In some parallel universe, a group of knights in gorgeous armor are besieging the dragon. Their sword edge did not point at the monster, but was always aimed at the teammate's backpack - there was a white slip she had just grabbed. This is the most absurd scene of the chain game guild. The so-called "guild economy" has long become a head business wearing a blockchain mask. Now that you open any chain game dc channel, behind the mechanical "GM" greetings, is the precise calculation of traffic harvesting formula. The guild operator dismantled the member ID into a cold contribution value, replacing the passionate team battle with scripts. Those AMA live broadcasts that claim to be "a hundred times a thousand times" are essentially just moving the script of medieval lords exploiting serfs into the metaverse. In World of Warcraft's Molten Heart, a team of 40 people took three months to knock Ragnaros down. In 2014, 20,000 players launched a 21-day interstellar war in the B-R5RB galaxy, and the value of the battleships was equivalent to the actual currency of more than US$300,000. These numbers engraved in the history of the game constitute the unreplicable spiritual totem of MMORPG - a collective bond. History has never lacked the paradox of civilization: the steam engine gave birth to the black kiln of child labor, the AC power lit the searchlights of the concentration camp, and today's chain game engineers are transforming the guild warehouse into a capital pool for quantitative transactions. Now standing at the bow of the Chain Game Revolution, what we need is not a sharper harvesting sickle, but a reigniting of the bonfire that once never extinguished in the continent of Azeroth—where there are real knights, their swords always forward, and their backs are forever left to their comrades.