I’m Lin Bei, an administrative manager who was just laid off by my company.
One second, I was eating two-yuan steamed buns. The next, seven rifts split open in the sky, and monsters from video games poured into reality: orcs, dragons, death knights.
Everyone else ran for their lives.
I grinned.
I’ve played this game for over a decade. I could recite the windups for every dungeon boss’s skills with my eyes closed.
Dragon breath? It raises its left claw before diving, its chest swells three times, and it always breathes fire on the third. I can explain monster mechanics that killed 77 people before the authorities could figure them out.
The whole internet hailed me as the “Dragon Speaker.” The authorities hired me as a special coordinator for otherworldly affairs. Mages begged to join my side, and dwarf blacksmiths chased after me to make my gear.
Everyone else faces the apocalypse. I’m running a dungeon.
Gray fog is devouring the world, and the temples conceal the truth. As for me, I’m using more than a decade of dungeon memories to unravel the mystery behind the rifts’ arrival, step by step.
I’m done with this job.
This world is going to play by the rules of the game.
