Honkai: Oh No, I’ve Become the Herrscher of Corruption?! - Chapter 126

After several hours of screening, Enoxia identified—by her own standards—those who mindlessly copied and pasted comments as cyber-life puppets, those who incited flame wars for money, and the extreme fanatics.

Their opinions meant nothing to her. All she knew was that her lab was about to gain tens of thousands of new test subjects. She was confident that with a large enough sample size, there would inevitably be exceptional cases.

On June 3, 2007, all player data returned to normal. The official account of Phantom Void Arena issued an apology and announced the following compensations:

1. Retroactive Crystal Refund: Players would receive bonus crystals equal to the amount they had previously purchased. For example, if a player had spent money to acquire 10,000 crystals since launch, they would receive an additional 10,000 crystals.

2. 5-Star Character Voucher: All players would receive a voucher to redeem any previously released 5-star character, with no expiration date.

3. Abyss Auto-Completion: The next Abyss season would be marked as completed for all players, with rewards granted one tier higher than their current rank. For instance, those in “Agony III” would receive rewards equivalent to “Crimson Lotus.”

The outcome not only quelled the backlash but also proved the conspiracy theorists wrong. Furious netizens sought to hold the instigators accountable, only to discover that two influencers with millions of followers had already deleted all their videos and deactivated their accounts, vanishing without a trace.

To the public, influencers with such massive followings were clearly professional content creators. Their sudden disappearance had to mean something—right?

Little did they know the truth was laughably simple. To Enoxia, an account’s follower count and view metrics were just editable text fields. The numbers meant nothing; they were whatever she decided. Those two accounts? They were nothing more than bots under her control.

But of course, no one would believe that. The conspiracy theorists’ deactivation could be chalked up to realizing their credibility was shot—but what about the pro-Phantom Void influencer? He had no reason to flee. If anything, he could’ve capitalized on the situation to grow his audience.

Eventually, netizens reached a consensus: he must’ve been driven to despair by trolls and cyberbullies. Maybe he’d even been doxxed.

And so, with no concrete evidence but plenty of pent-up rage, the mob redirected their fury toward mid-tier influencers—those with tens or hundreds of thousands of followers—who had jumped on the hate bandwagon for clout. Branded with every derogatory label imaginable, these creators became the next targets of relentless harassment.

The million-follower bots could vanish without consequence, but the smaller creators? They relied on their platforms for a living. With no escape, they had no choice but to endure the abuse. Some, unable to swallow their pride, lashed out in turn, accusing Phantom Void Tech of being backed by shady operations.

But internet drama is fleeting. By June 5, with the extremists and cyber-life puppets gone, the controversy died down just as quickly as it had flared up.

As for the normal players—those who hadn’t bought into the conspiracy theories or spammed copy-pasted hate—they went right back to enjoying the game, claiming their compensations as if nothing had happened. It just goes to show: Play the game, ignore the drama, and you’ll stay happy.

As the only one who knew the full truth, Enoxia couldn’t help but feel like Aha might pay her a visit after this spectacle.

Watching millions of netizens treat her fabricated narratives as gospel, hurling vitriol at each other without ever realizing their so-called “independent thinking” was entirely under her control—now that was entertainment.

She was well aware that the sudden, coordinated movement of tens of thousands of people would’ve caught the attention of both Schicksal and Anti-Entropy. They’d probably already guessed it was her doing.

After all, no new Herrscher had emerged, and she was the only one capable of manipulating so many minds at once.

Yet the mass disappearance hadn’t caused a global uproar, which meant Schicksal was deliberately suppressing the incident. To Otto Apocalypse, sacrificing a few thousand—or even millions—was trivial if it meant reviving Kallen. A mere number.

As for Anti-Entropy? They might investigate, but unless Enoxia willingly revealed herself, they’d hit a dead end and eventually drop the matter.

Thanks to Enoxia’s “black marketing” strategy, Phantom Void Arena successfully captured a larger market share and continued thriving. With her lab now restocked, she returned home, satisfied. Sirin, it seemed, had also just come back from somewhere.

“Did you visit Bianka Atalanta at the Sochi sanatorium again?”

Sirin nodded.

“You were right. Aside from hiding her origins, Otto hasn’t treated her badly. Letting go of the name ‘Kiana Kaslana’… for now, it’s more of a benefit than a loss. I… I don’t want her to bear burdens no child should have to carry.”

“But… letting Otto be her teacher… I can’t shake the feeling he’ll steer her down a dark path.”

Enoxia raised an eyebrow.

“Then, as her big sister, why don’t you teach Bianka?”

Sirin immediately puffed out her cheeks.

“Enoxia, I’ll admit it—I’m not qualified to teach her. There’s still so much I need to learn… Ugh, you’re teasing me again, aren’t you?”

Grinning, Enoxia poked Sirin’s cheek. By now, Sirin was used to these little provocations.

“By the way, Eno… about K423—”

“Don’t worry, Sirin. I’ve done a full checkup. The Honkai energy in her body is rising at a steady rate. Once it crosses a certain threshold, her Herrscher consciousness will awaken.”

“Based on current projections, her first awakening should happen around August or September 2008. But if she experiences extreme stress, it could trigger earlier. I left a “avatar” (“proxy body”) inside her. If the Herrscher persona emerges, it’ll temporarily suppress it and send me her real-time coordinates. When the time comes, you can just teleport us there.”

Sirin let out a relieved sigh. She cared deeply about K423—after all, the girl was a life born from her own soul, reshaped by Enoxia’s manipulations. Wait… did that sound weird?

Never mind. All that mattered was that she and Enoxia would protect her.

Plopping onto the couch, Sirin grabbed her phone and tapped the Phantom Void Arena icon.

Time to game.