Two minutes later, the priest character's network status turned green again.
The player re-entered, seamlessly taking control of the character.
Hideki Sato stared at the screen, quickly taking notes in his notebook.
A Sega hardware engineer proposed an idea: "The takeover mechanism at the software level is very complete. But what if we add a dedicated hardware buffer zone in the console's network module? The moment a physical connection break is detected, the hardware will first send a 'disconnection warning' instruction packet with a specific encoding to the server. The priority of this instruction packet will be set to the highest. The server will not need to wait for the 30-second timeout and can immediately take over the character, saving the team's waiting time."
Mark's eyes lit up.
"This approach is feasible." Mark walked to the whiteboard, picked up a marker, and drew a simple topology diagram. "Currently, the software side's judgment of a disconnection relies on the heartbeat packet timeout. If the hardware can actively report the disconnected state, the response speed will improve by an order of magnitude. This will require you to add this logic into the client."
"Not only that," Hideki Sato added, "this mechanism should also be something players can choose to enable based on their own network stability. We'll provide recommendations and tips. This way, players with poor connections can largely protect the gaming experience of their most cherished companions, while those confident in their network can ensure they have a more complete sense of participation."
The atmosphere in the meeting room grew lively.
Silicon Valley Online's programmers and Sega's hardware engineers gathered around the whiteboard, discussing various implementation methods.
Simply reviewing reports would never yield such results.
Eight o'clock in the evening.
Brian had already been immersed in this virtual continent of Faerûn for six hours.
He had joined a temporary party and was currently conquering the "Kobold Den."
Text scrolled rapidly in the party chat.
"Cleric, cast Bless on me next turn."
"I only have one spell slot left, saving it for the final boss."
"Warrior, go up front and tank. Watch the ceiling for Slimes."
Brian tapped his keyboard and replied: "On it."
No one complained about the tedious controls.
For anyone who had played the DND tabletop game, this was a second life. The computer handled the complex calculations, allowing players to focus solely on strategy and role-playing.
Brian glanced at the thick physical rulebook on his desk and pushed it aside. With a computer doing the heavy lifting, who would spend half an hour calculating the splash damage of a single Fireball spell?
Late at night.
The average online time for the 1,000 test accounts had reached a staggering four and a half hours. For a game still in beta with incomplete content, this data was enough to make any investor pull out their checkbook.
Mark handed the printed data report to Hideki Sato.
"The results from the first day," Mark said, rubbing his sore neck. "It proves that as long as the gameplay fits the online environment, players can tolerate the minor flaws of dial-up internet."
July 1996, Berkeley, California.
The wall clock in the apartment pointed to 11:55 PM.
The monitor screen emitted a faint glow. Brian stared at the screen, his fingers tapping rapidly on the keyboard.
Only five minutes remained in the three-day Dungeons & Dragons Online first-round open beta.
On the screen, Brian's warrior held his longsword aloft.
Text scrolled rapidly through the party chat.
"Healer, heal me! The Goblin Leader has two more attacks!"
"My spell slots are empty! What do you want me to heal with? Front line, hold them off! Mage, prepare Magic Missile!"
The battle had reached a fever pitch.
The turn-based countdown ticked down in the upper-right corner.
Right then, the mage's avatar turned gray.
"Dammit, David's dial-up connection dropped again," Brian cursed.
Over the last few days of testing, the most torturous part wasn't the monsters in the dungeon, but the United States' abysmal phone lines.
He didn't panic.
When the thirty-second countdown ended, the System took direct control of the disconnected mage.
The default logic kicked in.
In the center of the screen, dice rolled. The mage raised his hand and fired a Magic Missile, striking the Goblin Leader squarely.
The damage calculation popped up, and the monster collapsed.
The loot screen appeared, but before Brian could even select the distribution, the screen went black.
A line of white text emerged.
"Thank you for participating in our first closed beta. The servers are now offline. We will see you again in Faerûn."
Brian leaned back in his chair and let out a long breath.
After three consecutive all-nighters, his eyes were dry and aching, but his mind was buzzing with excitement. The thick DND Second Edition rulebook on his desk had gone completely untouched for the past three days.
He moved his mouse and clicked on the ICQ icon on his desktop.
The chat group, created specifically for this beta, was scrolling so fast the messages were a blur.
"Too short! Only three days! I just got my Paladin to level five!"
"Is the guy who just disconnected still here? Our party was fighting the Red Dragon, and after you dropped, the system took over your character. It actually beat the dragon to death with basic attacks. Absolute legend!"
"Anyone else getting stuck in the walls? I'm trapped in the second level of the sewers and can't get out."
"Restart the client, man. The game has a reconnect feature. I've tried it several times, and it puts you back in the right spot after you restart."
"..."
Brian tapped his keyboard and joined the conversation.
"Everyone, this is Brian, the DM from Berkeley. After playing these past few days, my biggest takeaway is that not having to roll dice or calculate damage reduction is pure heaven. All the tedious math is handled by the server, so we can just focus on the campaign."
As soon as he sent the message, a string of "+1" replies flooded in below.
For these veteran tabletop gamers, the allure of a D&D campaign without the math was simply irresistible.
Silicon Valley Online's public beta didn't require a strict non-disclosure agreement. In fact, the developers even encouraged players to share their experiences on the BBS.
Brian switched over to the Silicon Valley Online forum. The gaming section was already flooded with battle reports, screenshots, and complaints. Many players who hadn't secured beta access could only satisfy their cravings by scrolling through the threads.
"Seeing you all so hyped—is this game really that good?" a user named Noob Mage commented. "I've tried playing D&D before, but just building a character sheet took me an entire afternoon. All that damage calculation made my head spin."
A reply appeared almost instantly.
"Dude, even character creation is visual in this game. There's even an auto-play mode if you disconnect, so you never have to worry about letting your party down. You've got to try it when it officially launches."
"I set my auto-play logic to 'drink potion when low health,' but the healing potion and poison icons look way too similar. After I disconnected, the System fed me a bottle of poison, and I died instantly. It's my fault, not the game's, but please, devs, change the icon colors!"
A long string of "hahaha" followed that reply.
"When's the official release? My wallet is ready!"
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