Primordial Awakening: I Breathe Skill Points!-Chapter 45: Digital Awakening. (2)

Chapter 45: Digital Awakening. (2)
Zeph kept scrolling, fascinated by the glimpse into sanctuary social dynamics.
@ProGamerElite (Pacific Citadel - A District)
"ANNOUNCEMENT: Trinity Esports is hosting open qualifiers for the Continental VR Championship next month! Prize pool: 5 MILLION CREDITS! Registration opens Friday!"
(Likes) 45.7K | (Comments) 8.9K | (Reposts) 23.4K
Zeph’s scrolling stopped.
His eyes locked onto that post.
Five million credits.
VR Championship.
He clicked into the comments, his heart rate increasing.
@CasualGamer42: "5 mil holy shit. That’s retire-forever money."
@NoLifeGaming: "It’s split between top 8 teams. First place gets 2 mil, second gets 1.5 mil, third gets 1 mil, rest split the remaining 500k."
@CasualGamer42: "Still. 2 mil for playing games? Sign me up."
@ProGamerElite: "’Playing games’ lmao. Tell me you’ve never watched competitive VR without telling me. These teams train 16 hours a day for YEARS."
@TryHardDestroyer: "And even then, Pacific Citadel’s Apex Predators are going to win again. They’ve won the last 3 continentals. Open qualifiers are just for show."
@UnderdogSupporter: "That’s what people said before Crimson Phoenix took 2nd place last year. New teams CAN break through."
@RealistGamer: "Crimson Phoenix is backed by the Liu family syndicate. They’re not exactly ’new’ in terms of resources."
Zeph opened a new search tab, typing quickly: "VR Esports Northern Bastion."
The results exploded across his screen.
Dozens of articles. Hundreds of posts. Thousands of videos.
"Top 10 VR Games Dominating the Competitive Scene"
"How Much Do Professional VR Players Actually Make?"
"From F-Rank Hunter to S-Tier Gamer: One Woman’s Journey"
"Why VR Esports Is the Fastest Growing Industry in All Seven Sanctuaries"
Zeph clicked the last article, his gaming instincts screaming that he’d found something important.
[Why VR Esports Is the Fastest Growing Industry in All Seven Sanctuaries]
[By Marcus Delacroix, Sanctuary Economic Analyst
In the 197 years since the Dimensional Descent, humanity has rebuilt civilization around one central truth: survival requires strength. The awakened protect humanity from monsters, dungeons, and dimensional threats. This has created a natural hierarchy where combat power determines social status and economic opportunity.
Which is a fancy way of saying: "If you can punch hard, you matter. If you can’t, enjoy flipping burgers at McAwakened’s."
We’ve essentially recreated feudalism, except instead of knights and peasants, we have B-rank awakened living in penthouses while F-ranks struggle for scraps. It’s dystopian, depressing, and unfortunately sustainable.
But here’s the uncomfortable question nobody wants to ask: what happens to the 35% of humanity that never awakens?
You know, the poor bastards who hit their 16th birthday expecting to go through System integration, and then... nothing. No status window. No skills. No superhuman abilities. Just the crushing realization that they’ll spend their lives as NPCs in someone else’s power fantasy.
Or what about awakened whose combat abilities plateau at F or E rank? The ones who technically have the System but whose idea of a "dangerous dungeon" is a Level 5 slime cavern?
For 150 years, the answer was: "Work menial jobs, try not to get eaten, and pray your kids roll better stats in the genetic lottery."
Then something beautiful happened. Nerds saved the world. Again.
[Enter: Virtual Reality (Where Stats Don’t Matter And Everything’s Made Up)]
Modern VR technology—powered by mana-infused neural interfaces—creates competitive environments where physical stats don’t matter.
A Level 1 awakened with 5 Strength can have the same baseline capabilities as a Level 60 with 500 Strength once they enter a VR pod. The playing field is completely level.
The S-rank awakened who can bench press a truck? In VR, just another player.
The unawakened accountant who’s never thrown a punch? Also just another player.
Same starting point. Same potential. At least, for a PRICE.
This has created an explosion in competitive gaming. The top VR games—Eternal Battlegrounds, Sovereign Skies, Nexus Arena—now have viewership numbers rivaling traditional sports.
The Continental Championships draw 500 million+ concurrent viewers. The Global Finals? Over 2 billion.
For context, that’s roughly 60% of Earth’s population. More people watch VR championships than watch actual heroes fight actual monsters in sanctioned arenas.
Humanity is more interested in watching someone named "xXDarkSephirothXx" clutch a 1v5 than watching real combat.
We deserve everything that’s coming to us.
[Show Me The Money (Seriously, I Chose The Wrong Career)]
Prize pools have grown from "participation trophy money" to "absolutely fucking bonkers."
The last Eternal Battlegrounds World Championship had a 47 million credit prize pool. The winner took home 18 million credits.
For playing a game!
For comparison, an A-rank awakened clearing an A-rank dungeon—risking actual death—might earn 100,000-250,000 credits after splitting loot.
Professional VR players sign multi-million credit contracts. "Horizon Gaming" signed their star player to a 3-year, 12 million credit deal. This man is 19, unawakened, has the muscle mass of a Victorian child laborer, and will earn more in three years than most B-rank hunters earn in a decade.
Top streamers (people who broadcast themselves playing while talking) earn more than A-rank hunters.
The #1 streamer earned 23 million credits last year. From donations. Subscriptions. Sponsorships.
Twenty-three million. For talking while gaming.
I have a friend—A-rank, Level 68, saved hundreds of lives, has the scars to prove it—who earned 890,000 credits last year.
I showed him these numbers. He stared at his hands for ten minutes, then asked if it was too late to learn streaming.
It’s not, Marcus. We can start tomorrow. I believe in you.
[But Why Though?]
Because everyone can participate. Anyone with access to a VR pod can compete. Skill, strategy, and game knowledge matter more than genetic lottery or bloodline inheritance.
In a world where awakened status creates permanent inequality, VR represents pure meritocracy.
The industry is projected to be worth 50 billion credits globally by year 200 AD.]
-----
Zeph read the article twice.
Then a third time.
His mind was already racing through implications, calculating probabilities, recognizing patterns from his previous life.
’This world’s version of esports. But bigger. Way bigger. Because in my old world, physical sports still existed as competition. Here? Combat sports ARE real life. Actual life-or-death stakes. So entertainment combat moves entirely to virtual space where it’s safe.’
’And I’m a gamer. Was a gamer. No-life, 16-hours-a-day, top-tier-raid-progression gamer.’
’In my previous world, I cleared content most players never even attempted. I optimized builds, memorized patterns, executed frame-perfect combinations while coordinating with teams across time zones.’
’That was all just... for fun. For the satisfaction of being good at something. And the occasional tournament win prizes.’
’But here? Those same skills could translate directly into credits. Real money. The kind of money that would let me buy better breathing techniques, better equipment, better everything without risking my life in dungeons.’
The implications crashed over him like a wave.
He wouldn’t need to hunt monsters. Wouldn’t need to risk his life in dungeons for marginal skill point gains. Wouldn’t need to draw attention by being an impossibly strong Level 35 with mysterious abilities.
He could just... play games.
Use the skills from his previous life. The pattern recognition, the strategic thinking, the ability to optimize and adapt and execute under pressure.
All the things he’d developed over thousands of hours in his old world, now applicable in a context where they could generate actual income.
’Five million credit prize pool. Even if I don’t win—even if I just place in the top 100—that could still be a considerable amount of money.’
’And unlike dungeons, dying in VR just means respawning. No real stakes. No permanent consequences.’
’I could get good. Really good. Build a reputation as a player instead of a hunter. Create an income stream that doesn’t require explaining how a Level 35 nobody has A-rank skills and expert technique mastery.’
Zeph’s storm-gray eyes were practically glowing with excitement.
This was it.
This was the path forward.
Not through combat and blood and constant escalation of violence.
But through the one thing he’d always been genuinely exceptional at.
Playing games.
His mind began planning out the next few steps.
Learn the major competitive games. Test his skills against the current player base. Identify which games matched his strengths. Practice obsessively. Enter small tournaments. Build a track record. Work toward the Continental qualifiers.
And most importantly—do it all as Kai Mercer, unremarkable Level 35 awakened with no combat achievements worth noting.
No one would connect a VR gamer to the "malicious anomaly" from the ruins.
No one would question how he got so good so fast—gaming prodigies existed.
No one would investigate his background when his only claim to fame was virtual combat.
It was perfect.
Zeph opened his phone’s notes feature and started a new note to himself:
VR Gaming Plan:
- Purchase VR equipment.
- Research top 3 competitive games
- Test skill translation from previous life
- Identify strongest game for my playstyle
- Practice 4-6 hours daily
- Enter amateur tournament within 2 weeks
- Evaluate viability as primary income source
He saved the note and leaned back against his wall, a genuine smile spreading across his face for the first time in days.
’I’m going to make so much money.’
’I’m going to become a professional gamer in a post-apocalyptic world where that’s actually a respected, lucrative career path.’
’And I’m going to love every second of it.’
His Primordial Architect interface pulsed gently in the corner of his vision. Still climbing with every breath.
But now he had a plan that didn’t require spending it all on combat optimization.
Now he had an actual future that didn’t involve constantly escalating violence.
Zeph closed his eyes and took a deep, controlled breath, feeling the PP generation tick upward.
Tomorrow, he’d begin.
Tomorrow, he’d see if the skills that had consumed his previous life could build his new one.
Tomorrow, everything changed.
Tonight?
Tonight he’d research competitive VR games until he understood the meta, the player base, the prize structures, and every possible advantage he could exploit.
After all, he wasn’t just a gamer anymore.
He was a gamer with a cheat system and 197 years of post-Descent gaming evolution to catch up on.
’This is going to be fun.’