"What?" Andrew practically launched himself out of his game pod. He sprinted over to Caleb, leaned over his shoulder, and urged impatiently, "Quick! Quick! Click it!"
The two of them quickly finished reading the update announcement. Terrabyte had never been one for flowery prose; his posts were always concise and straightforward, containing only the information players actually needed. As a result, the announcement wasn't particularly long.
In summary, the update introduced five major changes.
The first was an upgrade to Thought Acceleration, increasing it from the original 1:3 ratio to 1:10. However, this improvement came with a significant trade-off: players would now have to enter deep sleep mode before logging in.
Before this update, players could leave the game simply by disconnecting their neural link. That was no longer possible. From now on, the only way to log out was by selecting the exit option within the game itself—or through emergency circumstances, such as the game pod running out of nutrient solution or someone cutting its power.
The second change was a revision to the quest system. Previously, completing quests only rewarded merit points. Now, quests also had a chance to award items or skills.
The third was a complete overhaul of the in-game store. A permanent gacha wheel had been added, allowing players to draw random items and skills. Curiously, the patch notes mentioned neither the highest nor the lowest rarity available, leaving players plenty of room for speculation.
The fourth addition was a player trading market. Unwanted items could now be listed for sale in exchange for merit points.
Recognizing that some players might receive skills they had no intention of using, Terrabyte also introduced a Skill Itemization feature. It allowed a learned skill to be converted into a skill book, permanently removing the original skill from the player's character. Since the resulting book counted as an item, it could then be sold on the trading market.
Naturally, one question immediately came to mind.
Could another player instantly master a skill simply by buying the book?
The answer was no.
Only skills obtained directly through quests or the gacha system could be learned instantly. A skill book was exactly what its name implied—a manual that taught the reader how to acquire and practice the technique themselves.
At first glance, the restriction seemed rather strange.
Given Terrabyte's authority over Information and Data, copying a skill into another player's mind should have been effortless. If he could do it once, why not every time afterward?
The answer was simple.
He could—but he chose not to.
The first time he extracted knowledge from another world and implanted it into a player, he was simultaneously observing, stabilizing, and strengthening himself through the process. Repeating the same procedure afterward accomplished nothing except consuming computational resources.
Once the trading market opened, a popular skill might change hands dozens—or even hundreds—of times. From Terrabyte's perspective, repeatedly performing an already perfected operation would be a complete waste of processing power.
Thus, the seemingly arbitrary rule was born.
If you bought a skill book, you had to study and master it yourself.
For ordinary players, this would undoubtedly be a nuisance.
For elite players, however, it might actually be an advantage.
Skills learned through understanding and practice naturally allowed for greater flexibility than techniques directly implanted by the system.
Fortunately, most ordinary players had little need for advanced combat skills anyway.
Those abilities were primarily intended for special operatives.
For the average frontline soldier, another artillery shell was usually far more useful.
At this stage, skills powerful enough to rival a cannon shell were exceptionally rare. Meanwhile, after Mid-Hive resumed large-scale industrial production, the number of towed artillery pieces had already exceeded five hundred, and the factories were still producing more every day.
The fifth and final announcement concerned the game's testing phase.
Beginning immediately, one thousand new testing slots would be released every day, with no upper limit.
The announcement also revealed the official condition for the game's public launch.
Once the final two hostile factions—the Orks and the Drukhari—had been defeated and order restored to Perditia, the closed beta would end, and the game would officially enter public release.
For Andrew and Caleb, however, the most exciting part of the update wasn't the increase in Thought Acceleration.
It was the trading market.
Having both completed Astartes transformation surgery, they were unquestionably among the game's special operatives.
More importantly, they were lifelong fans of action games and martial arts fiction. Since entering the Warhammer universe, nothing had thrilled them more than carving through enemies with chainswords and engaging in brutal close-quarters combat.
They had never seriously expected to obtain signature techniques inspired by classics like Street Fighter, Tekken, or Mortal Kombat.
But now...
The trading market gave them hope.
Even if they didn't pull those skills themselves, someone else eventually would.
And once someone did...
All it would take was enough merit points.
While the update left the two friends practically buzzing with excitement, Robert's experience inside the game couldn't have been more different.
The moment the update went live, one thousand new players poured into the Helldivers' encampment like a flash flood.
Fortunately, the Helldivers already possessed a mature command structure.
The Soldiers Committee acted like a sturdy dam, absorbing the impact almost immediately.
Without waiting for Robert's orders, company commanders and squad leaders spread across the central square, enthusiastically beginning recruitment.
NEW RECRUITS!
Tired of walking?
Want to deliver Managed Democracy at chainsword range?
Do you dream of introducing alien anatomy to the concept of "two separate pieces"?
GET OVER HERE!
The Frontline Grinders are recruiting!
We're looking for the fearless, the reckless, and the gloriously unhinged! If your first instinct is to kick the enemy in the chest before introducing a chainsword to their face—
YOU BELONG WITH US!
SHARP-EYED PATRIOTS!
Do you possess nerves of steel?
Can you wait hours for the perfect shot?
Does deleting an enemy's skull from a kilometer away fill your heart with patriotic joy?
Excellent.
Your rifle delivers freedom one precision round at a time.
If your enemies routinely meet the God-Emperor before they realize they've been shot—
YOUR SQUAD IS WAITING!
LAZY?
GOOD.
Why walk...
...when you can DROP?
Join the Paratrooper Immersion Program!
Certified in one standard week—or we'll throw you out of the aircraft anyway!
Experience true aerial combat!
The moment your drop pod enters the atmosphere—
YOU'RE ALREADY IN THE FIGHT!
Skip the hike.
Start the orbital strike.
Whether they preferred brutal melee combat, patient long-range sniping, or hurtling through the sky in drop pods, the newcomers quickly found units that suited their interests.
A handful of players, however, ignored every recruiting officer entirely.
They walked straight through the bustling square and headed directly for the foundry.
There, they found Reddito, who was busy calibrating machinery.
With expressions bordering on religious devotion, they announced that they wished to become his...
"...black sla—"
"...No."
"Apprentices."
Robert watched the scene with a twitch at the corner of his mouth.
He honestly couldn't understand how these players' minds worked.
Then again...
Everyone had their own hobbies.
Besides, someone had to keep the production lines running.
"Never mind."
Robert shook his head with a helpless smile.
"The Helldivers are their home."
"They'll always come back eventually."
Even with the Soldiers Committee handling most of the recruitment, the logistical work alone kept Robert occupied for an entire day.
Fortunately, Thought Acceleration had already been upgraded to 1:10.
Had it still been stuck at 1:3, and a thousand recruits arrived every three days, he would never have had time to do anything except sign paperwork and approve requisition forms.