember all those loudmouths who said Floor 9 was impossible and made big promises. Sucks to be them.

└ Do-fucking-Jin. Another day, another Do-Jin. Bow down and praise the man.

└ Namaste, Do-Jin Buddha. Thank you for blessing us with our daily content.

Do-Jin’s popularity didn’t just skyrocket. For a moment, it felt like the guy had straight-up founded a new religion.

└ So when’s Floor 10 video dropping?

People were hyped as they waited for footage of this legendary next floor. However, the video never came, and the longer the silence dragged on, the more it worked in Do-Jin’s favor.

└ So he really did fail Floor 10, huh...

└ Be real. With how hellish Floor 9 was, how the hell would anyone clear 10?

└ He probably knew best of all what kind of shit he was giving up when he made that call.

Sympathy started building around the idea that Do-Jin had tried and failed. They figured he’d put it all on the line and walked away empty-handed. As a matter of fact, he had cut the entire Floor 10 section without a second thought.

Why would I bother uploading the video? There wasn’t even a boss fight. And it’s better to keep the stuff about the Tower Keeper to myself. I might as well not even send the footage to the company.

└ The fact that he even went for it is badass as hell. If it was me, I would’ve ditched that cursed bullshit and grabbed my loot the second I had the chance.

Completely unaware of what was going on behind the scenes, the public was blissfully on Do-Jin’s side.