Reever did not spend much time inside the library. After skimming through several titles and confirming what he needed, he focused on gathering a few pieces of essential information before deciding to leave and meet up with Pixie. Lingering for too long in a place like this never felt safe, especially when the owner could ban him with a single thought.
Titles, as he had just learned, were a massive deal in this game. They were not just decorative labels or achievements meant to boost pride. Titles were closer to cheat codes, subtle but powerful advantages granted to players who earned them. Those who possessed titles enjoyed benefits that ordinary players could only dream of, benefits that could shift the outcome of battles without anyone realizing what had tipped the scales.
What surprised Reever even more was the fact that titles themselves had ranks, just like weapons, armor, and gadgets. The higher the rank of a title, the greater the privileges it granted. Some increased stats quietly in the background, others unlocked passive effects that could change the way the system interacted with the player. An increase in rank meant an increase in influence, survivability, and overall dominance.
There were also unranked titles, ones that existed outside the known system classifications. Very few people had ever obtained them, and even among those lucky enough to do so, almost no one openly displayed them. Such titles were treated like forbidden secrets, hidden away to avoid attention, envy, or worse.
By comparison, Reever realized just how lucky he truly was. He possessed an epic ranked title, a rarity in its own right. What made it even more valuable was the fact that epic ranked titles corresponded directly to the Elite Pro rank. In other words, the title alone placed him on a level that many players spent their entire careers chasing, even if his actual combat rank had not caught up yet.
Pixie was still seated where he had left her, deeply absorbed in reading a comic book. Her legs swung lazily as she flipped through the pages, completely immersed in whatever story had caught her interest. Reever chose not to disturb her. He had learned quickly that Pixie operated on her own rules, and interrupting her for something trivial might earn him consequences he did not want to deal with.
From what he had gathered, the closest world community after this one was millions of miles away. Getting banned from this library would not simply be inconvenient, it would be disastrous. Traveling such a distance would take an absurd amount of time and resources, assuming he could even make the journey safely.
Worse still, he was not confident that Pixie lacked connections. If she decided to badmouth him to other communities, he might find doors closing before he ever reached them. The thought alone made him cautious.
He also learned that the gaming world itself was unimaginably vast. Vast to the point that finding other people by accident was nearly impossible. If someone got lost, they might wander for years without encountering another player. The scale of the world dwarfed Earth by comparison, making his old home planet feel insignificant.
Reever found himself wondering how the developers had managed to create something so enormous. Even with advanced technology, the logistics behind such a structure made little sense. A part of him suspected that there was more at play here, something deeper than a simple game. However, with his current strength and position, such questions were well beyond his reach.
Leaving the library behind, Reever headed toward the nearest café. He needed a quiet place to sit and organize his thoughts, away from system notifications and unpredictable entities.
The café was modest but lively. Players and NPCs alike filled the seats, chatting, laughing, and ordering food. As soon as Reever sat down, a young man dressed in a waiter's outfit approached him with a polite smile.
"Sir, can I get you anything?"
"No need," Reever replied calmly. "I am waiting for something. But here's a tip for letting me stay here."
He forwarded five hundred CP to the waiter without hesitation. The young man's eyes widened slightly before he bowed gratefully and moved on to attend to other customers.
Reever watched the surroundings quietly. He could not eat, and that fact irritated him more than he liked to admit. His armor covered his entire body, hiding the metallic face the accursed system had forced upon him. Even if he wanted to enjoy something as simple as food or drink, he could not.
"Man, I wish I could enjoy a hot cup of coffee one day," he muttered under his breath as he watched a nearby group laughing while ordering snacks and steaming cups of coffee.
As he sat there, his thoughts returned to his future.
From what he had learned, finding a group was essential if he wanted to rank up efficiently. Solo play had its limits, especially at higher levels. He had not yet played a proper match since returning to this timeline, and compulsory matches did not count. Those matches were designed to sharpen battle prowess, not to provide meaningful progress or rewards.
With only one training match allowed per day, his growth was severely restricted. At Rookie I, he was still far from where he needed to be. To reach the Veteran rank, he had no choice but to participate in real matches.
He glanced at his system panel, confirming his current rank. The information stared back at him coldly, a reminder of how much ground he still had to cover.
The library had also provided insight into the structure of power within this world. There were countless teams scattered across the game, but only ten were recognized across the entire gaming world. These ten teams were led by individuals of overwhelming strength and influence.
Teams, Reever realized, were not just optional alliances. In many game modes, solo players stood no chance. Teams provided coordination, protection, and access to shared resources. More importantly, teams were bound by contracts linked directly to a player's gaming ID.
Betrayal was not taken lightly. Anyone who broke a team contract faced severe penalties. In the worst cases, the punishment was a full-year ban from the game. No sane person would risk that unless they were completely unhinged.
Despite the countless teams available, only ten had stood the test of time. These ten organizations had histories stretching back five hundred years, meaning they had been established long after Reever's death. Their influence was global, their names known to nearly every serious player.
They were:
Forever Knights.
Midnight Ventures.
White Cleansing Guild.
The Rodeo Association.
Laughing Coffin Club.
Death Touch.
Black Opps.
The Fire Rangers.
Danger Devils.
The Unknown Club.
These ten teams dominated the gaming world.
What truly shocked Reever was learning about their leaders. The first five teams were led by mythical players. Not elite, not legendary, but mythical. Players so powerful that many believed they did not truly exist.
Mythical players were considered nothing more than rumors, exaggerated stories passed down through generations. Yet here were five teams openly led by them.
The realization left Reever stunned.
With this information in mind, he knew he had to make a decision soon. Time was not on his side. He had roughly eleven hours before his human insignia would change into a bot one. When that happened, there would be no turning back, especially if players saw a bot in a world community.
"I wonder how mythical players look like, and how powerful they really are," he thought.
His mind drifted back to his previous match, the one where he had been utterly crushed by an elite ranked player. He had been beaten badly, killed once, and left with no room for pride. Worse still, that opponent had been from the lowest tier of elite players.
His circuits struggled to imagine the strength of mythical players if even the weakest elites could overwhelm him so completely.
After all, myths were usually born from truths that people could not comprehend.
And part of him, despite everything, wanted to see them with his own eyes.