Chapter 9: The Apex Pet’s Predicament

The Nine-Tailed Fox, a support-type pet, primarily specializes in healing and crowd control.

Yet, as a creature dwelling at the very apex of the game’s ecosystem, it is by no means limited to these functions, even if they form its core focus.

At level one, the Nine-Tailed Fox possesses no active skills.

Its fundamental five-dimensional attributes—Strength, Intelligence, Constitution, Agility, and Spirit—are set at 1.5 times those of a typical player, totaling fifteen points each.

The rationale behind pets possessing base attributes 1.5 times stronger than players stems from the fact that no pet, even those on par with my own level, has been endowed with sufficiently advanced AI.

This unfortunate reality renders the position of game pets rather awkward; they largely serve as expendable cannon fodder, rushing into the fray to absorb damage, their elevated attributes merely a means of increasing their survivability.

No one had ever conceived of a pet possessing its own independent thoughts, least of all the game company itself, for such a notion would inevitably infringe upon fundamental humanitarian principles.

Pets could never be programmed with advanced AI; otherwise, how would they reconcile the grim reality of their servitude?

How could they face their masters?

While an owner like Su Yingning might be tolerable, what about a pervert who treats their pet like an inanimate plaything?

The repercussions would be utterly catastrophic!

Such considerations were solely the purview of the game company; my immediate focus, however, turned to scrutinizing my own attribute panel.

I was compelled to examine it, for this was not the real world where a single slash to the throat could spell instant demise.

I needed to meticulously assess my attributes, strategizing how best to leverage my strengths to eliminate my adversaries with maximum efficiency and, crucially, to rescue Su Yingning.

My primary opponents, I noted, were players ranging from level two to level five.

With each level gained in the game, a player’s five core attributes would each increase by two points, alongside an allocation of five free attribute points.

While my 1.5 times base five-dimensional attributes and inherent attribute growth rendered me significantly stronger than an ordinary level one player, this advantage offered little immediate benefit.

I was, after all, confronting players ranging from level two to level five, whose attributes were approximately double my own.

Furthermore, they had judiciously invested all their free attribute points into optimal placements, unlike myself.

Devoid of any free attribute points at present, I was merely a ‘bucket waist’ (TL Note: A Chinese slang term referring to someone whose attributes are balanced but not specialized, implying mediocrity or lack of focus.) with evenly distributed, yet ultimately unspecialized, five-dimensional stats.

Swiftly, I began to mentally calculate my opponents’ panel attributes, understanding that these values represented the conversion of their five core stats—such as Strength and Intelligence—into tangible figures for attack, defense, and HP.

The panel bonuses corresponding to the five core attributes varied considerably across different professions and races.

As for myself, a practitioner of the healing profession, my statistics aligned with the five-dimensional bonuses granted to a Monster Race healer.

Therefore—

[Warning: Complex calculations ahead. The following statistical breakdown may be skipped.]

One point of my Strength translated to 0.6 physical attack and 0.2 physical defense.

One point of my Constitution equated to 8 HP.

One point of my Intelligence yielded 1.0 magic attack and 0.005% critical damage.

One point of my Agility granted 0.02% evasion rate and 0.015% critical resistance ratio.

One point of my Spirit provided 0.6 magic attack, 0.4 magic defense, 2 HP, and 10 MP.

As a support-oriented profession, I understood that all my future free attribute points ought to be invested in Spirit and Constitution.

Only then could I simultaneously guarantee substantial healing output, robust survivability, and sustained endurance for protracted engagements.

Yet, these were considerations for a later time.

The allocation of points wasn’t entirely within my control, depending as it did on Su Yingning’s whims, and thus I chose to disregard it for the present.

Turning my attention, I reviewed my primary panel attributes.

HP: 150

MP: 150

Physical Attack: 9

Magic Attack: 24

I was, to put it mildly, laughably weak.

Meanwhile, the players currently besieging Su Yingning possessed attributes roughly double my own.

To fell even a single one of them, I would be forced to charge directly into their midst and unleash a flurry of over a dozen frenzied blows.

Though I was capable of such an feat, doing so would irrevocably reveal my true capabilities, leaving a trail of future complications in its wake.

A throbbing headache began to form.

I possessed no equipment and hadn’t learned a single skill.

Perhaps the wiser course of action would be to log out and activate a few hacks?

‘Invisibility, instantaneous teleportation, automatic wall-clipping, one-hit kills…’ I mused with a distinct lack of responsibility, yet knew I could not actually put such thoughts into practice.

The chaotic state of the server remained an enigma; there was no telling when it would finally be purged of its irregularities.

Even if the entire game company mobilized, it would take at least five months for them to reassert control over the game world.

Were I to intervene personally, it would still demand approximately three months of my undivided attention to cleanse it.

In the interim, while I was offline tending to the server, Su Yingning would undoubtedly have been cornered and driven to abandon the game entirely.

“Hmm?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of the faint purple experience bar nestled beneath my name.

98/100

I was only two experience points shy of reaching level two.