A Training Method Tailored to the Alliance

Just as "Pangolin" was going on his killing spree, roughly a hundred accounts abruptly logged off on the Wasteland OL official website. Most of them were greenhorns who had only recently received their closed-beta testing invitations. Lawless Fanatic: "Holy shit! Big boss! That was way too thrilling!" I'm in Charge of Dying First: "Hahaha! Put me back in! I wanna go again!" Hungry on Schedule: "Felt average. Just a *whoosh* and I was gone. Doesn't feel as good as..." While dying wasn't a pleasant sensation, experiencing it for the first time was still a novel thrill for most novices. Mainly because none of them had ever tasted death in reality. Consequently, the forum suddenly exploded with threads sharing post-death impressions, their contents brimming with bizarre curiosities. Of course, after going through it once, not everyone found it particularly exciting, because the moment had been far too brief. So brief that in the blink of an eye, a person was already back inside their helmet. Sleepy Once Awake: "Tsk, not satisfying at all. Couldn't feel a thing. Eyes went dark and that was it. Can we turn on realistic pain?" Jieyan: "Holy fuck! You're even more twisted than Mosquito!" WC Really Has Mosquitoes: "???" Ye Shi: "That bro probably took a headshot. If you get hit in the belly, you have to twitch on the ground for a while. (Funny face)" Lawless Fanatic: "@In Debt God. Big bro! When's the next feed run? (Excited)" In Debt God: "Take it slow, don't rush. There'll be plenty of chances to throw your lives away later. The next wave belongs to the Storm Corps. (Smug)" Commander Spring: "We won't feed as shamelessly as you guys did. (Sideways glance)" Battlefield Atmosphere Group: "Damn right! At least put on a show! I didn't even get a chance to waste ammo! One-star review!" Brother Edge: "Next time I'll pick a more reliable squad leader. (Awkward)" In Debt God: "Ahem... Anyway, listen up, rookies. War is brutal! Once you're truly on the front lines and run into a ruthless bastard like that Battlefield guy, you won't last two seconds! Got it?" Lawless Fanatic: "Loud and clear, Big Bro!" I'm in Charge of Dying First: "Big bro! Why can't I revive in this game?!" Sleepy Once Awake: "Oh shit, right! What the hell is this respawn countdown?" In Debt God: "Uh, forgot to mention, dying in this game means waiting three whole days... Wait, you guys didn't know?!" Lawless Fanatic: "Holy shit!" Sleepy Once Awake: "Nobody told me!" Fang Chang: "For a moment, I honestly can't tell whether you're real rookies or fake ones. (Sideways glance)" I'm in Charge of Dying First: "This death penalty is way too harsh! T.T" Fang Chang: "Stay calm. As long as you don't seek death, standard gameplay won't get you killed that easily... By the way, who holds the current record for longest survival?" Brother Mole: "Probably Yaya. That girl died that one time right at the start and hasn't died once since." Yaya: "Ehehe." Teng Teng: "I've never died once." Ye Shi: "!!!" Scrambled Eggs with Tomatoes: "666!" *** Lately, the distribution of closed-beta qualification slots had accelerated dramatically. Where only twenty to thirty had been handed out per day originally, the number had suddenly surged to one or two hundred daily the previous week, forcefully driving the player count past ten thousand before finally leveling off. With huge waves of bewildered newcomers pouring into the game, a swarm of spoon-feeders promptly surfaced on the forum, bringing up countless basic questions that had already been answered a thousand times before. Some were trolling, of course, while others genuinely had no clue. It was only natural. Armchair players might sound brilliant when analyzing game mechanics on paper, but that was all theoretical bluster; once inside, they were no different from any other greenhorn. A massive influx of fresh players injected new blood into the server, but it also posed distinct challenges to the established server order. Most veteran players had watched the Alliance grow from scratch step by step. Over prolonged periods of gameplay, they had formed deep bonds with many NPCs and harbored powerful emotional resonance with numerous people and events in this world. They believed they were doing the right thing. And through that process, their self-worth was realized. Moreover, the game's reward systems granted them not only the momentary gratification of self-actualization, but also corresponding emotional and material incentives. Yet expecting a newly joined novice to develop a profound sense of belonging simply from following forum threads and short gameplay clips was far too much of a stretch. Upon entering the game for the first time, most newcomers felt at most shock at the "virtual reality" and a trace of awe toward its rigid rules. In any other game, the operator might not care in the slightest, perhaps even preferring players to run wild and indulge their impulses in a virtual sandbox, spending cash to chase ever more intense sensory thrills. However, Wasteland OL was fundamentally not an ordinary game. Chu Guang naturally could not leave them unattended to let these energetic rookies stir up chaos all day long. Tilling the fields was vastly harder than trampling them. To ensure these rookies actively and constructively participated in the game, he had to inject a dose of "positive energy" into them first! Or rather, instill in them a sense of identity and belonging toward this "other world"! The "Passing the Torch" questline alone could no longer absorb such an enormous influx of newcomers; there simply weren't enough veteran players idling in the starter village every day. After turning it over in his mind, Chu Guang simply launched an "Enlistment Event," tossing these new players directly into corps for military boot camp. During the event period, rookies could choose whether to enlist right at character creation. If they selected "Yes," they automatically received a level-capped "Soldier" profession along with three preference slots to join the Alliance First Corps, Second Corps, or player corps as reservists. Reservist status did not count against a corps' maximum member cap. On top of an exclusive event gift pack, participating novices also gained early access to the "Player System"—namely the VM—which normally required reaching Citizen rank to unlock. Furthermore, if they attained Citizen status before the event concluded, they could keep it permanently for free. With terms this generous, barring players stubbornly obsessed with pure life-skill professions, virtually everyone jumped at the chance to join a corps. Thus, under Chu Guang's series of arrangements, the forum's atmosphere finally returned to normal. Senseless rookie inquiries gave way to recruitment drives across every major corps. [Burning Corps! Experience what it feels like to fly!] [Death Corps recruiting! Strength doesn't matter, just bring your guts! Brothers who aren't afraid to die, get in here! Strength-type and Constitution-type preferred!] [Storm Corps recruiting! Doesn't matter what your build is—if you follow orders, shoot us a DM! The commander will pull you into the group chat!] [Skeleton Corps recruiting! Drivers wanted! Tank drivers preferred!] [Goblin Corps recruiting! When it comes to artillery and planes, we're the pros! Complete beginner? No problem, the commander will train you hand-in-hand! (Smirk)] [Jungle Corps recruiting! Strength-types! We only take Strength-types!] [...] [Silver Corps... As long as you're breathing! T.T] Browsing through these recruitment threads, Chu Guang nodded in satisfaction. "Not bad! Full of spirit!" The vast majority of newcomers flocked toward the high-profile leading corps that frequently appeared in official trailers, especially the Death Corps and Storm Corps. In truth, quite a few had signed up for the Burning Corps and Skeleton Corps as well. However, one followed a "special operations path" with rigorous screening criteria, while the other took an "armored path," requiring at least a driver's license and the patience to endure long, monotonous drives. Most players were better suited for more conventional gameplay. As for how they would be trained once inducted into their respective corps? That was not something he, the Administrator, needed to fret over. Let each outfit manage its own people! *** Out on the Gobi Desert, between Oasis No. 3 and Oasis No. 9. The allied forces of the Alliance, the Falcon Kingdom, and the Honey Badger Kingdom had pitched camp at the foot of a chain of dunes, fortifying their forward positions in preparation for the next phase of the campaign. Enterprise's engineering corps had even constructed an airstrip at the front. Vast shipments of supplies arrived from the rear aboard trucks and transport aircraft. Alongside the logistics, a large contingent of freshly joined rookies had flown in on the transports to the frontline camp. Since their escort partners had not arrived yet, they stood near the tarmac, peering around in utter fascination. "A desert!" "Holy shit! This is insane!" One rookie, utterly carried away with excitement, disregarded time, place, and dignity, dropping flat onto the ground to lick up a mouthful of sand. He smacked his lips, then spat it out. "Ptooey! Damn it, why is it salty?!" Several fellow newcomers from the same transport burst out laughing at the disgraceful spectacle. "Hahaha!" "I saw a camel walk past here earlier, why don't you go ask it?" "#%*&@!" Several patrolling kingdom soldiers watched the bizarre behavior of these vault dwellers, odd expressions creeping across their faces. One soldier muttered softly, "Are these guys really alright?" "They seem... not quite right in the head." A decurion standing beside them gave a quiet cough. "Leave them be. Stick to your duties." The Alliance was now their suzerain. Word had it that on the day of welcoming the Alliance's Administrator, His Majesty had even accommodated him in the royal palace itself. Although the royal family persistently denied it, insisting they had prepared a separate villa for the Administrator, who could really tell? Even if true, big figures like that would never admit to it. The Alliance's Administrator already stood above the king. Even if the law did not grant Alliance residents extraterritorial status, in practice, their standing already exceeded that of ordinary folk. In short, whatever these people did was not for minor foot soldiers like them to question. Perhaps realizing their people were making a spectacle of themselves, a vault resident wearing a VM soon strode over to herd the embarrassing bunch away. Eyeing the newcomer with mud smeared across his lips, Kakarot lamented in exasperation, "Damn it! How many times did I tell you in the group chat to act normal once you get off the plane?! You represent the Alliance! You represent the collective! If you don't feel ashamed, I sure as hell do!" Buried in Peace replied with an aggrieved expression, "Ah got it now." "And you guys!" Kakarot then glared at the ones still chuckling. "Still laughing! None of you thought to hold him back?!" The rookies scratched the backs of their heads in embarrassment. Board in Hand said, "Ah, well... I wanted to grab him, but he's an Agility-type and moved too fast. I couldn't catch him." A'nie chimed in, "Understood, bro! Next time for sure! Heheh, by the way, can you show us a Spirit Bomb?" Kakarot: "..." This batch of rookies was truly a pain in the ass to shepherd! *** At the same time, inside the frontline command post. Commander Spring stood staring at the strategic map, grinning one moment, then scowling with knitted brows the next. The game had recently launched a new event, suddenly issuing an excessive batch of closed-beta invites and dumping a massive horde of newcomers straight onto the front lines. As a dominant Tier 1 outfit, the Storm Corps was naturally the top pick for countless new players. Its roster had ballooned accordingly, expanding from a single regiment to half a brigade, and was rapidly pushing toward a full brigade's strength. Yet alongside his elation, Commander Spring could not help feeling a growing headache. More manpower was undeniably a good thing; what commander would ever complain about having too many men under his command? If this trend kept up, he would be a division commander within a few updates. However... The developers appeared to have offloaded the entire burden of training rookies onto the corps commanders, slapping them with several performance KPI targets to boot. The rewards each corps could earn from the event were tied to two primary metrics: rookie "retention rate" and "new contribution points." Retention rate was nothing to worry about. In the only fully immersive virtual reality game on the market, nobody would quit playing even if it were just for the sake of waking up early the next morning. New contribution points, on the other hand, were a baffling problem. This was the front line. Unless a player joined an NPC regiment, there was virtually no way to earn contribution points back here. The only option was to score big in campaign engagements. According to Wasteland OL's reward rules, battle settlements calculated individual scores based on overall team performance and personal combat contributions, converting them into contribution points and silver coins. If an individual's performance was utter garbage or if they didn't participate at all, rewards could be slashed to as little as one percent. Free-riding for easy points was out of the question. The only viable path forward was to accelerate the rookies' growth. Right as Commander Spring was furrowing his brows in deep thought, I'm the Darkest strolled in from outside the tent with his hands laced behind his head. "Another batch of fresh, tender little newbies just arrived. Kakarot took them over to the firing range to teach them marksmanship and told me to let you know... Uh, what's up with you? Why the long face?" Commander Spring sighed. "Too many people. In a few days, I'm considering raising our entry requirements." I'm the Darkest blinked in surprise. "Isn't having more people a good thing?" A few months ago, this same guy had been whining about a lack of hands. Commander Spring rolled his eyes. "What do you know? Green troops with zero training are dead weight on the battlefield! What the hell good are they? They'd be more useful tightening screws in the rear!" I'm the Darkest curled his lip dismissively. "Pfft, I never trained a single day in my life, and I went straight into battle just fine!" Commander Spring shook his head. "That was different. Back when the servers opened, the entire Alliance couldn't scrape together more than a handful of rifles, while marauders and mutants were crawling everywhere. The combat intensity was vastly higher than now—we fought from dawn to dusk, practically dying twice a week. Even if you knew nothing, after dying a few times, you learned real fast." "Exactly, after dying a few times, you learn real fast," I'm the Darkest chuckled mischievously, patting his shoulder. "If you ask me, just issue the rookies some cheap surplus and send them to the front to feed a few kills before you bother training them. In this game, if you haven't died once, you'll never figure out how it works." Commander Spring rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to mock the brainless idea, but mid-thought, he froze. Hang on. What drill instructor could teach better than real enemies? A moment ago, he had been trapped in the mindset that green recruits couldn't be sent off to die. But when he reconsidered, what training left a deeper impression than the memory of death itself? This was a game, after all, not reality. Even if players got killed, they didn't actually die. Realizing he had been trapped by conventional thinking, Commander Spring mulled it over for a long moment before nodding thoughtfully. "Hmm... truth be told, that might actually work." A spark of excitement ignited in his eyes. Turning to I'm the Darkest by the doorway, he ordered, "Let's do it! In a bit, take seventy or eighty rookie brothers, hand them whatever resembles a weapon, and deliver a care package to our Battlefield friend!" I'm the Darkest stared in disbelief. "Holy shit! Why me?!" Commander Spring rolled his eyes. "It was your idea. If not you, who else?" I'm the Darkest didn't know whether to laugh or cry. "Kakarot's the one handling the new guys! Make him go!" Commander Spring shook his head. "He has to welcome the incoming recruits. Or would you rather trade places with him?" The moment he heard about babysitting newcomers, I'm the Darkest shook his head like a rattle. He didn't inherently mind guiding newbies—who wouldn't love a paid gig that let them show off? The problem was that there were simply too many rookies in this batch; this was nothing like running the simple "Passing the Torch" quest. Yet the thought of waiting three whole days after dying instantly turned his face sour. "But I don't want to die either..." Commander Spring cleared his throat. "I'm telling you to lead the charge, not die alongside them... Once they're all wiped out, just withdraw on your own." I'm the Darkest stared blankly. "Holy shit! You can do that?!" "What else did you think?" Commander Spring nudged his shoulder encouragingly, shoving him right out of the tent. "Move it, quit stalling! It's over two hundred kilometers from here to the front. When you get back, you can deliver another batch for me!" *** Before long, eight Electric Mule trucks rolled into the training grounds in grand fashion. Clutching several bundles of rifles, a mentally prepared I'm the Darkest hopped down from the truck bed with an energetic grunt, walking up to the novices currently undergoing basic drills. The rifles and ammunition on the trucks came straight from the Lion Kingdom's armory surplus. The oldest models dated back thirty years. While they could still fire, their build quality was anyone's guess. As for the ammo, if one out of every two rounds actually went off, you were blessed; the Lion Kingdom's own soldiers refused to touch them. None of that mattered, though. Following the suggestion of the Storm Corps' NPC logistics officer, since this was only a probing attack, they might as well run through their allies' surplus first. Once that bottom-of-the-barrel junk was cleared out, their allies could conveniently import brand-new gear from the Alliance. As for the allied forces, the moment they heard someone was willing to expend the garbage foisted on them by corrupt nobles, they had tossed the armory keys directly to I'm the Darkest without a second thought, telling him to take whatever he pleased. And just like that, the extras' equipment was assembled without breaking a sweat. Kakarot glanced at the thick ballistic armor on I'm the Darkest, then looked at the eight trucks lined up behind him, blinking in bewilderment. "What are you up to?" "What am I up to? Did you forget? It's our turn to feed today!" I'm the Darkest chuckled under his breath, then turned toward the curious rookies gathering around. Clearing his throat, he adopted a solemn tone. "Brothers! Orders from the Administrator himself! We're heading to the front lines right now to attack the Legion's Position 7 in Sector G35! Who's got the guts to charge with me?!" A Strength-type player near the front immediately chimed in, "Big bro, do we get guns?" That was the question every novice cared about most. Before reaching Citizen rank in this game, unless a veteran took you under their wing, getting your hands on a personal rifle was virtually impossible. I'm the Darkest waved his arm grandly. "You get guns! Not only guns, but we're handing out ammo once we reach the front!" Hearing that guns and ammunition were included, the rookies erupted with excitement, surging forward to sign up and scrambling toward the trucks. "Me, me, me!" "Look over here, boss!" "Hook me up with one too!" Seeing the wild press of bodies, especially the musclebound Strength-type beasts shoving at the front, I'm the Darkest panicked and tossed the bundles down. "Grab them yourselves! Whoever gets one, board the trucks! If you miss out, don't sweat it, there'll be another chance!" One hundred and twenty rifles were snatched clean in an instant. The rookies who secured weapons were as thrilled as monkeys snatching bananas, scrambling briskly onto the trucks. It was a pity the troop carriers were separated from the supply trucks, leaving no ammunition onboard, or these restless troublemakers might have fired a few celebratory shots into the sky. Having finally settled the rookies, I'm the Darkest climbed aboard the lead truck. Seeing the veteran board empty-handed, a dozen players inside asked curiously, "Boss, where's your rifle?" "Yeah, why didn't you grab one?" I'm the Darkest gave an awkward smile. He naturally wasn't going to admit, *I'm not charging in with you guys anyway.* Instead, he patted his hip holster, letting the silver revolver's grip peek out. "I've got mine right here. You guys take the rifles; a pistol is plenty for me." Hearing this, the crowd gazed at him in sheer veneration. Badass! Marching onto the front lines with nothing but a pistol. This guy had to be a Tier 0 powerhouse, right? *** Thus, the eight trucks loaded with a full company of rookies rumbled off toward the Legion's Position G35-7. The rookies left behind stood in the training camp with disappointed faces, sighing helplessly as they watched clouds of dust billow from the departing tires. Watching the trucks disappear into the distance, Kakarot finally snapped out of his daze, clicking his tongue in disbelief. "Damn... that dog Spring really isn't human." The newcomers didn't understand the Administrator's character, but he certainly did. The Administrator would never send untrained greenhorns to the front lines as cannon fodder. Without a doubt, this terrible idea had to have come from that bastard Spring! Just as Kakarot was about to order the remaining rookies back to training, he abruptly realized that two of the newcomers he had personally brought in were missing. Come to think of it, he hadn't even taught them how to shoot yet. They couldn't have slipped onto the trucks, could they? Kakarot glanced around. "Uh... where are Buried in Peace and A'nie?" A rookie stepped out of the ranks and snapped a crisp military salute. "Reporting, sir! They got on the trucks!" Caught completely off guard by the thunderous report, Kakarot gave the rookie a second look before asking curiously, "Then why didn't you get on?" The novice named Board in Hand offered a shy smile. "I'm a Perception-type..." Kakarot froze, staring at him for a long moment. This perception... The kid actually had some real talent! *** "...At noon yesterday, the enemy launched a brazen assault against our position. Braving a hail of bullets, Centurion Pangolin led the defense at the frontline with machine gun in hand, neutralizing a total of 127 hostile fighters! We captured 125 light weapons and substantial quantities of ammunition, with our unit suffering only one decurion fallen in action!" "Well written." Oasis No. 3, Defense Sector G53-7. Having listened to Beaufort recite the completed battle report, Battlefield Guy nodded in satisfaction. Just as he was about to toss a couple of compliments toward his subordinate, a sentry rushed in through the dugout entrance in a panic, snapping to attention with a salute. "Report, Commander! Hostile forces spotted to the southeast! Estimated strength is approximately one centuria!" Hearing those words, Battlefield Guy nearly toppled backward out of his tilted chair. Damn it. Again?! Holding the report in hand, Beaufort was equally stunned. Just yesterday, their position had wiped out an enemy centuria, and today another had already been dispatched. "Are they attempting piecemeal tactics? Sss... but I still don't get the point of doing this." To expend our ammunition? Yet the enemy hadn't even dug proper trenches, nor had they brought mortars. They had simply charged headlong into fortified machine gun emplacements, without even bothering to take cover. What were they actually trying to accomplish? Beaufort was utterly bewildered, instinctively glancing toward his commander in the chair. "Don't look at me, how the hell should I know?" Battlefield Guy coughed dryly, climbed to his feet, reached for his officer's cap from the desk to straighten it, and grabbed his rifle leaning against the wall. "Whatever they're trying to pull... anyone who comes here is an enemy of the Marshal!" With that, he racked the bolt. "Come on, let's go meet them!"