I, the Necromancer, Was Forced by the Players to Become a Dog Planner

I, Charles, the most miserable necromancer in history, inherited a dungeon with bottomless energy and leakage from all sides. In desperation, I activated the ancestral artifact "Internet" and prepared to summon a group of hard-working skeleton laborers. But who can tell me why the other side of the magic circle is connected to a plane called "Earth"? What came was not the undead, but a group of undead monsters calling themselves "players"! They call my throne room "Resurrection Point." Moving bricks? They teach "Engineering Mechanics" on-site; fight monsters? They all have a copy of "The Art of War" by Sun Tzu. I watched them clamoring for "double first charge" and "SSR equipment" and fell into deep self-doubt. Now, this group of ancestors has established a union and stirred up business. They are swiping the forum every day urging me to update the version, start PVP, and introduce the marriage system... Looking at the empty energy pool and the Great Wall list filled with "player needs", as the BOSS behind the scenes, I just want to look up to the sky and scream: "Help! Can this generation of players be better?!"