I stared at the crimson countdown flickering across my retina, my Adam's apple bobbing nervously. Outside the blacksmith's shop, players clamored while hunting slimes, as cold sweat trickled down my neck.
"Repair fee: five silver coins." I maintained the synthetic electronic voice for the next customer, fingers frantically swiping through a holographic panel only I could see. The data from that idiot warrior's weapon still glowed - crit rate -15%, durability cap permanently reduced 30%, with a [Cursed Misfortune] debuff icon showing a middle finger emoji.
A new system alert popped up: [Unauthorized operation detected. Cease privilege abuse immediately]
"Honored adventurer," I boomed over the alarm, making the dagger-wielding assassin before me stumble back, "Would you accept the hidden quest 'Secret of the Rusted Blade'?" The assassin's ID [ShadowStab] immediately turned passionate pink above his head - this trick never failed.
As the assassin rushed out clutching nonexistent quest scrolls, I activated the [Environmental Parameter Adjustment] from my GM commands. A drunken dwarf NPC plummeted from the tavern's second floor, perfectly crushing the armored warrior returning to confront me. The maneuver flowed as smoothly as if rehearsed a hundred times - which it had been, after last week's incident where I'd dumped three whale players into a manure pit using the same method.
"Old Jack! Another ale!" I shouted toward the tavern. The bearded brewer shuffled over, anomalous data streams flickering in his pupils. The AI core I'd implanted ten days prior was taking effect - now he'd tell random dad jokes I'd programmed to every ale-buying player.
The countdown read 178:00:00 when a new surveillance window materialized. Through it, a golden-haired elf archer crouched on my roof, her ornate bow glowing with detection magic. Charlotte - first player to clear the Nightmare Elf Trials - had her [Eagle Eye] skill locked onto the GM console disguised as a rusty hammer at my waist.
"Apprentice Blacksmith," she landed before me like a cat, elven ears translucent in dawnlight, "Why do you have seven hidden equipment slots?" Her arrow nocked but undrawn threatened me with its [Reveal Truth] enchantment.
My fingers blurred behind me. The GM panel offered [Emergency Response Protocols]. Option three flashed: Summon Lv80 Field Boss (23h cooldown). As I confirmed, earthshaking roars erupted through the starter village.
"It's the Lava Tortoise!" someone screamed from the plaza. "Spawning at the resurrection point!"
Charlotte's composure held impressively, save for a twitching eyelid. While the crowd surged toward chaos, I leisurely bit into a virtual tomato - crucial NPC camouflage requiring twice-daily "food consumption." An icy hand gripped my shoulder.
"You delayed my Scan spell's feedback by 0.3 seconds using admin privileges." Her honeyed voice turned lethal as she revealed her passive talent [Time Anchor]. "I can trace sixty seconds of data anomalies."
I froze mid-bite, tomato juice dripping onto the anvil. The GM panel now blared red: [Exposure Risk: 87%]. Charlotte finally drew her bowstring taut.
The tomato juice splattered into a perfect heart shape. Staring at the [Magic Breaker Arrow] tip inches from my eye, I noticed microscopic engraving: "Made in System Error."
"Ever heard of quantum speed-reading?" I ripped open my burlap apron to reveal a novice tunic displaying fluorescent Lv.255 - a visual trick from last week's GM code edits, now glowing like neon under sunlight. All players knew the level cap was 120.
During her 0.5-second hesitation, I activated my three-day-prepared contingency - [Forced NPC Protection Protocol]. The tavern wall exploded as thirteen orc drinkers turned with crimson [???] levels above their heads. These were the system's hidden guardian NPCs meant to protect storyline characters.
"Madam Landlady!" I screeched toward the second floor. "Someone's assassinating your top taxpayer!"
The stairwell quaked as a 2.5-meter minotaur wielding a meat cleaver charged out, her apron splattered with goblin steak blood. Dubbed the "Starter Village Final Boss" by players, she instantly aggroed Charlotte.
The elf finally showed panic, stumbling into Old Jack's ale barrels. I triggered [Scene Interaction Commands], shaping spilled beer into arrows pointing to my pre-made escape portal - a Floo Powder fireplace from Harry Potter.
"New mail arrived." I pitched my voice like system alerts, tossing a GM-forged [Hidden Class Certificate]. As parchment burned with server-wide announcement effects, twenty golden pillars lit the sky. The whole village mob rushed toward fake holy relics.
Charlotte's arrow pierced my phased body - courtesy of the [Spatial Displacement] passive I'd set three hours prior. My physical form clipped through the smithy floor while she saw only NPC invincibility.
"Listen!" I shouted through floor cracks, voice modulated to raid boss reverb. "Complete three trials for admin codes: First, collect weeping lava tortoise shells. Second, find a sonnet-writing man-eater flower. Third..."
The ground trembled as my Lava Tortoise started spray-painting Mona Lisa with magma at the plaza. Livestreamers screamed hysterically, oblivious to the stolen World of Warcraft particle effects trailing its rear.
When Charlotte tried to speak, Old Jack intervened with honey mead. The awakened NPC's eyes glowed blue as he recited my joke database: "Why don't skeletons run marathons? They'd fall apart halfway! Hahaha..."
During her three-second cringe, I teleported to my underground stash: "Limited edition" rusted swords (real durability 9999), spell scrolls summoning husky-shaped wolf kings, and 72 NPC costumes - my current apprentice smock secretly listing Avengers' social security numbers in invisible ink.
A new alert showed security director Caesar banning 117 cheaters while tracking "anomalous data clusters." I erased my bunker's coordinates, flooding system logs with fake bugs containing Star Wars crawls and Rick and Morty quotes.
"Warning: Lava Tortoise attacking guard NPCs." I chuckled. The modified aggro table made it chase whales - the Ironblood Guild leader danced like a marionette, his $10k fireproof cloak burning to a bikini in magma.
Pulling out my [Codex Goggles] - leftover tester gear showing raw programming - I spotted Charlotte still lurking. Zooming in revealed her quiver held forbidden loot: elevator keycard to game company HQ.
The countdown hit 176:23:17 when I realized the true glitch wasn't GM powers - this "secure" neural interface game was erasing reality's borders. Old Jack returned with tenth ale, uttering unscripted words: "Lin... see how the sky twitches?"