Chapter 113: Invitation (3)

Creeeak.

The man, known as the father of Albus and someone who defied even the scorn of gods to reclaim his full head of hair—a feat overcoming humanity’s worst and most fearsome ailment—Duke Vernier settled back in his office chair, reclining against its backrest.

Once, he had thought of him as a son.

That person had become the most revered god across the continent before he even realized it. 

At first, he’d merely thought of his talented son as someone who had created something extraordinary. 

Like the many grand mages of history who accomplished remarkable feats, he believed his admirable son had done the same.

But as time went on, he realized that his son’s accomplishments were far too grand to simply call them the works of a “human” grand mage.

The magic he had thought to be mere fantasy was actually enhancing its user. 

The experiences and adventures in those fantasies started to impact reality. 

It wasn’t just an illusion.

And that wasn’t all.

He had even developed a miraculous potion that could cure the most dreadful disease, one from which even the Emperor of the Empire could not escape. 

It was a cure compared to the legendary elixir, rumored only in myths, and he had distributed it widely.

The Holy Kingdom, the Empire, and the Republic—all nations fixated their eyes on the mystique that Rudera brought to the world. 

Even non-human races were no exception.

Could an ordinary human achieve all of this? 

And that, too, a mere twenty-year-old son of mine?

Back then, he had been so awestruck that he begged his son to send him that miraculous potion.

But once he had overcome the disease, he began to grasp the magnitude of what his son had done.

This was a feat only a god could accomplish—sacred, unattainable even by the slightest mimicry of a mortal.

The being he had thought was his son had transcended humanity.

Had he, from the beginning, been a god descended from the heavens? 

Merely taking the form of his son to walk the earth?

If that was the case, why was he pretending to be his son? 

Was there something he sought from me?

Duels, broadcasts, disaster prevention—so many miracles of the “GM” had taken place. 

What had once been a small faith in “GM” had transformed into the most prominent religion on the continent.

The continent had been covered in disasters, ones that even the Empire couldn’t contend with, but our son—no, the god cloaked in our son’s appearance—was unthreatened by any catastrophe.

In fact, he directly resolved every disaster that befell the continent.

Then, one day, all the continent’s disasters vanished.

And then…

“GM has fallen asleep.”

The shocking news echoed throughout.

GM, who had exhausted his power in the process of preventing the disasters threatening the continent, had supposedly fallen into slumber.

Sleep?

An existence transcendent as a god wouldn’t have a sense of time similar to ours. 

Let alone fall asleep for a period that humans could comprehend, especially if he was so drained of power!

Fearful of possibly losing his son, he had rushed to the Academy.

“Oh? Father? Why are you at the Academy?”

Yet, there his son stood, perfectly fine.

Not only was he not asleep, but there was no trace of any divine aura.

Of course!

GM had simply borrowed our son’s body to manifest his world, Rudera, in this one.

With the god’s slumber, our son had been freed from that divine restraint!

Having confirmed the return of his son, he’d come back to his office and relaxed in his chair with peace of mind.

Ding.

“…Hmm?”

Just as he was settling into his well-deserved relief, he heard the notification of an incoming message. 

A message from Rudera’s communicator had arrived.

The sender was his old friend, Count Schmidt.

Recently, due to what was possibly overwork, his poor friend had been wandering around yelling “Duo A-pyo!” at the top of his lungs. 

When asked what “Duo A-pyo” meant, he replied, “There’s nothing about it that’s even remotely duo a-pyo!”

An exceptionally sharp friend once, it seemed the excessive workload had broken his friend’s sanity.

[RuderaPang]

[Faithful Servant] Lord Schmidt has invited you!

Check it out now!

-> View Details

“…An invitation?”

Upon delving into the message, the Duke realized that Count Schmidt had sent him an invitation to some content within Rudera.

What was he trying to communicate by sending me this?

While he had often sought his advice for debates on philosophy, he had never mentioned anything about Rudera’s internal matters. 

Given his position leading the Imperial Guild, it was no surprise that he couldn’t disclose such confidential matters.

But here he was, sending him an invitation.

Having resolved his concerns regarding his son, the Duke found himself curious about his friend’s intentions. 

He accessed Rudera and made his way to the unexplored area known as RuderaPang.

And there…

“M-my god!”

What he saw shocked him to the core.

If you were a knight, a man, then surely—

***

An unmistakable symbol of unmatched strength.

The limited title reserved only for those at the pinnacle of martial prowess.

“Stamina… My stamina is running low…!”

A new specter had been born—the specter of stamina and invitations.

Who would have thought my father would send me an invitation message?

Being a strict and busy man, he had never reached out to me personally… except for that one time, about the miracle potion. 

Even during the chaos caused by the disasters ravaging the continent, he hadn’t tried to contact me.

Perhaps the distance I kept, being a reincarnated soul, had something to do with it. 

Unlike my father, I talked freely with my sister, who was closer by, entrusting her with various matters, including Duo A, but visiting my distant father was out of the question.

And explaining Duo A? 

Not sure where to even start.

Then there was this title, the “Martial King.”

My gaze shifted to the title associated with my father’s name.

This was a title one could earn after a certain level of progress in RuderaPang. 

While it wasn’t as unique as the [Martial God] or [Demon King] titles, which were limited to one person each, its difficulty was daunting enough to require talent, effort, and luck.

“Father… seems to be quite invested, huh.”

Of course, how dull must a medieval fantasy world be?

I myself had created Rudera to escape the boredom.

Should I transfer some stamina to my father’s account?

—Master. There’s a problem.

As I pondered how to discreetly help him, the voice of the guide within Rudera echoed.

“Guide? What’s going on?”

—The capacity of Rudera’s server… has reached its limit.

“…Limit?”

Rudera, that vast world capable of expanding endlessly, was now hitting its capacity?

“Seriously?”

Hurriedly running to the control room of Rudera, I understood the meaning behind the guide’s warning.

The flood of invitation messages had caused Rudera to become overloaded.

“Who would’ve thought that invitation messages could impose more strain than that overflowing world itself?”

Rudera had started as an illusion based on the perceptions of its users. 

Over time, it had evolved into a tangible world grounded in that belief. 

It existed simultaneously as a world and a repository of countless dimensions contained within the Tower of the Labyrinth I had created.

Such a load would have been impossible to handle if it were a real world, but through the loophole of it being an “illusion,” Rudera was able to sustain itself.

An illusion, yet also a bizarre virtual world existing within reality. 

That was Rudera’s current state.

“Messages, strongly tied to people’s perceptions, are now placing strain on the system?”

In terms of actual game data, messages don’t take up much space. 

Just a few lines of text—hardly more than a small image.

Yet, due to the perception factor, these piled-up invitation messages had completely filled Rudera.

“Well, most of it is junk.”

Players who spam-clicked invitation messages in their desperation for stamina had accumulated hundreds or even thousands of pointless messages each.

With so many players engaged in the same behavior, Rudera had hit its limit.

“For now, I’ll need to temporarily block invitation messages.”

A feature I’d added for interaction and community, hoping people would connect and avoid conflict, had backfired in this manner.

The root cause was the excessive engagement from players. 

And at the core of this issue lay the limited-title reward system of RuderaPang.

“I didn’t realize the desire for exclusive titles would be this intense.”

Special items and titles that only the first to achieve could obtain caused massive attraction. 

I’d added it to boost participation in RuderaPang, but apparently, it was a bit much.

“Let’s halt it for now.”

Along with the invitation messages, I also removed most titles from the RuderaPang rewards.

Knowing how badly they wanted it would come in handy for future events.

“Wait a minute. Has someone already earned one?”

Despite the brutal requirements for this exclusive title, it seemed one player had managed to achieve it.

Curious about who it was, I looked it up… and found… the community admin?

Why was she here instead of managing the community?

…Hold on a sec.

She hadn’t even met the achievement requirements yet, had she?

Reviewing the profile of the admin titled “Demon King,” I uncovered her little secret.

“…Title manipulation? What in the world?”