The night before launch, Orin sat motionless, staring at the final build of his mobile game. The icon blinked on his test phone—minimalist, clean, and catchy.
> "Legend of the Celestial Blade"
A 2D action RPG with fast-paced combat, intricate skill trees, and a mysterious storyline—one inspired by his own discoveries in the martial world.
He had coded every mechanic by hand.
Commissioned every sprite, menu, and track with his last scraps of money.
Now, all that remained was the click of a button.
---
He uploaded it to the app store under the name "SilverDust Games", a fake studio name he'd created to seem more professional. He double-checked the description:
"Dynamic martial combat."
"Choose your path: righteous or ruthless."
"Unlock hidden techniques and rise above."
Simple. Catchy. Teasing just enough mystery.
He set the price as free, with optional in-game purchases—a basic monetization strategy. He even added a few early "cosmetic" bundles and a starter pack for impatient players.
> "All right," he exhaled. "Let's see if the world wants to play."
With a final click, he hit "Publish."
---
1:23 AM.
The game was live.
He stared at the analytics dashboard, which showed:
> Downloads: 0
Active Users: 0
No surprise—it usually took time. But still, the empty numbers felt heavier than he expected.
To distract himself, he posted about the game on a few small forums. Indie developer boards. Mobile game Reddit-like communities. An anonymous martial arts fiction forum, just for fun.
Then, he waited.
---
2:17 AM.
> Downloads: 1
His breath caught.
> "Someone actually downloaded it?"
He refreshed.
> Downloads: 3
Active Users: 2
A grin spread across his face. It wasn't much, but it was real.
The feeling was surreal. After weeks of work, sacrifice, and sleepless nights, people were actually playing something he'd built from scratch.
He pulled up the live logs to see what the users were doing. One user had reached the third zone of the tutorial. Another one had died to the first boss twice.
> "That fight might be overtuned…"
He quickly jotted a note in his bug tracker.
---
3:04 AM.
> Downloads: 12
Active Users: 5
Orin leaned back in his chair, heart pounding.
He wasn't famous. He hadn't made money yet.
But something had changed.
> He had built a bridge—from nothing but his skills and desperation—and strangers were now crossing it.
This was just the beginning.
He smiled at the glowing numbers, still slowly ticking upward.
> "Step one… complete."
----
By 3rd day, the numbers had climbed higher than Orin expected.
> Downloads: 92
Active Users: 41
5-Star Ratings: 18
1-Star Ratings: 7
He'd barely slept these days, but excitement pushed the fatigue aside. He opened the app store page and scrolled through the first reviews.
---
"Surprisingly good combat. Controls feel tight. Needs polish but has potential." — 4 stars
"Love the martial arts vibe. Hope you add more content soon!" — 5 stars
"Crashes on startup. Using KPhone 11." — 1 star
"This game made me throw my phone. Final boss in tutorial is broken. Nerf it." — 2 stars
---
> "Okay… fair enough."
Orin scribbled notes in his dev journal:
Add crash logging for KPhone series
Reduce boss attack speed
Optimize loading time on older devices
But not everything was helpful.
---
"Looks like it was made in a high school project. Garbage." — 1 star
"Stolen assets. Reported." — 1 star
> "What?! I paid for all those!"
His jaw clenched. Trolls.
One user on a popular forum had started a thread claiming the game used stolen artwork. The post blew up with people arguing for and against it, most having never even played the game.
> "That's the internet, I guess…"
Still, Orin wrote a polite response with receipts and artist confirmations. He even got two of the artists to vouch for him publicly.
---
Later that evening, he checked his revenue dashboard.
> Ad revenue: ¥46.72
In-game purchases: ¥148.50
Not much—but to Orin, it felt like gold.
> "It's working."
That night, he pushed out an update:
Fixed crash bugs
Balanced the tutorial boss
Added two more skill animations he'd saved from earlier commissions
He stayed up to respond to comments and emails. He was exhausted—but fulfilled.
---
By the 5th day, something odd happened.
He noticed a username—"NoShadowPath"—who seemed… different.
While most users needed hours to pass basic stages, this one:
Beat the tutorial in 15 minutes
Dodged all attacks like they were predictable
Exploited terrain and skill combos in creative ways
Hadn't spent a single cent
> "Is this guy… a pro tester?"
Orin kept watching the logs, fascinated.
He had a strange gut feeling—but no evidence yet.
Still, the game was growing. Slowly, steadily.
And the real world? Still quiet.
No martial artists. No fights in the shadows.
But Orin was patient.
He had built his foothold.
Now, it was time to climb.
Weeks blurred into months.
Each day, Orin balanced two lives—college student by obligation, indie developer by obsession.
His grades slipped. His attendance was erratic. But his codebase? It grew smarter, faster, tighter with every patch.
---
He'd built a rhythm:
Morning: Scan crash reports and balance complaints.
Afternoon: Fix bugs, reply to emails, post dev logs.
Night: Stroll the streets—still hoping to spot martial artists—and test new game mechanics until dawn.
He hadn't seen anyone suspicious since that night of the scroll.
But his other world—the digital one—was thriving.
---
> Downloads: 18,000+
Active Users: 4,300+
Monthly Revenue: ¥210,000 and rising
Orin's PayPal notifications came like music. Cosmetic bundle sales. Early supporter packs. Ad revenue stacking daily.
He bought a used mid-range laptop, upgraded his server plan, and hired a freelance artist for splash art.
Still, he kept his expenses low—spending only on the game and basic necessities.
---
Then, one morning, something unexpected happened.
As Orin opened his laptop in a small café, sipping cheap instant coffee, a headline on the homepage of a tech blog caught his eye:
> "The Silent Rise of Martial-RPG Indies: 'Celestial Blade' Leads New Wave"
His eyes widened.
He clicked.
---
"…a game developed by a single student under the alias SilverDust, Celestial Blade has quietly built a cult following. With tight combat, layered progression, and a surprisingly philosophical story, it has started making noise in online circles…"
The article went on to mention how other indie devs were forming a network of "next-gen" martial-inspired games, and some were even claiming to be influenced by ancient traditions.
Some users speculated the game's design was "too authentic" to be fiction.
---
Orin chuckled nervously.
> "You have no idea."
The article linked to several reaction videos. A few streamers had started playing it. One particularly famous female streamer yelled when she lost to the second act boss, then immediately bought every in-game costume.
Sales spiked that day.
> Daily Revenue: ¥37,000
Orin leaned back in his chair, stunned.
He wasn't rich. Not yet.
But now, for the first time since entering this world, he had momentum.
And money meant options.
> "Time to start preparing for the next step."
He pulled out the old scroll again from its hidden place in the dorm wall.
The herbs it listed weren't just rare—they were hidden from ordinary society.
> "I need contacts. And cash flow. Then I can start walking this martial path."
His journey was just beginning.
But now, he was playing on his own terms.