Chapter Four: Talent and Luck

With Thousand Miles Solo acting as the warrior tank, their monster-hunting efficiency soared. Whenever monsters struck him, he’d lose just one or two points of health, and even when skills were triggered, it was barely over ten points—a trivial amount of damage for the warrior class, allowing him to keep going for ages before needing to meditate to recover. Zhang Shan no longer had to dodge and weave; he simply planted himself and dealt damage. Whichever monster Thousand Miles Solo targeted, Zhang Shan followed suit, and together, they could defeat a monster in less than ten seconds. Experience rolled in rapidly, and the sound of copper coins dropping was a constant, cheerful chime.

In the New World, every monster dropped money, though not much at a time. Still, a little added up to a lot and was an important source of income. The jingle of coins put Zhang Shan in a good mood.

At their current pace, the two of them would reach level two in less than half an hour.

Thousand Miles Solo remarked, “Our luck’s not bad, huh? We’ve only killed about ten monsters and already got some gear. Didn’t they say drop rates in the New World are extremely low? By the way, you landed the last hit, didn’t you, Six-Barrel Bodhisattva? What’s your Luck stat?”

“Nine,” Zhang Shan replied.

“No way. That’s insane luck, you know that? I just checked the forum, and people are complaining like crazy. Most folks have Luck between four and six, seven at most. I haven’t seen anyone with more than seven.”

“It’s just two points higher than seven. That can’t make a huge difference, can it?”

“You don’t get it. The New World’s Luck stat is hidden and permanent—it never changes. You’ll never get another chance to increase it, so it has to be valuable. If you spread word about your nine Luck, the big guilds would bend over backwards to recruit you. If you were willing to sign up as a professional player, you could probably get a lucrative contract—just for that Luck stat alone.”

“That can’t be,” Zhang Shan said, genuinely surprised. He knew nine Luck was high and would help him make money grinding monsters, but he hadn’t considered much else. The idea was tempting, but as quickly as it came, he dismissed it—the game had only just begun, and they didn’t even know when they’d be leaving the starter village. Who could say what the future would hold?

“Hey, what’s your Luck stat?” Zhang Shan asked Thousand Miles Solo.

“Eight,” he replied with a chuckle.

“But you said the highest you saw on the forum was seven. What’s going on?”

“I’m not about to tell anyone my Luck stat. I don’t want people pestering me. I bet there are a few more with eight or nine, but definitely not many. They’re probably keeping their heads down—just like you and me.”

“Think anyone has ten Luck right now?”

“Doubtful. Ten would be incredibly rare, maybe even unique. The Alliance has a tradition of perfection; they wouldn’t hand that out lightly. Besides, the game’s just started. They’ll want to leave something for future players to aspire to.”

“True enough.”

“So, what’s your talent?” asked Thousand Miles Solo.

“That’s… a bit hard to explain.”

“Oh, come on, don’t be so secretive. Don’t tell me you’ve got some broken talent—does it boost physical attack or something else?”

“It’s a passive talent. I have a chance to randomly acquire a passive skill from any monster I kill. But the chance is one in a million.”

“No way! Are you serious? I thought talents just boosted stats, but yours is next level. You’re going to make it big, brother. I’m sticking with you from now on. Once you collect a few passives, you’ll be insanely strong—free skills for the taking! You can even target monsters with the best passives to farm.”

Thousand Miles Solo was visibly excited by Zhang Shan’s description of his “Passive King” talent.

“That’s what I thought, but the odds are so slim it’s frustrating. Who knows how long it’ll take to collect a few passives? It’s all up to fate, and who’s to say monster passives are even any good?”

“Don’t worry, with your high Luck, it’s bound to happen eventually. Sure, it’ll take time to come together, but just take it slow. Musketeers are good at farming monsters anyway, and you’ll only get more efficient as you progress.”

“What about your talent?” Zhang Shan asked, curious.

“It’s decent, just not as overpowered as yours—ten percent bonus to physical damage.”

“That’s really practical. In the late game, it’s like having an extra piece of gear increasing your damage.”

“Before I heard about your talent, I thought mine was top tier. You haven’t checked the forum, but a lot of people got talents that don’t match their class—strength or agility types with magic damage boosts, magic types with physical damage boosts, and even when the bonus fits, it’s often a small percentage. There are others too, like increased health or mana regeneration, or just a few stat points. But no one’s mentioned a talent like yours—skills-based. I never expected that. I bet there are talent types we haven’t even imagined.”

“I’ll go check the forum,” Zhang Shan said. He hadn’t had time before, since he was rusty from not gaming for years, and musketeers had low health and defense—one wrong move and he’d die. He’d been playing cautiously, but now that he could just stand and fire, he had time to browse.

He entered the forum.

The New World forum was ablaze with activity. Complaint threads flooded the front page, and there were even some technical guides behind a paywall, accessible only with in-game currency. The forum and the game were now linked, so there was no separate forum currency—just the same coins from the game.

One thread in particular was a petition to change the talent system, packed with comments and rants.

Jiangshan Unbound (the author) wrote: “The talent system in New World is a huge trap. I picked fire mage, but got a talent that gives +8% physical damage. Are you kidding me? Why not at least give us talents that match our class—even a small bonus would be fine, but this is completely useless! Let’s petition the developers to change the talent system. It’s fine if the bonuses are small, but at least they should be relevant. Or just scrap talents altogether for a level playing field. Isn’t New World supposed to be fair and just? Come on, everyone, let’s speak up. If enough of us unite, the devs will have to listen.”

“Exactly, what’s with these trash talents? I’m a berserker and got magic damage—what’s that about?”

“Hunter here with mana regeneration—passing by.”

“Guardian warrior got increased mana cap, ha. Hope there’ll be some useful skills for that, otherwise what’s the point?”

“Archer with five percent faster mana regen. That’s actually a bit useful.”

“Archer above, your talent is super useful—you’ll save a ton on potions.”

“Anyone worse off than me? I’m an ice mage with +10 agility. Am I supposed to be the fastest runner among mages? And it’s only ten points, not even per level up!”

“Ice mage, get real. If you got ten agility every level, how would agility classes compete? Dream on!”

“+5 health regen. My mom doesn’t need to worry about me running out of health anymore. But I’m a witch doctor—I can heal myself! Why not give me mana regen instead?”

“Guardian warrior with +9% defense, not bad.”

“Nice one.”

“Magic swordsman with +1 intelligence—strongly requesting talents be removed.”

“Thief with +10 max health—remove talents +1.”

“Berserker, +5 magic damage—remove talents +2.”

“Taoist, +12 strength—remove talents +3.”

“Guardian warrior, +5 magic damage—remove talents +10001.”

Zhang Shan scrolled through, watching the players vent. Most were just jealous of others’ better talents. While many didn’t get the most optimal talents, most were at least usable. The gap only felt wider in comparison to others’ luck, but it was no different from having better or worse gear—true fairness simply didn’t exist in games.

Of course, these were just complaints. As for actually changing the talent system, that was never going to happen. The New World had reportedly been in development and secret testing for years before its public release. The systems were well thought out; minor bugs might exist, but major overhauls were impossible.

Zhang Shan read other threads, too—complaints about strong monsters, for example. Level-one chicks had stats similar to new players, so fighting them took half a minute, then a minute to meditate and recover. Stronger monsters would obviously be even tougher. With no gear or skills in the beginning, how were players supposed to level up?

There were also complaints about the party system: no experience bonus for teaming up. A chick gave five experience solo, but only 2.5 each in a duo, as if the game discouraged grouping. Most games rewarded larger teams with extra experience.

Even more people ranted about unfair starting skills. Zhang Shan checked out other classes’ beginner skills and found the differences significant.

Strength-based classes, for instance, all had the same skill—Falling Leaf Slash, which added ten points of damage.

The other classes were more varied. The strongest was the fire mage, whose starting skill, Fireball, added twenty damage with a burning effect—two extra damage per second for three seconds. With this skill, fire mages could kill demonized chicks without taking damage. The only drawback was the high mana cost: ten points per cast, so with a mage’s starting mana, you could only kill three monsters before needing to meditate.

It was much better than Zhang Shan’s Headshot skill. Alone, he’d have to sit and recover after every fight.

The Taoist had the worst luck with their starting skill—not because it was bad, but because it was support-oriented. Their skill, Attack Blessing, could be cast on themselves or others, boosting attack by ten percent for thirty seconds—a strong support ability, but in the early game, with attacks around ten points, the effect was marginal, and no one wanted to party with them. They were left to hack at chicks with their peachwood sword.

Witch doctors had it a bit better. Their Poison skill dealt five damage instantly and applied poison for five seconds, two damage each second—fifteen total. They could kite monsters effectively.

Ice mages got Ice Ball, which dealt fifteen points of damage and applied a five percent slow at level one. The slow wasn’t very noticeable at first, but perhaps it would improve with skill upgrades.

Archers’ starter skill, Wind-Chasing Arrow, added ten damage, just like warriors’—no special effects. Still, as a ranged class, archers had it a bit easier early on.

Thieves, of course, got Stealth—a signature skill, but useless for fighting monsters. It was good for unlocking new maps and finding treasure chests, but the starter village had few chests. If you found something good, you’d get a head start; if not, you’d have to grind like everyone else. At higher levels, they could farm monsters too.

The most controversial skill was the hunter’s. If there was a “worst” skill, it belonged to gunners. Even thieves and Taoists had something to show for themselves—thieves could open chests, Taoists could buff teammates, and once levels and gear improved, their support would shine.

But Headshot, not just in the early game but throughout the first stages, was nearly useless. At level one, it had a 0.5 percent chance to trigger. No matter how flashy the effect, at that rate, it might as well not exist, and until attack speed increased—either through higher levels and agility or better gear—it was pointless. That would only come much later.

Although Headshot would be powerful in the late game, with higher skill levels and better trigger rates, you had to survive until then. If you fell too far behind early, it wouldn’t matter.

Zhang Shan found it frustrating. Without Thousand Miles Solo, it might take him over an hour just to reach level two. Now, it would be much faster.