Silent clenched his fists, feeling the impotent rage boiling inside. He didn't want to give up, but the whole world seemed to be pressing down on him. His sword, once sharp and deadly, now looked like a prop from an old play.
Yesterday he could consider himself a virtuoso of his craft, but today… He was nothing today.
Silent stared at the water, still thinking, but now his thoughts were far beyond the current problems with the game. They were going back to a time when everything was different—to a time when Wirsal Online was the epitome of perfection. Back then, the players respected the developers, and the game itself was perceived as a second home, an ideal world without flaws.
But everything changed suddenly, like a lightning strike. The game's creator, Marucho, a man of legend, has died. His death shocked not only the gaming community, but the entire world. A young genius who was not just a developer, but literally the father of this universe, died one fateful night. He was only 34 years old. The attack by a group of robbers, as the police claimed, ended in tragedy — stabbings and death on the spot.
At that time, Silent, like millions of other players, could not believe it. The news broke the airwaves, the forums were filled with condolences. People who had never known Marucho personally were crying, as if they had lost someone close. Some wrote that for them he was not just a developer, but the creator of the world where they found solace and inspiration.
But I didn't have to grieve for long. Almost immediately, rumors began to circulate that his death could not have been an accident at all. It was said that one of the major players in the technology and gaming market decided to remove a competitor. The press fueled these speculations, calling the incident "suspicious." Silent didn't believe the gossip, but one thing was clear: after Marucho's death, everything started to change.
The corporation that created the game seemed to have lost its soul. Anderson Maestro, a close friend of Marucho's, was appointed to replace the president, according to officials. But anyone who watched the game couldn't help but notice: The Maestro was completely different. Under his leadership, a policy of aggressive monetization began, and advertising appeared in the game for the first time.
And although they tried to limit her after the massive outrage of the players, she was still present. Silent remembered logging into the game and seeing the banners pop up. It was like a spot on a blank canvas. There was nothing like this in the world of Wirsal before. Back then, it was an ideal digital world, free from the intrusive reality. Now it began to resemble an ordinary commercial product.
"Everything has changed..." he muttered, looking at his reflection in the water.
Advertisements, debuffs, ill—considered updates - all this poisoned the very essence of the game, turning it into a shadow of what was created by Marucho.
Anderson Maestro is... a close friend, Silent thought sarcastically. He couldn't tell if he believed the conspiracy rumors, but his heart told him there was something wrong with the story.
The most painful blow to the game was dealt by something that no one could have thought of before. In early August 2059, the corporation announced the introduction of a new monetization system. The first hints of the changes appeared in the official news: "We strive to provide players with more options to personalize the gaming experience!" Naive words that did not portend disaster back then.
Silent, like most players, ignored this message. He was sure that we were talking about skins, new decorative elements, or some additional cosmetic features again. But everything changed when the update came out. Along with it, a new system called "Platinum Advantage" appeared.
At first glance, everything looked harmless. Players could purchase special items or temporary powerups that "enhanced" the gameplay. But it quickly became clear that we were talking about things that affect the mechanics of combat itself. Additional damage, increased attack speed, reduced damage from enemies — all this could be obtained for real money. The balance of the game was destroyed in an instant.
Silent remembered the day when he first saw a player with "platinum powerups". In an arena where a fair fight was always decided by skills and strategy, this man easily defeated all the opponents. Neither tactics nor experience mattered anymore. Money became the new weapon, and those who could afford it turned into invincible monsters.
The player communities exploded. The forums were filled with complaints, petitions to change the mechanics were signed by millions. But the corporation remained deaf. They only saw income charts that went up sharply. Anderson Maestro even gave an official statement.:
"We understand your concern, but we are confident that the new update adds depth to the game. Now every player has the opportunity to choose their own path to victory!"
These words sounded like a spit in the face of everyone who loved this game for its honesty and equal conditions.
For Silenus, it wasn't just insulting. It was a betrayal. He built his career on a fair fight. He learned to read opponents, develop strategies, and make the most of his class's capabilities. Now it all turned out to be unnecessary. What's the point of skill if you can buy it? Sitting by the lake, he remembered his last fight before this update. Back then, he was fighting another assassin as skilled as himself. They exchanged blows, each calculating the other's steps. It was an intense and magnificent match. Silent won, but not because of chance or money-he won because he was better.
"And it's all in the past," he whispered softly, feeling something inside him break.
Now, he looked at the gaming arena and saw how the meaning of this fight had dissolved. Those who had been with him from the beginning were gone. The newcomers didn't understand why a team game was needed if they could just pay for a victory. Old friends, those who had built Alpha with him, no longer logged into the game. Each of them found other activities, other games, or left the virtual world altogether.
"We wanted to create a legend," Silent thought, looking at the water surface. But now it's all become a farce. My thoughts drifted back to a recent event. The stadium in the game was bursting with the screams of the fans. The final of the tournament was an exciting sight, but for Silent it became an unbearable reminder of how far the game world has gone from its origins. The memories took him far back into the past again.
At the regular weekly tournament, a new champion stood in the arena, surrounded by dazzling light, which was enhanced by the effects of his "platinum" equipment. Unlike the old heroes, who deserved respect for their skills and perseverance, this man was the epitome of a new order—an order where the richest, not the strongest, win.
Donater raised a huge trophy above his head, sparkling so brightly that it was impossible not to pay attention to it. He was enjoying the moment, reveling in the triumph. And suddenly, instead of a speech of thanks or words about a difficult victory, he burst into a scream that echoed throughout the virtual world.:
— Well, have you eaten it, bitches?! Your era is over!
The crowd froze for a second, and then there was a deafening roar — a mixture of indignant shouts and approving applause. The camera, which transmits the image to the streams of millions of viewers, lingered on Donater's face. His expression was so smug that Silent felt his insides tighten.
These words struck not only at the veterans, but also at the very essence of Wirsal, which once symbolized equality of opportunity and the struggle of honest players. This moment was the culmination of everything Silent hated about the new era. He stared at the screen with clenched teeth, his hands shaking with anger.
"This is what it means to be a champion now..." he gasped, realizing that this cry was addressed to him as well, as one of those who clung to the old era.
This statement became a symbol of the gap between the old and new schools of players. It caused a storm of emotions, debates on forums, memes and long discussions about where the game is heading. But for Silent, this moment was not only humiliating, but also a personal challenge.
Has his era really passed? Or is there something else you can change?
The defeat at the tournament was just the beginning of a long series of scandals. The apotheosis of all this was the battle in the Ashar Valley
The platinum system was tearing the game world apart. At first it was just annoyance, then it was open hatred. The players who had once fought side by side for common goals now looked at each other with disdain. Top guilds, average players, and beginners — no one was spared by this wave.
A scandal broke out in the Blade of Dawn Guild, known for its discipline and cohesion, which marked the beginning of the end. At the next meeting, their leader, Commander Alterius, addressed his colleagues with a stern expression on his face.
"We're not here to play games. We built this guild on honesty. Each of you went through hell to earn your place," he cast a hard look at Martell, whose armor shone with a platinum light. — And you decided to just buy yourself a victory?
Martell crossed his arms over his chest, his gaze full of challenge.
"Bought it?" Do you call that honesty? When have I been defeated for months because of a poor balance sheet? Now that I have the means to get ahead, do you want to condemn me?
"It's not a game, it's a sale," Alterius snapped. "You're insulting everyone standing here."
The hall exploded with arguments. Some supported Martell, arguing that everyone has the right to use the available tools. Others, like Alterius, felt that it destroyed the very essence of the guild. Soon, the secretary's voice rang out:
— Let's vote. Who is in favor of expelling Martell?
Most of them raised their hands. And on the same day, Martell left the Blade of Dawn. But instead of accepting it, he created his own guild, the Platinum Sunrise. He was joined by other donors who were also expelled or shunned in their teams.
The average level of players (the majority of players), who did not have the same resources as the top players, reacted even more violently. On the popular game's forum, thousands of messages merged into endless streams.:
— These donors are just buying a victory!
— Yes, ban their reinforcement in tournaments already!
"No respect. Not a drop.
On the other hand, there were excuses:
"You're just jealous!"
— If you don't know how to play, leave. Who stopped you from donating?
The gaming community is divided. The "black lists" began — the nicknames of players with platinum powerups were added to them. Raids with such people were boycotted, and invitations to groups were ignored. Former friends became enemies, and donors faced open harassment in the arenas. Teams of ordinary players huddled together just to humiliate one platinum player.
But the donors did not stay away either. They began to form their alliances from the same platinum players, creating territories where no one from the outside could enter. Within these unions, their own clans and guilds grew, where the platinum ruled unchallenged.
The platinum system even severed personal relationships. One day, a scene played out in a tavern where the players were gathering, which became a meme among the community.
"We started out together," said a player in armor with traces of many battles. His voice was trembling. "And now you're one of them."
"So what?" His former partner replied calmly, shining with platinum blades. — You just couldn't adapt. It's not my fault.
"You sold yourself!" — the first one shouted, angrily clenching his fists. "You are no longer worthy of our respect.
After this conflict, both left the tavern, and no one else saw them together.
And somewhere in the developers' headquarters, the game's director, Anderson Maestro, was reviewing the reports. The profit growth was staggering. His face remained stony while the staff discussed the next update.
— Mr. Maestro, — said one of the analysts, — the indicators continue to grow, but ... the popularity of the game among older players is falling. Reputation goes into negative territory.
The maestro slowly raised his gaze.
—Does it matter?"
There was silence. He threw the reports on the table.
— Money speaks louder than any forum.
So they decided to release even more platinum items. Meanwhile, pressure on donors was increasing in Ikrad, they were expelled, beaten, and shunned from everywhere. For the donors, it was a real blow below the belt. None of them, even those who sincerely considered the platinum system to be a worthy development of the game, could have imagined that their world would be turned upside down. They came to this universe to enjoy its scale, to become heroes or even legends. But now they are on the verge of exile, like outcasts in a world that once welcomed them with open arms.
At first they tried to justify themselves. Forum posts, angry comments, and attempts to open the eyes of other players: "It's not our fault! It's all the developers!" They begged to be understood, claiming that they were only using the available tools like any other players. But the world didn't want to hear them.
Blacklists appeared on the forums. "Careful, platinum ones!" the themes read. Players seen with platinum items or powerups were publicly branded and their nicknames were recorded in the database so that no one else would dare to take them into the group. It was the beginning of the end for the donators' usual life.
In the raids, everything escalated to the point of absurdity. When the platinum player joined the group, no one said anything directly. But as soon as the battle began, everything became obvious. The healers stopped treating them, leaving them to die in the thick of the battle. The tanks deliberately diverted the enemies towards them, making them the main target. And then, when Donater died, the whole group either abandoned the raid or moved on, pretending that nothing had happened.
In one of these raids, Donater, known as Argemont, realized the depth of self-contempt. He was a powerful mage whose platinum staff allowed him to destroy enemies with waves of fire. In the midst of a boss fight, he felt his health start to plummet.
— Treat him! Treat me, damn it! — he shouted into the chat. But there was no response.
Soon after, he saw his health reach zero, and then the familiar "You have been defeated" appeared on the screen. When he returned to the rebirth site, the group's chat was bursting with sarcasm:
— Well, one less "rich".
"You can handle it, right?" You have "platinum power".
Argemont withdrew from the group and did not return to this raid. But his story was not unique. This was happening everywhere. Donors were purposefully squeezed out of teams, their quests were sabotaged, and sometimes they were even simply attacked in the open world, setting up whole hunts.
It was a world filled with hatred and contempt. But the donors were not fools. They understood that they had money, and that money was power. They began to regroup, forming their own guilds and alliances. The first such guild, Platinum Sunrise, became a symbol of their pride. Their motto was simple: "Strength does not require apologies."
Those who refused to be humiliated began to gather around this guild. They built fortresses where ordinary players had no place. They were developing strategies to regain their dominant position. After all, they had the resources to create the strongest characters, even if they were hated.
But with every move they made, the world of the game became more hostile. Ordinary players began to form alliances to resist the donors. They wrote on the forums:
"We can't let them destroy our world!"
"This is a war, and we can't lose!"
It was at this point that the game reached its boiling point. A secret meeting was held at one of the fortresses belonging to the Donater guild. Argumentus, now one of the leaders of the Platinum Sunrise, turned to his colleagues:
"They think we're weak. They think we're just buying our own power. But we will show them that money can create not only power, but also order.
"Are you suggesting an attack?" Another mage, wearing a platinum robe that sparkled in the torchlight, asked him.
- no. We will create our own game. Do they want war? We will give them a war.
With these words, a new era began, in which both sides — donors and ordinary players — were preparing for the inevitable clash.