Assassins, demonic cultivators.
A lawless small-town narcotics officer, a Righteous Path Cultivator who brings harm to the innocent.
An ordinary girl in need of salvation…
…
Countless images overlapped in Lu Ze’s mind, sparking boundless inspiration.
"An illusionary realm… doesn’t necessarily have to be crafted solely for games."
Lu Ze murmured to himself.
"Or rather…"
"Could we turn a movie into a game?"
At this thought, Lu Ze’s mind suddenly cleared.
The script of Léon: The Professional was undeniably exceptional.
Moreover, many of its settings could be easily localized.
Adapting the localized script into a role-playing narrative game wouldn’t be difficult given Lu Ze’s current abilities.
Additionally, a two-hour movie, when transformed into a game, would likely take around six to eight hours to complete—a perfect length for this round of competition.
Most importantly, this script could entirely sidestep the collective stigma of "demonic cultivators," focusing instead on the characters themselves. This approach was bound to evoke empathy from Righteous Path Cultivators for the tragic protagonist.
Not all demonic cultivators were inherently evil or guilty.
If this idea took root and prompted Righteous Path Cultivators to reflect, the system’s mission conditions could be smoothly fulfilled.
With his mind made up, Lu Ze immediately decided:
Léon: The Professional it would be.
Or perhaps it should be called This Demonic Cultivator Isn’t So Cold.
No time to waste—Lu Ze began planning the illusionary realm at once.
Though the concept was clear, execution was far from simple.
The essence of a role-playing game lay in "role-playing."
How could he ensure cultivators would immerse themselves in the protagonist’s mindset?
From a first-person perspective, Lu Ze couldn’t guarantee every cultivator would align with the protagonist’s emotions.
"Use dialogue choices like in my past life? No… too bland."
Lu Ze quickly dismissed the idea.
In a VR world with near-limitless freedom, forcing players to rely solely on scripted choices would likely frustrate them.
"Grant players some freedom… while using choices to guide the narrative?"
A new approach soon took shape in Lu Ze’s mind.
His hands moved swiftly through the air, tracing an intricate formation.
With a thought, he summoned several digital souls from the Cyber Ten Thousand Souls Banner for testing.
After several iterations, the formation’s function began to take form.
Lu Ze dubbed it the "Role-Playing System."
When players assumed a role, their actions would influence a corresponding "Behavior Score."
- A score above 80: Players could act freely, shaping the story.
- A score below 80: Players would rely on dialogue and action choices to maintain narrative coherence.
- A score below 50: Role-playing would fail, ending the game.
This way, players wouldn’t feel restricted, yet the story could still unfold as intended.
Of course, this was just the system’s foundation—Lu Ze planned further refinements.
"Then there’s Mathilda…"
Having solved one problem, Lu Ze stroked his chin, deep in thought again.
Beyond Lyon, the young girl Mathilda was an indispensable character.
Simply replicating the movie’s dialogue and actions would feel stiff.
Fortunately, the Cyber Ten Thousand Souls Banner provided a solution.
The digital souls’ mimicry and intelligence surpassed even the most advanced AI from his past life.
Lu Ze had long considered using digital souls to portray NPCs—now was the perfect opportunity to test the idea.
The question was: Who should play Mathilda?
Suddenly, an image flashed in Lu Ze’s mind—a young girl, trembling yet resolute, standing protectively before a youth, her eyes glistening with defiance.
In that moment, her silhouette overlapped perfectly with the short-haired girl from the film.
Without delay, Lu Ze opened his illusionary realm contacts list.
He had intended to reach Zhong Yi, but the latter was unusually offline.
Zhou Yue, however, was available. Lu Ze sent him a message:
"Senior Brother Zhou, where’s Senior Brother Zhong Yi?"
"Him? Something unfortunate happened."
"What’s wrong?"
"That incident with the girl and the demonic cultivator… someone leaked it. Now it’s blowing up!"
Frowning, Lu Ze instinctively checked the forum.
The section he’d built had become the cultivation world’s largest hub for discourse—any major scandal could be found there.
Sure enough, discussions about Zhong Yi shielding a demonic cultivator dominated the front page:
[Rumor: Lingxiao Sect’s True Disciple Secretly Delivers Food to Demonic Cultivator]
[Demonic Cultivator Seduces Innocent Girl—Execute Immediately!]
[No Wonder the Nascent Soul Elder Took Three Days to Capture the Demonic Cultivator—Was He Corrupted?]
[Is This Worthy of Being a True Disciple? Petition to Strip Zhong Yi’s Cultivation as a Warning!]
[A Disgrace to the Righteous Path!!]
Lu Ze’s frown deepened.
Though this world lacked organized troll farms, it was clear someone powerful was pulling strings behind the scenes.
"Don’t worry, Senior Brother Zhou. Once my illusionary realm is ready, I’ll clear Senior Brother Zhong Yi’s name!"
Lu Ze reassured him.
"Truly?!"
Zhou Yue’s eyes lit up with hope.
When it came to Lu Ze’s words—especially regarding the illusionary realm—he had absolute faith.
"Truly."
"That’s a relief… By the way, what did you need from Old Zhong? I can help."
"Mm." Lu Ze nodded.
"Please have the demonic cultivator and the girl beside him try the Illusionary Tower."
"Eh???"
Zhou Yue was dumbfounded.
What kind of request was this?
Though the girl lacked cultivation, Zhou Yue had ways to help her enter the tower.
But he couldn’t fathom Lu Ze’s reasoning.
Lu Ze added:
"Have them play Cultivator’s Descent: 100 Floors."
"???"
"Make them play nonstop for three days and nights. Senior Brother Zhou, you must supervise—no going easy on them."
"???"
Zhou Yue took a deep breath, utterly stunned.
"Junior Brother Lu… maybe just execute them instead?"
[P.S.]
[Originally, this segment was meant to feature Song of the Hunger, depicting the suffering of a chaotic era and delivering emotional gut-punches.]
[But Song of the Hunger’s text and plot were far too extensive—requiring at least 40 chapters to do justice. Too short, and it’d be incoherent; too long, and it’d drag.]
[The pairing of the girl and the youth reminded me of Léon: The Professional. Though not a game, its pacing fit perfectly here, and adapting it would be far simpler than most games.]
[Since narrative-driven games prioritize story over mechanics, a masterfully structured tale like this would hold its own against any game in this context.]
"I know some people will say this is off-topic, that they won't read it, or that the chosen theme isn't good."
"First, I'll unfold the player's perspective through a gaming approach."
"Second, this won't just be a simple retelling of the film's content."
"Finally, no matter what game you write about, there will always be critics—it's not really about whether it's a game or which specific game it is..."
"This is just a simple experiment. If it's not to your taste, feel free to wait for the next fantasy realm. Aside from this section, the rest will adapt the game into a mystical illusion."
s the Eldest Princess, renowned for her cold and aloof detachment, became the most docile of lambs, obeying his every command without question. But when the final move was played on the chessboard, as Gu Chenghan seized everything and ascended on the verge of apotheosis, that very Princess suddenly embraced him from behind, her tone carrying a dependence never heard before: "Wait... you haven't yet... commanded me to love you forever." Gu Chenghan froze abruptly. She... hadn't been hypnotized?! ... [The Eldest Princess's Diary] [When my soul was extracted, becoming the sole spectator outside my own shell] [At first, there was overwhelming fury, until I saw] [How he used my sword to effortlessly shatter my inescapable doom] [How he wielded my authority to eradicate fatal conspiracies I had never even detected] [Like a deity, he rescued me from the deep mire I was trapped in] [If not for those annoying vixens, he and I would be a match made in heaven] [I think I am ill, gravely ill] [My deity should belong to me alone] ... "Hypnosis? Oh, it succeeded, my dear Master." "Only this time, it's my turn to hypnotize you."
e bizarre and supernatural had descended. The previous emperor was a thoroughgoing tyrant; no longer satisfied with human women, he had set his sights on a stunningly beautiful supernatural entity. He met his end in his bedchamber, drained of all his vital essence. As the legitimate eldest son and crown prince, Wang Hao was thus hastily enthroned, becoming the young emperor of the Great Zhou Dynasty. No sooner had he awakened the "Imperial Sign-In Intelligence System" than he was assassinated by a Son of Destiny—a classic villain's opening. The Great Zhou, ravaged by the former emperor's excesses, was in national decline. The great families within its borders harbored their own treacherous schemes, martial sects began to defy the imperial court's decrees, and border armies, their pay and provisions in arrears, grumbled incessantly against the central government. Fortunately, the central capital was still held secure by the half-million Imperial Guards and fifty thousand Imperial Forest Army who obeyed the court's orders, along with the royal family's hidden reserves of power, barely managing to suppress the realm. As the Great Zhou's finances worsened and supernatural activities grew ever more frequent, the court sat atop a volcano. Ambitious plotters everywhere dreamed of overthrowing the dynasty, and even some reclusive ancient powers emerged, attempting to sway the tides of the world. At the first grand court assembly, the civil and military officials nearly came to blows, fighting tooth and nail over the allocation of fifty million taels of silver from the summer tax revenues. The spectacle opened Wang Hao's eyes—the Great Zhou's bureaucracy was not only corrupt but also martially proficient, a cabinet of all-rounders. Some officials even had the audacity to suggest the emperor release funds from the imperial privy purse to address the emergency. Wang Hao suddenly felt weary. Let it all burn.
world slacker. But a genius female disciple just had to get clingy, insisting that he take her as a disciple. Not only that, she was always making advances on him, thoroughly disrupting his peaceful slacker life...
nd fell into a coma while saving his younger sister from an out-of-control car. He became a vegetable. No one knew that his consciousness had crossed into a world of cultivation. Over the course of sixty years, he began as the lowest kind of mine slave, struggling to survive amid mountains of corpses and seas of blood. By sheer chance, he eventually obtained the complete memories of a fallen Immortal King. Alchemy, medicine, formations, feng shui, physiognomy, artifact forging… Every great inheritance of the cultivation world was now his. But when he opened his eyes again, he discovered that ten full years had passed in the modern world. To pay for his treatment, his father had sold the family’s shop and house, leaving himself covered in lasting injuries and illness. His mother had cared for him day and night, and more than half of her hair had already turned white. His younger sister, who had been only fifteen back then, was now twenty-five. To help repay the family’s debts, she had been forced to lower her head and put on a smiling face in places of glittering lights and endless revelry. Only then did Chen Xuan understand that what he had lost was not merely ten years. He had lost the life his entire family was meant to have. The good news was that he had brought back the memories of an Immortal King’s entire lifetime. The bad news was that his soul had returned alone—his cultivation had not come with him. Spiritual energy was scarce, resources were depleted, and the modern world still had firearms, surveillance, capital, and laws. If he wanted to protect his family, break free from everyone’s control, and become truly invincible beneath the heavens, he would have to start all over again.
