Conquering OtherWorld Starts With a Game

Lakeside Village, a tiny village nestled on the northern shore of Horsehoof Lake, perched at a slightly elevated position.

This village, comprising just slightly over 50 households, was considered extremely impoverished even by the standards of this world. There wasn't a single decent building in the entire village. Even the village head's residence, the most spacious of them all, was nothing more than a mudbrick thatched hut large enough for a family and a couple of pigs, along with a few chickens.

Most villagers couldn't afford more than two sets of decent clothing. Elderly folks and young men always wore tattered rags when working outside. The children in the village often roamed around bare-bottomed, and the women frequently improvised with whatever bed sheets.

Despite having access to a nearby water source and being less than 30 kilometers away in a straight line from Weisshem Town, the village remained mired in poverty for two primary reasons.

Firstly, it was the negligence of the higher authorities, the mismanagement of the town-level administrative units.

Throughout its history, Weisshem's mayors had never spared a glance toward remote villages located over 15 kilometers away, places that couldn't even provide fresh vegetables to the town. Apart from dispatching tax collectors during the autumn season each year or requiring laborers for the lord's territorial battles, these leisurely nobles completely forgot that their domain included such villages and their people.

Secondly, the village lacked a nobleman's estate within a ten-mile radius.

Horsehoof Lake was simply too close to the Sorensen Mountains. Nobles considered investing in estate or farms in this region as a high-risk business. Even though Horsehoof Lake was an abundant water resource, no noble was willing to purchase land in the vicinity.

In other words, the people of Lakeside Village couldn't even scrape together the most basic roads and irrigation works. Nobles, when fencing their estate farms, would at least construct paths made of gravel or dirt roads, along with several irrigation channels.

Seemingly invisible despite being alive… Lakeside Village's backward state was easily imaginable.

The villagers of Lakeside Village could only cultivate the land west of Horsehoof Lake, where water was readily available for irrigation. Their harvests were modest, limited not just by transportation challenges but also by the taxing demands of autumn.

Each year, families had to personally deliver their tax grain to the town, and saving enough money for a year's salt was considered a good outcome.

Aside from the inconvenience of transportation and lack of agricultural support, the village's major problem was its isolation, far from densely populated areas.

Monsters and demonized beasts were rare, unlike the exaggerated tales from the Taranthan wilderness. However, the village was plagued by an abundance of wild animals—wolves, wild boars, monkeys, foxes, and weasels—which frequently destroyed crops and posed a threat to the villagers' safety. Consequently, villagers had to move in groups even for short trips to their nearby fields.

This challenging environment did have its silver lining: it fostered a spirit of unity among the villagers.

The village chief, Sharpe, looking like a 60-year-old man although he was just over 40, sat up from his straw bed covered in a layer of linen and touched the herb-smeared wound on his forehead.

Chief Sharpe's house, though considered relatively spacious in the village, was cramped with his family of five, two pigs, and a brood of chickens, leaving little room to spare, let alone personal space. As he rose, his entire family, sleeping on the same straw pile, awoke.

"Father, is your wound hurting again?" His eldest son's voice carried from behind the cloth curtain that served as a partition for the marital sleeping area.

In the pitch-dark room, lit only by a sliver of moonlight filtering through the bamboo door curtain, Sharpe, who suffered from night blindness, couldn't see a thing. However, his familiarity with the surroundings allowed him to navigate by feeling. "I'm fine… Has Billy returned yet?"

There was silence from his eldest, suggesting uncertainty.

Sharpe's daughter, lying closer to the wall and nearer to her father, responded after his repeated inquiries, "Don't worry, Dad. Big Bro and I will go see Billy at dawn."

Chief Sharpe sighed. He and his eldest son were both roughed up by those brash mercenaries and were well aware of their ruthless nature.

Billy, his youngest, was the last gift his deceased wife left him. Sharpe admittedly indulged his youngest son, usually assigning him only to watch over the village cattle and sparing him hardships. Sharpe feared that Billy might not be able to endure the mercenaries' brutality and would reveal the collective secret the villagers had kept.

"What's all that noise outside?" Sharpe asked. "Are those men causing trouble again?"

There was a stir from his eldest son's side. Hearing the movement from his son made Sharpe move a little too much, aggravating his wound and eliciting a rebuke from his daughter-in-law.

"Father, some undead came to our village earlier when it was still bright!" His son's voice trembled with excitement in the darkness. "The same clothed, armed undead we saw in the town. Now, many armed undead have come and are heading to those men's camp!"

"Really?" Sharpe's excitement grew. "O Lady Gold Coin, is Mr. Rex sending help?"

"Yes, I saw it too, Father," his daughter chimed in. "There are many of them, even more than those thugs that robbed us. They were terrified, and after the undead left, they all scurried back to their camp."

"They left? The undead left?" Chief Sharpe's heart raced with the news.

"Don't worry, Father, they probably didn't go far, just waiting for the opportune moment," said his son enthusiastically. "As soon as it got dark, screams came from the camp. You were asleep and didn't hear it."

"I see… Lady Gold Coin blessed us!" Chief Sharpe's vigor returned.

Village Chief Sharpe was quite a man of wisdom and courage and had anticipated the dangers posed by the Sokrian mercenaries, advising the villagers to maintain a unified front.

After listening to the distant commotion and cries, Chief Sharpe made a surprising decision, astonishing his two children and daughter-in-law.

"We can't just wait here; we must show Mr. Rex our resolve. If Mr. Rex's undead are fighting our enemies, we must also contribute," said Chief Sharpe.

With a sense of urgency, Chief Sharpe, despite his pain, stood up. He called his son and physically strong daughter-in-law along while instructing his daughter to watch the house. They lit torches and rushed to rally the villagers.

Not far from the bustling campsite, villages had been awakened by the commotion, just that they dared not venture out to investigate. The bravest among them only peeked outside from their doors.

When Chief Sharpe came calling, his proposal was quickly embraced by the already frustrated villagers. Armed with hoes, sickles, and pitchforks, they joined his rallying call without hesitation.

Chief Sharpe, a smart man among the world's lower-class farmers, lacked formal education and experience in planning. His hasty mobilization was evident as the numerous torches suddenly appearing and moving about the dark village were extremely conspicuous.

Fortunately, the mercenaries, already overwhelmed by the undead, paid no heed to them.

The battle-hardened mercenaries soon realized that the undead were easy to dispatch—a heavy blow from a hammer or axe to their torso or head would cause the skeletons to disintegrate into a burst of light.

However… this wasn't of much use.

No matter how many undead were killed, their numbers assaulting the camp's defenses never seemed to dwindle.

Adam, a burly figure, stood atop a garlic-laden cart, swung his heavy hammer, and sent yet another undead flying. This undead didn't forget to flip him off with a grotesque "WAYAKAKAKA" scream before vanishing in a white flash.

Breathing heavily, Adam had no energy to spare for the provocations of the dying undead, focusing instead on the next one. This undead was nimble, dodging several blows before being struck and vanishing with a cry of "WAKA."

And then, yet another undead took its place…

Adam lost count of how many he had defeated. His hammer grew heavier with each swing, making every strike increasingly laborious. His lips were parched, breathing became a struggle, and his lungs seemed ready to burst. He knew he was reaching his limit. Without a moment to catch his breath, he would collapse—not from the undead's assault but from sheer exhaustion.

After repelling another clawing undead, Adam glanced around, hoping for some assistance.

To his left, the Jack brothers were gasping for air even more dramatically, and, to his right, the greatsword-wielding Corrado could barely stand, heaving heavily against a cart…

While Adam was distracted, the cunning undead seemed to realize his weakness, and two rushed at him. With a roar of frustration and despair, Adam swung his heavy hammer in a wide arc.

Captain Kenn, personally supervising and directing on the front lines, was fully aware of the dire situation his comrades were in.

The first 10 minutes had been manageable. Despite a few casualties snatched away by the undead right in front of the terrified merchants, Kenn quickly identified and prioritized dealing with the shield-bearing undead, who used mind magic similar to paralysis spells. This strategy had effectively reduced further abductions.

But what followed was an increasingly desperate war of attrition.

As long as the defenders maintained their high ground and kept the undead off the wagons, there were virtually no casualties—the undead's attacks were negligible, and the damage couldn't even compare to the mercenaries' usual brawls.

The real trouble came from the undead wielding strange, flamboyantly extravagant swords (Yang Qiu specially got it customized at a COS prop manufacturer, as he wanted to sell it for a high price) with fire enchantments. Those who were struck suffered searing wounds.

After several burns, Captain Kenn urgently directed the rangers to focus on these sword-wielding undead, preventing them from nearing the defensive line. Their bright red, glowing weapons were hard to miss.

Confident in his tactics, Kenn initially believed victory was just a matter of time… Then he realized his mistake.

It wasn't a flaw in his strategy but a complete underestimation of the undead's numbers. Regardless of how many were killed, the relentless wave of undead assaulting the wagon circle remained unchanged!

After an hour of fighting, even those who had rested in rotations were flagging, yet the undead remained as vigorous and numerous as ever!

As he ran along the defensive line, Kenn noticed both his men and the merchants showing signs of exhaustion, whereas the undead's onslaught remained as intense as ever.

He realized something alarming—the undead, initially attacking in disorganized swarms, now seemed to be under a skilled command. They no longer charged mindlessly but attacked rhythmically, systematically exhausting the defenders.

Captain Kenn was gripped by a sense of fear upon realizing this. The undead seemed to understand their advantage and the defenders' weaknesses!

Stopping in his tracks, Kenn, sweating profusely, turned his attention to the northern defensive line, facing the cornfields.

Stationed there were his reliable deputy, the burly Adam, the enduring Jack brothers, and the greatsword warrior Corrado.

What he saw sent shivers down his spine…

Adam's hammer swings were painfully slow.

The Jack brothers were spent, cursing the merchant caravan guards that had swapped out to rest and urging them to hurry back.

Corrado was tottering as several undead gripped his limbs and tried to pull him down…

"Stop!!" Captain Kenn's eyes blazed with fury. Drawing his sword, he dashed over, leaping onto the wagon and forcing the swarming undead back as he pulled Corrado to safety.

"Get up here and swap out!" Kenn bellowed at the resting merchant caravan guards after rescuing Corrado.

"We've barely rested for 10 minutes, in the name of the gods!" the panting guards retorted angrily. Yet, despite their frustration, they picked up their weapons and dragged themselves back into the fray.

After ensuring Corrado was safely resting, Kenn was jolted by the Jack brothers' screams. Looking up, he saw, to his horror, the brothers being carried away by a swarm of at least six or seven undead.

"Save them! Save them!" Captain Kenn's voice cracked with desperation as he charged with his sword raised.

The merchant caravan guards, realizing the gravity of losing more mercenaries, clambered onto the wagon to intervene…

But soon, they were swarmed and dragged away.

Abducting four at once seemed to give the undead confidence. More of them poured through the breach left by the Jack brothers, some charging into the camp toward the resting guards while others attacked Adam, seeking to widen the breach.

Kenn was near breaking point. He swung his sword in a frenzy, eliminating the intruders and hoarsely screaming to call the slightly recovered mercenaries and guards to plug the gap.

Eventually, the defense line was secured once more. Captain Kenn, drenched in cold sweat, barely had time to catch his breath before he noticed a procession of torches, like a dragon's breath, approaching from the direction of the village.

"Ridiculous—Those damn country hicks!" Captain Kenn cursed in despair.

On the other hand, players, seeing the villagers approach, reacted completely differently from the mercenaries. "What the hell! Are they here to steal our kills?!"

"Seriously? We struggle so long that our losses are a heap of corpses, and now we have allies coming in to hog the glory? When will the darned devs get their act together?!"

Unceasing Entropy and Blossoming Strokes, commanding the left and right flanks, noticed the villagers and didn't hesitate to order an aggressive push. "The enemy is nearly spent. Prepare to strike hard!"

"Don't think about looting equipment during the assault. We'll distribute everything afterward. Grabbing gear now is pointless!"

"Everyone, strap the nylon restraints to your arms. Capture and bind one each!"

Blossoming Strokes, after organizing the assault team, shouted to her teammates, "Vanilla! Is your cooldown ready? If it's done, hurry and pull people over!"

"Right away!" Qin Guan, who had been idly watching from the rear, checked his equipment and skills. Seeing the countdown at 20 seconds, he stood up and typed in the team channel, "Has everyone at the respawn point joined the team? I'll be summoning soon!"

"OtherWorld" didn't have the luxury of a friends list or real-time voice chat. Currently, communication was limited to system prompts and team channels. But this was sufficient for now.

Qin Guan, wielding the "Book of the Undead," had set up a party specifically for those respawning back in town. His job was to summon players back into the fray whenever his 100-second summoning cooldown was reset.

This tactic of infinite summoning meant the mercenaries could never fully eradicate the undead—unless they risked their camp's defense to hunt down Qin Guan.

Even if Kenn could spot Qin Guan lurking in the shadows, the chances of successfully reaching and defeating the latter were slim. Qin Guan's skill as a warrior might be mediocre, but his ability to flee wasn't.

As the tide of undead surged at the defense line, the mercenaries' despair was palpable. Wagner, numb from crouching for so long, now watched on indifferently.

He had initially planned to exploit the undead's distraction to break through the enemy lines, but it became clear that he wouldn't have the opportunity to take the stage…

He had underestimated the undead's relentless, undying nature and their ability to rapidly replenish their ranks.

After an hour of observing, Wagner was at a loss for any means of a counter strategy against that. He even doubted whether the knights of the Radiant Sun Church could even make a difference in this situation…

As he watched the villagers' approach, Wagner couldn't just stand by and watch these civilians, less combat-capable than the undead and without their unending resilience, join the battle. Quietly, he led his men out of the bushes.

A player, who had just returned to the battlefield, glanced back and was startled to see over 20 burly men emerging from the underbrush.

"What the hell, there are more friendlies over here trying to steal our kills!" the player shouted while pointing at Wagner and his men.

"Again?!"

"F*ck this bunch of NPCs! Can't they let us farm monsters in peace?!"

"The NPCs of this game are so damned oblivious!"

Wagner: "…"