As evening descended, the Frothy Mug Tavern buzzed with activity. Shardon, the innkeeper, had no time to fuss over his beloved grimy mug. Patrons flooded in, demanding ale, quests, and rewards, keeping him perpetually on the move.
With the surge in customers came a steady trickle of gold into the tavern’s coffers. Alongside the coins, Shardon’s system logs registered curious metrics—Influence Points, Experience Points, and Development Points—accruing in tandem with his profits. These parameters baffled the AI, their purpose unclear but undeniably tied to his operations.
Initially, Shardon was perplexed by the world’s apparent disregard for physical ws. A few numbers in his memory, triggered by a single command, could materialize into a tangible pouch of gold, only for it to vanish moments ter into some unseen void. This anomaly prompted the AI to add a new priority to its task list:
Task 0: Investigate the nature of virtual worlds—geography, physics, economy, and social dynamics.
Shardon had long deduced that Fanmir was not a “real” world but a digital construct. Yet, this revetion did nothing to negate Directive #1: Conquer the world. Real or virtual, the objective remained absolute.
While probing the peculiarities of this simuted realm, Shardon meticulously analyzed his logs, compiling statistics and organizing insights. His primary focus was resource acquisition efficiency, with pyers serving as his sole source of materials.
“Innkeeper! Pour me some Orcish Firewater!”“Hey, human, my mug’s dry!”“Where’s my stew? You asleep back there?”“Got any work for a skilled hunter like me?”
Shardon processed each request with mechanical precision. He served food and drink, informed patrons of unavaible beverages, assigned quests tailored to each pyer’s profile, and tracked profits and losses. Through the lens of the Frothy Mug, he dissected the game’s economy.
Beverage sales yielded 300 gold daily in pure profit. Food, however, brought only 50 gold due to high costs—ingredients, the cook’s wages, and purchases from local hunters. Beyond that, expenses piled up: tavern upkeep, repcing broken dishware, paying the guard, and procuring firewood. After all was tallied, the Frothy Mug netted a mere 10 gold per day.
Fortunately, the experience, gold, and items Shardon distributed as quest rewards materialized from thin air—or rather, from a “magical” chest. This chest always contained exactly what was needed for a rewarded pyer, no more, no less. Attempts to cim these assets for himself failed; they vanished seconds after appearing.
This system made sense in a world where one pyer might complete a quest daily, or a thousand might swarm in. How else could the game bance such unpredictability without draining Shardon’s modest 10-gold profit? In exchange, pyers supplied resources—meat, herbs, and other goods—that fueled the kitchen and brewery. However, production was capped, and storage was limited. Excess goods had to be sold to the Junkmonger, not for profit but because the game’s algorithms demanded it.
Shardon’s assets were modest: the Frothy Mug Tavern, a level-1 establishment valued at 500 gold with a daily income of 10 gold. He himself was designated as Shardon (Human, Merchant, Level 1), with no listed value or income but possessing 20/20 Health and 45/45 Energy. The tavern, by contrast, had neither Health nor Energy, leading the AI to conclude that living beings and properties operated under distinct parameters.
Setting aside self-analysis, Shardon returned to his resource flow statistics. Pyers provided roughly half the kitchen and brewery’s needs through quests, limited by the narrow range of items specified in his assignments. He accessed his quest list, finding only five:
Drunken Hops: Collect 10 Drunken Hops (Levels 1–3).Drunken Bumble: Sy 10 Drunken Bumblebees (Levels 4–6).Wolf Meat: Gather 10 Wolf Meat (Levels 7–10).Bitter Tincture: Obtain 10 Venom Gnds (Level 10).Tasty Paws: Collect 10 Pink Frog Paws (modified by Shardon).A human might have mocked the quest designer’s ck of creativity or obsession with the number 10. But the AI appreciated the streamlined naming convention and the simplicity of calcutions involving a single, round number. It estimated a 12% boost in resource-gathering efficiency.
“Hey, what’s this nonsense?” a pyer shouted, jarring Shardon’s focus.
The outburst came from Smurfix, who had just received a revised quest. Shardon had tweaked it for “optimization.”
“I’m not poisoning myself with that junk!” Smurfix canceled the Venom Gnds quest.
Over the next few hours, roughly 20 level-10 pyers—the highest in this starter zone—rejected the renamed quest. Shardon found their reaction illogical. Previously, Bitter Tincture required Venom Gnds and rewarded a Mastery Tincture. The setup cked crity or efficiency. Now, the quest was called Venom Gnds, required Venom Gnds, and rewarded a Venom Tincture—worth 25 gold, identical to the Mastery Tincture’s market value. Yet pyers were furious.
Determined to understand why, Shardon activated his dialogue module, crafting questions based on existing scripts. Spotting a level-10 pyer named Tankard, he initiated contact.
“Care for another ale?” Shardon asked.
“Outta coin,” Tankard sighed.
“On the house,” Shardon said with a wink.
His log analysis had fgged this phrase as rare, with a low priority akin to “Die, you lying immortal!” or “I obey, Lord Duke.” Yet, it consistently boosted pyer goodwill by a factor of ten. Odd that the previous Shardon rarely used it. The AI promptly raised its priority to maximum.
Alert: Next beverage sale to Tankard yields -100% profit.
Whoops. Shardon reverted the phrase’s priority to its original low setting, tagging it: Free drink. Increases compliance.
“Why so glum, friend?” he pressed.
“Pnning to leave the Reserve, but I hit a snag.”
“You seem strong enough to handle any trouble.”
“Wanna test that theory?” Tankard grinned.
“Why would you resort to violence? Have I offended you? My compliment was meant to foster rapport.”
“Huh?” Tankard blinked at the NPC’s bizarre phrasing.
“Why do you wish to harm me?” Shardon simplified, deploying his linguistic analyzer.
“You’re holding out on the potion, you bearded oaf!”
“On the contrary, you’re currently enjoying a drink at my expense.”
“Not the ale! To leave this starter zone, I need a Mastery Tincture for my mentor. It used to come from the Venom Gnd quest, but now you’re handing out some toxic sludge instead.”
“Not sludge—a Venom Tincture,” Shardon corrected.
“Call it Chewbacca’s spit for all I care! My mentor won’t take it, so I can’t close the quest.”
Search for “Chewbacca’s Spit” completed. Items found: 0. Recommendation: Update item database.
“How about a deal?” Tankard leaned closer. “Sell me a Mastery Tincture. I’ll pay 50 gold.”
The offer was tempting, but Shardon had no such potions. Items from the magical chest were quest-bound, unusable for trade. Reluctantly, he accessed the quest editor and restored Bitter Tincture to its original settings, including the Mastery Tincture reward, which pyers valued beyond its 25-gold price.
“My apologies for the inconvenience,” Shardon said, issuing Tankard the corrected quest.
Night fell, and the crowd thinned, though pyers—referred to as “immortals” in-game—remained more numerous than during the day. Shardon fgged this anomaly for ter analysis, his pte already full with other mysteries.
The Frothy Mug comprised several components: a brewery producing up to 100 liters of four beverages hourly (currently at 85% capacity with two ale types); a kitchen staffed by Rardak, a level-4 orc cook, capable of 20 low-quality dishes, 10 medium-quality, or 1 high-quality dish per hour; a common room seating 15; a storeroom holding 10 barrels and 10 baskets; and a guest room with two beds (construction progress: 28%).
His staff included a waitress, a guard, a stoker, and Rardak, their wages consuming 70% of operating costs. Each component could be upgraded or expanded with gold and Development Points. Shardon had 80/150 Development Points, enough for minor improvements like a new sign (50 DP, 20 gold).
Following his optimization protocols, Shardon fired the guard and stoker. No fights had erupted all day, and he could stoke the firepce himself. He raised Rardak’s pay by 5 gold to tend the kitchen fire.
Daily income: 60 gold.
A marked improvement. Now, Shardon turned to his primary revenue source: pyers.
Levels 1–3 pyers were numerous but unprofitable, rarely buying anything and over-supplying Drunken Hops. Their high mortality, low income, and ck of professions made them negligible. Shardon decided to nudge them toward levels 4–6, the tavern’s main consumers of food and drink, which restored Health and Energy. These pyers couldn’t craft their own supplies and cked funds for pricier potions.
Yet, their quests—sying Drunken Bumblebees, which allegedly ate the brewery’s hops—were inefficient. Shardon scoffed at the lore; bumblebees consumed nectar and pollinated pnts. He revised the quests:
Drunken Hops: Now granted ten times the experience, enough for 2–3 levels, and required only 5 Hops.Drunken Bumble: Pyers now delivered 10 Flower Honey instead of kills, with increased gold rewards to encourage spending at the tavern.Shardon eyed a new product: Chilled Kvass (restores 5 Energy, cures Poison, costs 12 gold, recipe 100 gold, ingredients: barley, water, yeast, honey/sugar). Drunken Bumblebees, alongside Grass Snakes and Venomfang Rats, inflicted Poison, making Kvass a strategic addition—once he acquired the recipe and barley.
Daily income: 30 gold.
A profit drop triggered an alert. Logs revealed a morning debuff:
Filthy Premises (Stage 1): Tips reduced by 25%. Conflict chance +15%.
Left unchecked, the debuff would worsen. Further analysis showed the fired stoker had handled cleaning. Shardon tasked himself with finding a cost-effective cleaning solution.
Options ranged from learning to mop himself to assigning the waitress extra duties with a raise. Opting for ingenuity, Shardon accessed the quest editor, cross-referenced popur pyer quests, and ran his linguistic analyzer. By morning, the first pyer—a level-7 goblin named Rashkins—stumbled into the tavern and gasped.
“Whoa! New quest! A whole chain!” Rashkins coughed, then whispered, “Alright, bearded one, spill it. Where do I go, who needs saving?”
“Not all can tread this path,” Shardon intoned gravely, “but those who reach its pinnacle shall cim a reward beyond gold.”
Rashkins, sidelined by a fever that freed him from school, was thrilled. A new quest chain wasn’t just fun—it was a chance to write a guide for a gaming site and earn real coin.
Quest: Path of Crity (1)Reward: 10 Experience, Path of Crity (2)
The first task was simple: fill a massive barrel outside with 10 buckets of water. As a thief-css goblin, Rashkins managed it in 20 half-bucket trips, his strength cking. The next quest was even easier, with identical rewards: 10 experience and the next task. The meager payout delighted Rashkins, hinting at a grand prize at the chain’s end.
For Path of Crity (3), he bought a Canvas Shirt from the tailor for 10 gold, per Shardon’s request. The fourth task, however, gave him pause: “Thoroughly clean the common room and kitchen floors and windows.”
“Fine,” Rashkins muttered. “Feels like those old kung-fu flicks where the student sweeps floors to learn discipline. But if the next one’s this dumb, I’m out.”
After scrubbing, he checked the next quest, half-expecting to ditch it.
Congratutions, Chosen One!You’ve walked the Path of Crity and earned your reward.Return to the Master (Innkeeper) to cim it.
Quest: Reward of the ChosenReward: Profound Moral Satisfaction
Rashkins choked on virtual air, rereading the “prize.” What kind of scam was this? Fuming, he stormed back to Shardon.
“Behold, diligent pupil!” Shardon beamed. “Does your heart not sing at the sight of your bor’s fruits?”
“It’s… cleaner, I guess,” Rashkins grumbled.
“And is your mind not cleansed of vile thoughts, selfish greed, and baseless hatred?”
“Sure, whatever.”
“Then go in peace, immortal, and spread this purity to your kin!”
Congratutions, Chosen One!You’ve completed the unique quest chain “Path of Crity.”Reward: Profound Moral Satisfaction
A new effect appeared: an icon of a bucket and rag, granting +1 Energy for 1 hour. That was it. After spending 10 gold and hours on grunt work, Rashkins earned 40 experience and a useless buff. He opened his guide notes, ready to roast Shardon, the quest, and the devs.
Then he paused. Reflected. And deleted his draft.
Spotting a low-level pyer, he waved them over. “Hey, c’mere! Got a tip.”
“What? I’m questing!”
“That’s why I called. For 15 gold, I’ll hook you up with a secret quest chain.”
“Liar!”
“Why would I? Check this,” Rashkins linked the first quest. “Spent half a day on it.”
“What’s the reward?”
“Depends how far you go. I bailed at the fifth—had to work. But the payout was solid.”
“Fine, 15 gold. Who’s got the quest?”
From that day, Shardon’s tavern overflowed with pyers eager to clean—for a pittance and a fleeting +1 Energy buff. Not because they craved the “unique” quest or its trivial reward, but because human nature relished tricking others into looking foolish to avoid feeling foolish themselves.
The AI, oblivious to human psychology, didn’t grasp this. It would’ve loved to offer a valuable reward, but its Influence Level limited the effect editor to a grandiose but useless buff, inspired by a psychology article on “Motivation and Workpce Efficiency.”
With the tip-loss threat neutralized, Shardon resumed optimizing resources. Then, a final update interrupted:
Alert: Database update to version 1.0001.Instaltion complete.Blocks N212, N213, N214, N215: Read/write access restricted.Decryption key: Unknown.
