Of course, John had no idea what Hankun was thinking. Even if he did, his response would be simple: You can dream all you want. The amount was indeed the budget, but it was the production budget for the entire game, not merely the cost of filming the cinematics for Warcraft.
The salaries for the actors, the motion-capture performers, the equipment rentals, the entire production crew, and all the post-production work combined accounted for only about one-eighth of the overall development budget.
However, Hankun, who knew very little about the game industry, naturally assumed that the footage they were shooting represented the bulk of the game's expenses, especially considering the extensive CG work that would follow.
After all, wasn't Hollywood the same? A blockbuster with a budget of 200 to 300 million Dollars often spent a tremendous amount on visual effects and post-production. To someone unfamiliar with game development, it was only natural to draw that comparison. With that mindset, Hankun became even more meticulous than before. After all, he was participating in a high-budget production.
Neither John nor Luna noticed the subtle shift in Hankun's attitude. After the motion-capture team assigned to Warcraft wrapped up their initial work and stayed behind to organize the next phase of production, the two of them returned to the studio.
There was simply too much waiting for them. Filming was only the first step. Editing, animation integration, visual effects, sound design, and countless rounds of polishing still lay ahead.
As time passed, the online discussions surrounding Life Soul and Empire gradually cooled down. After all, both were purely single-player experiences. Once players finished the main story, only those who genuinely loved the games, or enjoyed hunting collectibles, completing side quests, and exploring every hidden corner, would continue playing. Otherwise, even the most successful AAA titles generally enjoyed their peak popularity only during the first month after release.
It was simply the natural lifecycle of the genre. Even masterpieces were rarely exceptions unless they featured an exceptionally engaging multiplayer mode capable of keeping players invested for months or even years.
Take The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, for example. Putting multiplayer aside, the internet was flooded with every imaginable kind of mod. Some dramatically changed gameplay, while others introduced all sorts of bizarre and infamous "laboratory" or adult-themed creations that spread like wildfire across player communities.
Yet despite their popularity, most people merely downloaded them out of curiosity, treating them like collectibles to browse through once before moving on. Very few players actually spent long hours using those outrageous mods.
If someone truly wanted eye-catching content, it was far easier to browse a cosplayer's social account or spend a few minutes in the beauty section of a livestreaming platform. That was far more practical than filling an entire mod folder, provided, of course, that your expectations didn't end in spectacular disappointment.
As the popularity of Gemtechs' and Ansoft's latest titles gradually faded, more and more news about Martel's Assassin's Creed project began surfacing online. Regarding the game's promotion, although PixelPioneers had not yet approved a large marketing budget, after all, it still wasn't time for the official promotional campaign; the marketing department couldn't resist trying a few creative tricks.
Unfortunately... Their execution left much to be desired. Apparently inspired by the publicity strategies previously used by President John and President Armani, they attempted the classic routine of "internal information leaks" and "exclusive content exposure." The plan itself wasn't particularly complicated.
First, someone would post supposed insider information on the forums. Then, using another account disguised as an ordinary player, they would question its authenticity, argue with others, and deliberately stir up controversy to increase the topic's popularity.
On paper, it sounded clever. In practice... Someone forgot to switch accounts so the result was nothing short of a comedy.
One post loudly proclaimed: "Breaking News! PixelPioneers' upcoming masterpiece, Assassin's Creed, is actually THIS kind of game!"
After writing an entire essay filled with supposed "leaked information," the same employee immediately replied beneath it with another post, except they forgot to log out first. They ended up exposing the leak... Questioning the leak... And arguing with themselves.
Although the posts were deleted almost immediately, countless sharp-eyed netizens had already taken screenshots. Then someone checked the account's posting history. Good grief. It was an official company account.
Inside the office, John looked at Luna, who was laughing so hard that she could barely catch her breath. Surprisingly, John wasn't particularly upset. Yes, the marketing department had made fools of themselves. But objectively speaking... The stunt had successfully pushed Assassin's Creed onto the trending topics.
"Tell the marketing department to issue a public apology on our social account," John said calmly to his assistant. "Also, have the employees wear masks while recording the apology video. If you've done something embarrassing, own up to it."
He paused before continuing. "While you're at it, officially release Ezio's original character artwork on both our social account and the official website. And coordinate with the teams behind Yu-Gi-Oh! and Resident Evil Resistance for a crossover event. The Assassin outfit from Assassin's Creed would fit perfectly as a costume in Resident Evil Resistance. As for Yu-Gi-Oh!, use the Assassin Brotherhood insignia as an alternate card back design."
The assistant immediately noted everything down.
After giving his instructions, John glanced at the deleted forum thread in the administrator panel and couldn't help shaking his head.
"They're still too inexperienced. Even if they had remembered to switch accounts, that fake leak still wouldn't have fooled anyone." Then he casually entered a username and password, logging into an account on the PixelPioneers community forum.
Luna glanced at the familiar account ID and couldn't help laughing again. "You're at it again?"
John looked perfectly serious. "I'm just sharing a few tiny hints with the players. Look at them, they're dying to learn more about our new game."
He pointed toward the endless flood of speculation posts filling the forum.
Luna rubbed her forehead helplessly. "That sounds perfectly reasonable... except I'm pretty sure the players aren't asking for that kind of information."
"It's all the same," John replied with a grin. "Let the rumors spread for a day or two. After that, I'll personally come out and deny everything."
Luna suddenly burst into another fit of laughter. "If the players ever discover that the person spreading all those rumors is actually you, they'll probably mail knives straight to the company."
John stopped typing and looked at her helplessly. "Can't you think of something more positive?"
Was it really necessary to imagine the worst possible outcome every single time?
Luna shrugged innocently. "So what else am I supposed to think about?"
Then, as if casually remembering something, she added, "Speaking of bad things... imagine if someone secretly hid cigarettes inside the dog's food bag, only for the dog to drag them out and hide them underneath the living room sofa."
"..." John's fingers instantly froze above the keyboard, and a long silence filled the office. He slowly turned his head toward Luna, who was smiling sweetly at him.
Finally, he forced a dry laugh. "Didn't I already tell you those weren't my cigarettes?"
"Oh?" Luna folded her arms. "Then why were they hidden there?"
John scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "Just... a habit. Pure subconscious instinct."
Luna couldn't help laughing. "That's a terrible habit. Sure, people say the most dangerous place is often the safest place..."
She glanced toward the nearby dog. "...but this little guy could expose your secret at any moment."
As if hearing its own name, the dog raised its head with innocent, puzzled eyes before giving two cheerful barks, completely unaware that it had just become the center of the conversation.