Honkai: Oh No, I’ve Become the Herrscher of Corruption?! - Chapter 125

Enoxia knew all too well that to find a way to combat the Honkai, human experimentation was inevitable. The real question was: who would become the test subjects?

Like many hyped games, Phantom Chaos, the so-called “next-gen action mobile game,” was met with a flood of leaks the moment its open beta PV dropped. And no, these weren’t just rumors—some were practically “officially sanctioned” leaks.

But obviously, these leakers—whether peddling fake screenshots or illegally obtained internal data—were hardly trustworthy.

Enoxia held a firm belief: The critique of weapons cannot replace the weapon of critique. Those accounts spreading insider info were, at their core, profiting through illicit means. So instead of using her Authority of Corruption to simply erase the leaks, she traced them straight to the source.

For those spreading fake screenshots, she dealt light punishment—emptying their account balances, with the funds redirected to Phantom Chaos’s maintenance and development.

As for those who illegally obtained internal data? Well, they got a one-way ticket to the human experimentation lab. Her method was simple: track the leaked info to the electronic devices used, locate the individuals behind them, then use her Herrscher powers to manipulate their consciousness—making them “voluntarily” walk into the lab.

By the time the official PV launched, Phantom Chaos’s airtight secrecy left both competitors and bystanders in awe. After all, most of the leakers had already been… physically removed by Enoxia.

She felt nothing about it. To her, leakers weren’t even human. Who in their right mind would actually stan leakers, anyway?

On October 14, 2006, Phantom Chaos launched ahead of schedule, offering every new player 100 free pulls each in both the weapon and character banners. The first 5-star character—something resembling Stigmata—was given out just for logging in.

Enoxia’s strategy of aggressive monetization worked like a charm. The game’s quality was solid to begin with, but when players realized their first 648 CNY top-up netted them 432 pulls, and buying all the double bonuses gave over 700 pulls, the floodgates opened.

As everyone knows, if a new game launches without controversy, it’s probably not a miHoYo title. But Phantom Chaos was different. With costs so low, even when players noticed minor flaws, they brushed them off with: “For this price, it’s fine if there are issues.”

Phantom Tech’s largest shareholder was, on paper, a real estate tycoon. The other major stakeholders (all holding over 5%) had their own businesses too. Even if the game flopped, it didn’t matter. “They got tired of building houses and dabbling in green energy, so they dropped a few hundred million to make a game for fun. What’s the big deal?”

Yet despite the soaring revenue, Enoxia wore a troubled expression.

Hearing her sigh, Sirin immediately appeared by her side. Without hesitation, Enoxia pulled her into an embrace.

Sirin—the “Purple Pufferfish Plushie”—was soft, durable, and perfect for squeezing. With both “inflated” and “deflated” modes, she offered a unique user experience. Enoxia had given her a five-star review on day one and still used her daily.

“Eno, Phantom Chaos is getting universal praise now. Even those accounts spreading wild rumors have deleted and fled. Why aren’t you happy?”

“Sigh… Sirin, you know the lab’s researching how to improve ordinary humans’ Honkai resistance. But we’ve already burned through all our test subjects with no results. If I just start grabbing people off the street, how am I any better than Otto?”

“So… you’re hoping this game will help you filter out the ones who deserve to die?”

Enoxia nodded. Her stance had always been clear: Not all humans are worth saving.

And the mobile gaming community—a cesspool of witch hunts, personal attacks, and mindless toxicity—was teeming with extremists and paid trolls. These were not the people Enoxia considered worth protecting.

Nuzzling against Sirin, a brilliant idea struck her. If there’s no drama, I’ll just create it myself. The mobile gaming world was already rotten. It was time to drop the hammer.

The next day, two new accounts popped up across major platforms. Within days, their follower counts surged past 100,000, with every video hitting six-figure views. Soon, every netizen’s homepage was flooded with their content.

Many clicked in, only to immediately exit upon hearing “Attention, this man is called Handsome Xiao.” People were baffled—how could such low-quality content perform so well?

By June 2007, after half a year of operation, Phantom Chaos had amassed tens of millions of players worldwide. And those two omnipresent accounts? They’d each surpassed a million followers.

Then, on June 2, disaster struck.

A catastrophic bug hit Phantom Chaos. Players were forcibly logged out, and those trying to log in found themselves locked out. An hour later, the servers stabilized—but every account had been reset to square one. All progress, all purchases—gone.

The backlash was instant. The game’s official accounts were bombarded with hundreds of thousands of angry comments within hours.

Soon after, the two influencer accounts dropped new videos—with diametrically opposing takes.

One argued: “This is just a bug. Trust the devs—don’t let haters manipulate you.”

The other declared: “This is a capitalist scam. Anyone defending the company now is a Phantom bootlicker.”

Videos of these two million-follower accounts clashing flooded everyone’s feeds, racking up tens of millions of views. Opportunistic creators jumped in, fueling the fire. Players, non-players, haters, defenders, trolls, “neutral observers,” and chaos enthusiasts all piled in, turning comment sections into battlegrounds.

Meanwhile, Enoxia—the mastermind behind it all—was nearly in tears from laughter watching the internet tear itself apart.

What no one knew was that both accounts were hers. Every piece of information—official statements, leaks, rumors—was carefully curated by her.

Then, under the most-viewed videos, hundreds of identical comments appeared. Enoxia traced them—only to find all the devices were located in the same room.

Ah. The cyber mercenaries have arrived.