Chapter Fifty-Six: Astonishment

“Tell me, isn’t this title hilarious?” Zhang Qi laughed as he clicked on the post. “These days, even the most sensationalist clickbait can climb to the top of the forum’s hot list. Who knows what the moderators are thinking.”

The moment Zhao Xu saw the title, he instantly understood what had happened.

In the eyes of Arthur’s Church, players who had no real connection to Arthur’s homeland were hard to bribe. Early on, it was safe to place them in lowly positions that might grant access to confidential information, since there was little risk of them having ties to the families within Mystra city that could cause leaks.

Sometimes, players were the most innocent people of all.

But the moment a secret fell into a player’s hands, one had to be prepared for that secret to become common knowledge among all players.

The internet always spreads news with zero distance.

Zhao Xu was certain that the female clerk at the registry was well-trained in the temple’s confidentiality protocols. She had likely passed rigorous exams before being assigned to such an internal position. He also knew that this post’s title couldn’t possibly have been made by her.

But human nature—the urge to share, to talk with friends—was impossible to suppress. A single screenshot posted to a five-person chat group could easily be forwarded until it spread across the entire web.

By now, he had figured it all out: the priests he’d met at Sacred Heart Cathedral yesterday had all indirectly confirmed that he was the newly arrived apprentice priest. That was what set off this explosive hot thread.

“Xu, look at the comments here. I’m dying of laughter,” Zhang Qi said.

Zhao Xu had no desire to draw attention or trouble; he genuinely had no use for fame. Still, he was curious how the internet would respond to this event—

“Here we go again—another player loses their mind during priest training. Get them outta here, next!”

“What’s the previous record for fastest priest promotion? Oh, nine days, and that was only for some weak divine power.”

“People don’t even bother doing their homework before faking stuff nowadays.”

“OP, hi, I’m from the XX Shock Department. Welcome aboard.”

“If there really is such a player, please step forward and prove it? If so, I’ll eat my hat standing on my head.”

“Don’t be so eager to eat that hat, upstairs. Maybe they just used up five resurrection stones and started a new account?”

“Ugh, the average IQ on this forum is dragged down by people like this. Other classes, maybe—but to earn divine favor and become a priest? Get in line, okay?”

“I finally managed to get all the essential skills after half a month, just waiting for my promotion. And now I hear someone finished in a day? If that’s true, I’ll delete my account on the spot. I’m not putting up with this.”

Reading these sarcastic comments, Zhao Xu couldn’t help but laugh a little himself—clearly, no one believed the original poster.

Admitting that someone else is better than you is always hard.

But after enduring Arthur’s grueling vocational training—a process that tested everyone physically and mentally, and still took vast amounts of time—most people eventually conceded the genius of those who managed to finish quickly.

Just when you finally spot the ceiling of what’s possible, someone else pops up and tells you that what you thought was the ceiling was only the first floor. Someone else has already climbed to the fifth. Of course, everyone would dismiss such claims out of hand.

“If you could really become a level one priest in a single day, I’d delete my account and switch over in a heartbeat. No—forget a day, even a week would be good enough for me,” Zhang Qi grumbled.

“Is it really that tough?” Zhao Xu asked in surprise.

In his previous life, he hadn’t joined the game until eight months in. By then, his teammates were already fully staffed with priests, and even the most casual healing spell would instantly bring him back from near death. Back then, he’d never experienced just how hard leveling up could be.

“You’ve never been out in the real world, so you have no idea how tough it is,” Zhang Qi shot back, giving Zhao Xu a look.

He knew Zhao Xu was a mage—one of those rookie apprentices who hadn’t even graduated, and who knew when he ever would.

“Let me tell you, if someone could guarantee a promotion to priest within two weeks—heck, even a month—the line for priest promotions would reach all the way to the city gates.”

“There’s a huge shortage of healers. In the old online games, priests would chug mana potions and toss healing spells to players, or players would just drink health potions after a fight.”

“But Arthur is brutal. Priests only get a few divine spell slots per day, and once they’re gone, that’s it—no more healing. That’s why so many people pretend to be believers and go to the church just to mooch some healing.”

“You guys can’t buy potions?” Zhao Xu asked, surprised.

“Xu, a single minor healing potion costs 50 gold—who can afford to waste that on a few measly hit points?” Zhang Qi replied.

That’s when Zhao Xu remembered: healing potions were for emergencies in combat, never for casual post-battle recovery.

In his previous life, as a sheriff, he had special channels to buy lesser rejuvenation wands from the temple—those were cheap and effective. But for the current crop of players, not only were there no such channels, they could barely afford any healing supplies at all.

Most of their starting funds were already drained by the cost of weapons and armor. And because of Arthur’s realism, players only avoided food and drink because they were mere projections; otherwise, every adventure supply, from backpacks to flint and steel to caltrops, was a bottomless money pit.

Lately, the forum’s hottest threads had shifted from monster-slaying guides to work-for-hire strategies. Even players who hadn’t finished class training were diligently leveling up crafting skills, using any spare time to take odd jobs and earn extra cash.

“Buy? As if!” Zhang Qi snorted. “In our class guild, whoever can provide healing supplies would probably become guild leader on the spot. Heck, even just being a priest would guarantee the position.”

Zhao Xu nodded at that, though he ignored the latter part. Backed by the Mage Association and the church, getting those supplies wouldn’t be hard for him. But with such a long distance between them, there was no way to deliver them now. Maybe someday, but for now, his own advancement was far more pressing.

In Arthur’s first month, very few players managed to graduate from their classes; most were muddling through. He wasn’t in any rush to put his plans into action. What mattered most was leveling himself up.

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The next day, Zhao Xu deliberately logged in early and reappeared in his floating city room. While waiting for Antinoya’s arrival, he spent an hour each preparing arcane and divine spells.

After two hours, Antinoya arrived as expected, carrying something in her hand.

“Teacher, what are we learning next?” Zhao Xu asked, getting straight to the point—he’d only just seen Antinoya the night before and didn’t feel like exchanging pleasantries.

“No rush. I brought your reward from last time’s victory today,” Antinoya said succinctly.

Zhao Xu perked up. He’d been trying to find a way to subtly remind her, but she was already on it.

“Take this,” Antinoya said, handing him the item she carried.

“A backpack?” Zhao Xu stared at what he held, utterly baffled.