Chapter One: The Beautiful Huntress

Clouds gathered and the wind rose, carrying waves of yellow sand. It was hard to believe that a city could exist in such a vast and arid desert, yet as the sandstorm faded and the sun blazed down once more, a city of striking modernity appeared amid the dunes.

Dreamstar City gleamed like a radiant pearl embedded in the desert. At the city gates and the bustling transit port, crowds surged. The service hall was packed to the brim, while the giant electronic screen at the center continuously refreshed its scarlet ticker:

"Level 23 full red-set high-attack esper seeking party for the Blood-Soaked Wasteland. Madly request invites!"
"Level 25+ 1500HP battlefield medic, female, seeking group for Ice Forest Plateau. Handsome guys and controllers preferred!"
"Want a sturdy tank? Want safe grinding and loot runs? I’m a level 23 biochemical warrior, full purple set, your safety guaranteed. Seeking pros level 22+, scream if you’re here!"
…

Staring at these scrolling messages, Wu Hua couldn't help but sigh. He didn’t meet a single requirement for any of the parties listed on the screen.

He was, after all, only level 13—far too low. At his waist hung an old-fashioned Mauser pistol—better than nothing. A sensor—his tool for staying alive. A zippo lighter—for cigarettes. His crystal card had just two credits left—not even enough to buy a bundle of health stimulants. And that was the sum of his worldly possessions.

Compared to the powerhouses boasting "level 20+" and "full red or purple sets," he was simply outclassed.

Worst of all, Wu Hua's class was Gunner.

Gunner sounded impressive, but in reality, it was a thankless job—slow leveling, expensive ammo, high upkeep, and a host of other headaches.

As for PK? Wu Hua had thought about it, but so far, no one had ever bothered to duel him. Given his level and gear, even bullies felt bad about picking on him.

To advertise for a party on the electronic board in the hall, he’d have to pay a service fee to a pretty NPC. Rather than waste a credit on an ad, he’d rather buy another box of bullets at the armory.

Unwilling to spend the money, he could only sit on the steps outside the hall and shout, “Good sirs and ladies, I’m low-level, won’t ask for gear, just let me tag along for some EXP, a little cash, that’s all. Kind souls, please PM me.”

Anyone passing by would usually ask, “What level? What gear?”

Upon hearing his answer, they’d curse without hesitation, “A Gunner? Noob, beat it!”

Wu Hua felt like a slave from ancient times, a commodity displayed for others to pick over. The sense of humiliation was suffocating.

There were plenty of “commodities” like him—the players sitting on the steps outside far outnumbered those in the hall. Most were low-level, poorly equipped, and all waited with eager eyes for someone to invite them.

Just then, a small party emerged from the hall, clearly having failed to find what they wanted inside.

“Heaven, let them pick me,” Wu Hua prayed silently.

To his surprise, the group did head his way. Their target, it turned out, was also a Gunner—a stunning woman with flowing hair, clad in a camo short-sleeved combat top and black hot pants, her long legs bare, her skin a healthy bronze, her figure both voluptuous and athletic. A bullet belt was slung at her waist, her shoulder strap pulled tight to support a sleek, jet-black submachine gun—an MP5, no less, which Wu Hua recognized at once. It cost more than 1,500 credits in the weapon shop, not counting the pricey ammo. In real life, that would set you back over 200 RMB.

“Gunners really are a rich man’s class,” Wu Hua sighed as the beauty stopped in front of him, looking him over.

“What level?” she asked first.

A redundant question—anyone could tell by the Mauser at his waist that this was a noob’s weapon. Even the enhanced version wasn’t much better.

But Wu Hua answered honestly, “Level 13.”

“Oh?” She was slightly surprised. “Why are you still using a Mauser at level 13?”

Wu Hua thought, If I had an AK47, would I be squatting here begging?

He kept that to himself, though, and answered with a cliché, “Want to check my gear first?” Meaning, did she want to inspect his equipment before deciding?

She waved him off. “No need. Let me see your sensor.”

“Alright!” Wu Hua unhooked his sensor and opened the trade window. A line of stats appeared before her eyes.

“Quaternary alloy thermal sensor, green item, level requirement 10; durability 92/100; effective detection range 300 meters; bonus attributes: +1 vision, +3 constitution, +2 agility, +10% movement speed, can be assembled.”

She was clearly impressed. “How did you get this green gear?”

Her surprise was justified. In the world of Star Wars, gear quality ranged from white (common), red, purple, green, blue, silver, to dark gold—the further along, the better the stats. The best gear in stores was red. The game had only been open a short while, and all those hollering for parties in the service hall were at best packing purple. No one expected an “impoverished squatter” outside to be sporting a green item—quite the rarity.

Wu Hua sighed, “It’s a long story. Doesn’t matter. So, am I in or not?”

“You’re in,” the beauty replied, sending a party invite.

“Player Hotshot invites you to join the party.”

Wu Hua didn’t hesitate; he slammed “Accept” and cheered inwardly, “Long live the beauty, long live the Federation—I finally have a party!”

It was a three-player team: besides Hotshot, a Gunner, there was a Biochemical Warrior and a Battlefield Medic—all women, all gorgeous, with curvaceous figures and impressive gear.

“Don’t worry, high risk, high reward. Our rule is—payment according to contribution. Once the job’s done, you’ll get your fair share of credits and loot,” Hotshot declared, both direct and with an unspoken message.

Wu Hua found the words oddly familiar and quickly asked, “You’re after a bounty mission, right?”

The Medic, “Oath,” replied coldly, “Break an arm, 500 credits; take a leg, 700; the whole set, 1,000. Are you in?”

“Whoa, a thousand credits!” Wu Hua gasped. “I’m in, I’m in! I want the whole set. So, you’re taking a Hunter mission?”

A Hunter mission was a sanctioned hit. If you had a grudge, you could apply for a kill order at the Federation Government Hall. The mainframe would provide your target’s location and coordinates every four hours. If you killed them within 24 hours, mission complete: your foe lost two levels, one of which went straight to you, and their drop rate doubled.

It was legal—no malicious PK—but expensive. The cost scaled with the number and level of hunters, and you couldn’t file another order for a month.

“Damn, who’d be dumb enough to cross three beauties? For that reason alone, I’ll take the job,” Wu Hua thought as he beat his chest with a look of heroic resolve, all the while thinking, “A thousand credits for a kill—enough for ten Mausers. These ladies must have money to burn.”

Oath sneered, handing him a digital photo. “This is Maragobi, level 26, full purple-set Controller.”

“Damn, the name says it all,” Wu Hua muttered, taking the photo even as he cursed. He was secretly shocked. The game had only been live a month, and as far as he knew, there were fewer than ten players over level 26 in the Dreamstar City region. Their target was likely a top-tier player.

This was clearly a hot job—a thousand credits wouldn’t come easy.

He glanced at the photo: a close-up of a sleazy-looking man with a pockmarked face and a big, angry pimple. Wu Hua nearly lost his lunch.

“OK!” he cried, flicking open his zippo and lighting the photo.

“Did you even memorize his face? Why’d you burn it?” Oath asked, surprised.

“Not burning it wouldn’t be professional. I’m a killer now,” Wu Hua replied.

“So where is he?” he finally got to the point.

Hotshot’s face was unreadable. “It’s been twenty-two hours. The last system update was one hour and eighteen minutes ago. Location: Wind, Forest, Fire, Mountain. Coordinates: 2588, 1860.”

At the mention of that name, Wu Hua’s face changed. “Sorry, I can’t do this job. You’d better find someone else.” He handed the photo to Oath and turned to leave.

“Stop,” Hotshot snapped.

Wu Hua paused. “What now?”

Coldly, Hotshot replied, “If you won’t go, sell me your sensor. Name your price.”

Wu Hua smiled. “Sorry, not for sale.”

Of course not. Though it was just a little green sensor, not worth much, it had saved his life countless times. He’d only died twice in reaching level 13, all thanks to this gadget.

Good gear could be sold, but never your means of survival. Any seasoned player knew that.

With a click, Hotshot unstrapped her MP5, switched off the safety, and leveled the cold barrel at Wu Hua’s forehead—less than a meter away.

“Hey, don’t do anything rash. This is a service zone!” Wu Hua protested, nervous.

Hotshot sneered, “I know. I’m a white-name right now. At worst, I’ll go yellow and spend time in the penalty box. If I blow you away, that sensor drops anyway. Don’t refuse a toast only to drink a forfeit. Will you sell it or not?”

The tension was palpable. Even the other “hawkers” nearby gathered to watch the show.

“Now, now, let’s all be reasonable.” A voice so saccharine it made his skin crawl rang out. The Biochemical Warrior, “Auntie Sis,” sauntered over, swaying her hips, and pushed Hotshot’s weapon down. “Sis, put the gun away. Guns are for enemies, not our own. Hey, little brother Boom, it’s all negotiable, no need to get upset.”

Wu Hua shivered involuntarily. “Sister, I’m not upset—it’s your big sis here who wants to kill me.”

Auntie Sis draped an arm over his shoulder, grinning. “Boom, you’re a good-looking kid. Sure, your level’s a bit low and your gear average, but time’s short and we need you. Don’t leave—if it comes to it, we’ll pay you a deposit.”

Wu Hua was surprised as Auntie Sis actually opened the trade window and put up a crystal card. A line of text appeared: Player Auntie Sis requests trade, credit amount 500.

“Little brother, take this deposit. Even if the job falls through, it’s yours. If we succeed, you’ll get even more—hmm.” She drew out the last syllable, punctuating it with a coquettish wink.

Wu Hua shivered, thinking, First the stick, now the carrot, huh?

“Tch, what do you take me for?” Wu Hua looked scornful, but without another word—promptly hit “Accept.” Then he broke into a grin. “So, ladies, when do we set out?”

A collective groan rose from the crowd as everyone watching face-planted in disbelief.