Leveling Up by Executing Monsters

"I’m a busy man."

Lloyd said irritably, tossing the list onto the coffee table in front of him and refusing to look at it again.

But if he ever managed to save up that many precious points, he’d probably cash them in for the 15-point [All-Powerful Spin Stick]. There was no particular reason; he just liked the sound of the name.

"As we agreed, I’ll be coming by more often. Maybe twice a week? That counts as ’often,’ right?"

Lloyd asked.

"Of course. We respect your choice."

The Attendant replied deferentially, then followed up with a question of his own.

"By the way, what did you think of our new game mode? Your opinion is very important to us."

"It was alright. But it’d be better if there was more freedom for customization, so people’s cars could look more unique and stand out. Also, I ran into a couple of hustlers earlier..."

Lloyd took the opportunity to report the two hustlers. He didn’t care if they would recover from their critical injuries—he was reporting them regardless.

"I understand. We will give your first point serious consideration. As for the second..."

The Attendant paused, his tone shifting to one of apology as he explained,

"We only cater to the experience of players of your caliber. And in the end, you handled that little problem with ease, did you not?"

The implication was clear: there was no anti-smurfing or newbie protection here. New players had to fend for themselves.

Lloyd shrugged and dropped the subject.

In truth, he hadn’t gotten much of a ’game experience’ out of that last round. Those two were just too pathetic. He’d casually activated the [Twisted Realm] and rammed them with his car, and the game was over. The match itself took less time than customizing the car, a complete waste of his meticulously crafted work of art.

It was like finally getting a full, six-slot, god-tier item build, only for the enemy team to immediately surrender. They were so bad it felt like he was the one hacking. Naturally, there was no ’game experience’ to be had...

But then again, it was only natural for a couple of scumbags who preyed on newbies to be terrible at the game. A truly skilled player wouldn’t stoop to something so classless.

But on second thought, Lloyd realized the car in this game—or rather, the ’halo’ surrounding it—was a genuinely useful tool. It allowed the well-rounded Attributes he had so painstakingly built up to be more effectively converted into combat power.

When the enemy rammed him at full force, he was completely unscathed. He hadn’t felt any impact at all, like it was just a light scrape. ’This defensive performance is incredibly reassuring!’

Meanwhile, his own attacks fully utilized the strengths of his build, allowing him to dispatch his opponents with ease.

’If only I could use this ability in the real world...’

And so, Lloyd asked another question.

"What’s the principle behind the ability to construct those cars?"

The Attendant gave a vague answer.

"Well... it’s quite complicated to explain, and it would be difficult for you to understand in your current state. When you draw closer to ’greatness,’ you will naturally come to understand these crude little tricks of ours."

’So even though they think I’m some ’privileged player,’ they still won’t tell me everything, huh?’

Lloyd thought for a moment and, taking the hint, changed the subject.

"In that case, can you tell me how that truck from outside got trapped in here?"

The Attendant froze. A vacant look crossed his face, as if his consciousness had left his body. After about half a minute, he snapped out of it and explained with a smile,

"Although we are obligated to protect the privacy of all players, you are, after all, special. Therefore, I can provide you with a limited answer."

"While that truck was in motion, a player used a special invitation card that allowed them to instantly enter this place. This, in turn, led to that unfortunate accident."

"A special invitation card?"

"Yes."

The Attendant then handed him another list, which detailed various types of invitation cards.

There were cards that could instantly transport someone to the ’Dream Theater,’ available in both single-use and permanent versions. The prices reflected this difference, at five points versus fifty thousand.

’I can’t imagine what kind of sucker would buy the permanent one. You’d have to use it over ten thousand times just to break even. Even if you came every single day, that would take almost 28 years.’

In addition, there were cards to invite people directly to the second floor, the third floor, or into a specific game. There was even a card that could forcibly drag someone in, regardless of their willingness.

The most basic invitation card, on the other hand, only cost five points to redeem, which wasn’t expensive.

Lloyd redeemed one for Weiya on the spot, leaving him with 48 points.

There was nothing else worth redeeming for the time being, so he decided to save the rest.

Then, having just made a "purchase," he decided to strike while the iron was hot and ask,

"Can you tell me who used that special invitation card? And where are they now?"

He was trying to follow the trail to smoke out the ’mole’.

Unfortunately, the Attendant shook his head without hesitation.

"I’m sorry, but we are obligated to protect our players’ confidentiality."

With that said, perhaps fearing Lloyd would continue prying, he quickly changed the subject.

"By the way, the truck you’re looking for has been placed outside the entrance. You’ll see it when you leave."

Lloyd immediately shot to his feet, turned, and walked away.

His vision blurred, and he found himself back in the familiar empty room. He saw the little kitten pawing at the doorframe and meowing as if trying to alert him to something.

Lloyd scooped up the kitten and hurried downstairs.

But then, he suddenly heard rapid, ragged breaths.

He turned his head and saw the perpetually sleepy clerk leaning against the counter, his face pale, panting nonstop as if he’d just finished some heavy manual labor.

The moment he saw Lloyd, he began to curse irritably.

"You... you little bastard... Are you fucking doing this to me on purpose?"

Baffled by the outburst, Lloyd quickly glanced out the door.

Sure enough, a heavy-duty truck was parked there, with several figures sprawled haphazardly beside it.

"Do... you... have any idea... how heavy... this thing... is? Or how much... trouble... it is to get out? COUGH, COUGH, COUGH..."

The clerk continued to vent his frustration between gasps, which was followed by another violent coughing fit.

Lloyd was stunned. ’He’s the one who got the truck out?’

’Just how powerful is this guy? He can actually fish things out from the so-called ’edge beyond the world’?’

In that instant, Lloyd understood why the clerk had looked so dismissive when he had shown a hint of hostility earlier.

He quickly offered a flattering compliment.

"You were the one who pulled it out? You’ve gone to so much trouble. Please, allow me to express the sincere gratitude of the Radiant Sect..."

"Hmph."

The clerk gave an irritated snort, went back behind the counter, and slumped over it, still panting.

But then he heard Lloyd continue.

"So... could I trouble you to also deliver the truck to the Holy Judgment Court’s Eighteenth District?"

Without even lifting his head, the clerk listlessly retorted,

"Do you believe I’ll beat you to death?"

Considering this guy could probably make good on that threat, Lloyd didn’t dare provoke him further and quickly exited the antique shop.

The instant his foot crossed the threshold of the antique shop, he sensed a stir behind him. He spun around, only to find that the entire antique shop, along with the small building that housed it, had vanished into thin air.

All that remained in its place was a dilapidated ruin of scorched and crumbling walls, looking like the aftermath of a fire.

But it was impossible to tell whether it had just been burned or if it had always been this way.

Lloyd stood there stunned for several seconds before quickly fishing the two invitation cards out of his pocket.

One was his, the other was for Weiya.

His own card, which had originally been a rather tacky solid gold, had been upgraded to a more elegant and refined platinum.

And the address on it had been changed to a different location.

Lloyd took a closer look. ’Isn’t that the old book market across from the club?’

’Did they change the entrance just to make it more convenient for me?’

’Also, they must have already doxxed me to be able to pick this location, and I was completely oblivious...’

He looked at Weiya’s card. It was still the original solid gold, and it didn’t have an address on it.

’Maybe every player has their own exclusive ’entrance’?’

’The more I interact with this ’Dream Theater,’ the more mysterious it seems...’

Lloyd had no time for further speculation. He put the invitation cards away and ran over to the truck.

Many passersby had already noticed the truck’s sudden appearance and seen the people lying on the ground. Some kind-hearted individuals were about to step forward to help.

"Don’t touch them!"

Lloyd shouted.

’They were just fished out of a spatial rift. Who knows what might still be lingering on them...?’

"Stay back! Call the police!"

Lloyd shouted again.

His uniform came in handy, lending him an air of authority that helped him effectively control the scene.

Soon, a large group of police, along with several Judges, Priests, and Saint’s Hunters, arrived from various directions and took control of the situation.

Among them were Judge Riggs and Gold, both of whom Lloyd had met with just recently.

The two had probably arrived via the ’subway.’ They were coughing as they inspected the scene and inventoried the cargo in the truck. Afterward, they hurried over to Lloyd, patting him on the shoulders from either side.

"You actually managed to get the men and the cargo back. The sacrifice of those fourteen brothers... it wasn’t in vain."

"Well done, Lloyd! You brought everyone back and confirmed the true culprit. At least now we can give their families some closure."

There was no excitement or joy on their faces at recovering what was lost; instead, they were filled with solemnity and grief.

The dozen or so Priests lying on the ground would never get up again...

And the one person missing from their number was the captain of the escort team, a Judge named Frick.