EXTENDED CUT! First Impressions: Paragon of Weaponmasters by deLongchamp

“Death is temporary. The fine print is forever.”

Core Concept & Initial Impressions:

In our ever-growing partnership with Bardic Planet, I—Silas Quibble, reputable spokesgoblin for Dubious Derivatives™ Limited—have been invited back to co-author this First Impressions review of Paragon of Weaponmasters.

When I first dug into the work, I knew I was the right goblin for the job. I’ve nothing but respect for the Bard-in-Chief’s literary chops, but when it comes to sniffing out shady dealings, cooking up crooked contracts, and finessing fine print, no one beats good old, principled Silas.

So why mention contracts, you ask? (That is—until you’ve gone and signed one of ours.) Simple. This novel’s adventure kicks off on the back of one.

Tell me if you’ve heard this one before: you’re just looking for some work to make ends—soul—meat. Ahem. You print your applications. You apply. You get the job.

Next thing you know, you’re sat with your manager and H.R., giving the old John Hancock to a pile of paperwork.

Salary and overtime: nothing wrong with that.

Personal days and paid time off: there aren’t any—standard.

Rights to your likeness in perpetuity forever: seems fine.

STOP!

By signing that last term, you’ve just made the classic blunder—selling away your soul.

It’s that very faux pas Luke Walton—also known as Urul Mulush, also known as the protagonist of this novel—trips up on.

And where does he land?

Trapped in a video game—necro’d as an NPC—auctioning assortments to asshats and dealing derivatives to douchebags.

And that, dear readers, is why you never sign a contract (not written by Dubious Derivatives™ Limited) without reading the fine print!

You won’t find any in our contracts. Not because they’re not there—but because they’re woven into the fibres like cursed embroidery. Clause 13b? Bring a microbiologist, your priest and a whole team of lawyers.

I’ll leave it to the Bard to expand on it all.

—Silas Quibble, Dubious Derivatives™ Limited

——— 🪶———

Thank you, Silas. I’m sure our legal department will appreciate yet another pending investigation.

Now then—contracts, cyber-necromancy, and capitalism gone wild—let’s talk Paragon of Weaponmasters.

Paragon of Weaponmasters is the latest in the growing line of LitRPGs reviewed by Bardic Planet. Of the works we’ve covered so far, this one leans more heavily into the game-like elements than any before. Unlike other entries we’ve examined, the setting of this story isn’t merely like a game—Crossroads Online is a game.

Specifically, it’s a massive multiplayer online game (MMO), with the more well-to-do characters engaging through virtual reality (VRMMO), or even full-sensory submersion—the elusive Full-Dive MMO.

The story is also billed as an Isekai. I struggle to categorise it that way. While Luke Walton does find himself in a fantasy setting, he’s more stuck on a server somewhere in this world than truck-kun’d into another.

Well, stuck he is. He signed away the rights to his image, promptly died, and got re-spun as an orc.

Nebulously, he begins as an NPC—that’s a Non-playable Character, to translate the term for the readers with a life.

His lot? To trade plunder for pennies with the players and repair their damaged gear. Everything changes when a max-level player saunters into his shop, granting him an Inventory and end-game equipment.

Unlike the change your parents swear will be good—swaddling your younger sibling when all you wanted was a dog—for Luke, come Urul, this change is for the better.

It lets him explore his new world, grind levels, and seek a way back to his wife and daughter.

And if, in the process, he finds himself on the ouchie side of a flamewar—virtually vilified by the video game community, accused of hacking the system—all the more entertaining.

So what did I think?

Generally, I shy away from stories literally set inside a game. For me, consequence is everything—and the whole point of gaming is to explore a world without it.

This novel brings consequence. Urul isn’t just playing; he’s trapped. He’s not simply grinding for power; he’s fighting for his very soul. Those stakes kept me engaged, drawing me deeper into the story as I read on.

It has its hiccups, and it won’t be for everyone. But before getting into all of that, let’s take a look at…

What Works?

Surprising Philosophical & Emotional Depth:

For aeons, humankind has wrestled with the profound—questions that defy easy answers. Questions like: Who let the dogs out? I mean—who? Who? Who? Who? Are we human, or are we truly dancers? And, of course—what makes someone who they are?

Are we merely matter pressed into meat—gobbled by oblivion’s maw when we die?

Are we the sum of our interests and connections, replicable with enough data to map a life?

Or perhaps we have a soul. Maybe we are a soul.

Through Urul’s exploration of his new life and the recollection of his past, this novel poses its own quiet question. Like great science fiction, it plumbs these depths without ever pretending to find the bottom. Yet it never distracts from the adventure. The depth is there for those who wish to dive—but if you’d rather stay in the shallows, there’s a heap-ton of action and gaming humour to wet your toes in.

Additionally, the plight of the necro’d humans (that’s right—Urul is not alone) is genuinely disquieting in all the best ways. They’ve lost everything, even the right to themselves.

They’re seen as in-game assets—and why wouldn’t they be? The players are, after all, just playing a game. Yet the emotional weight of their dehumanisation is tangible. There’s a quiet horror in recognising yourself as both the victim—killed on repeat for some dingbat’s idea of fun—and the perpetrator: turning a blind eye, or even joining in, because you think there are no consequences. It hit me harder than I expected going in.

In a way, it’s analogous to our real-world online behaviour. Behind keyboard and mouse, it’s easy to forget there’s a real person on the other side of the screen. Paragon of Weaponmasters makes us confront that. It doesn’t howl from a pulpit, but its message is no less clear. In the moments when the story leans into those elements, you don’t just register the characters’ feelings—it pulls emotion from yourself.

Black Mirror-esque Dystopian Horror:

Given the concept of data-mining the soul, it would be downright negligent of me not to draw the Black Mirror comparison.

For those of you still getting dial-up in a cave, Black Mirror is a British dystopian horror anthology, often exploring the projected futures humankind might stumble into. It covers such topics as digital afterlives, android AIs modelled on lost loved ones, and much more.

Paragon of Weaponmasters might have a more gamified pitch, but it’s singing from the same hymn sheet. It explores AI automation, digital immortality, and the pitfalls of capitalism without conscience.

The world is deeply recognisable—it’s ours, just with fewer technological restraints. Are these the shadows of things that will be, or the shadows of things that may be, only? I can’t say, but I get a tingle up my spine when I think about it.

That’s the thing about this story: while it isn’t billed as horror, those elements naturally fold themselves inside it. It’s not a monster of teeth and claw that makes you dread, but rather our very real corporate overlords—and the incentives that drive them toward the inhuman.

I can’t speak to the author’s intentions, but that creeping horror suffuses this work. And I’ve got to tell you—it’s all the better for it.

First-Person Present Immersion:

I won’t lie—this is going to put some readers off. For some, the first-person present narrative perspective doesn’t feel logical. After all, how can you tell a story while you’re living it?

To those readers, I say: Shuddup. And… go get a life!

I joke, of course. We’re all entitled to our perspectives, and mine isn’t any more valid than anyone else’s. At least, it wouldn’t be—were I not the friggin’ Bard-in-Chief!

Once again, I joke.

But for those naturally put off by the narrative choice, I want you to consider that all first-person narration is a literary construct. Within our minds, we don’t generally engage with our thoughts and surroundings with the clarity required for prose. Given that you’re going to engage with a construct one way or another, why put this one down for lacking logical weight?

Well, I’ll leave that for you to chew on.

What I will say about this novel’s use of perspective is that it’s especially effective. This is a LitRPG—one of the genre’s core purposes is to emulate the sensation of playing a video game. Games are experienced in the first person, and they unfold in real time.

For that reason, the narrative choice adopted by this novel lends itself perfectly to the immersion fans of the genre seek.

For me, it worked. That’s all I’ll say on that.

Gaming Humour & Character Interactions:

Once again, I find myself running up against the word count. There’s more that could be said, but for brevity’s sake, it won’t be here. Perhaps this is another story to revisit down the line for a Full Verse Review.

In any case, I’ll briefly mention that for those of us who’ve clocked hours in a multiplayer online game, the character (player) interactions will be instantly recognisable. The flaming, the outrage over perceived cheating, the mismatched dungeon parties with all the coordination and grace of a desert-locked walrus—this is where much of the humour spills from the page.

I don’t know if it’ll land for those not prenatally online, but for the target reader—they’ll get it. And you can’t really ask for more than that.

What Might Hold It Back?

Too much Tell; Not Enough Show:

The prose is clear—there’s no denying that. There’ll be no getting lost in the ongoings. However, at times the writing reads more like a log than an unfolding scene, reporting events rather than immersing the reader in them. There’s a tendency to tell us what’s being done and what’s being felt, but not enough to let the moment breathe through sensory detail.

It’s a cliché at this point, but clichés endure for a reason—there’s wisdom to them. The author needs to show more of what’s happening, what’s being experienced. Not in every line, of course—overwriting would be just as bad—but for me, the balance currently tilts against truly evocative prose.

Additionally, I noticed a smattering of typographical errors. It’s serialised fiction; that can be forgiven. Ultimately, none of this detracted from my enjoyment of the story, but if we’re talking about where it could be polished further, that’s where you’ll find it.

Closing:

Paragon of Weaponmasters is a thoughtful, funny, and occasionally unsettling dive into what happens when capitalism gets its mitts on the afterlife—and the afterlife happens to be patch 1.0. Whether you come for the grind, the game-speak, or the grim philosophy wrapped in pixelated flesh, you’ll find something to keep you clicking.

It’s not flawless. A little more sensory showmanship and a proof-read or two would make it shine brighter than a +12 legendary blade. But even with those scuffs, it’s a story worth socketing into your reading list.

If you’ve ever raged at a loot table, mourned an NPC, or suspected that your Terms of Service doubles as an infernal pact—you’ll feel right at home here.

And remember: never sign a contract without checking for hidden clauses. Especially the ones written by Dubious Derivatives™ Limited. They own my spleen now.

Silas Quibble: Don’t forget the NDA

Me: Right, right. Nevermind what I said.

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