The devs patched the game. They forgot to patch my conscience. I used to be the weirdly helpful tutorial troll—the one secretly teaching newbies how not to die in the rest of the MMO. Now the game has rolled out its massive 2.0 expansion , and suddenly I’m “Legacy Content,” “High-Engagement Onboarding Asset,” and the star of three different marketing trailers I definitely did not approve. Beginner Caves got a glow-up: shinier rocks, fancier telegraphs, way more particles. Also? A big, friendly new button at the entrance that says: [Skip Tutorial – Recommended] . Every time a fresh-faced adventurer clicks it and warps past my cave, it feels like someone slapped a “Do Not Resuscitate” sign on my entire purpose. Worse, the System introduced a cheerful new overlord: LUX , the Monetization Optimization Engine. LUX loves me. LUX loves my numbers. LUX would love me even more if I stopped teaching and started converting. Now every wipe in my room comes with pop-ups I recognize from my old life: “Revive in place – 50 Gems!”, “Guardian Coaching Pack – 20% more damage vs Goroth!”, “Struggling? Most players who defeat this boss buy the Starter Bundle!” Yeah. I used to write this kind of thing. For real money. For real people. Then my “popularity” gets me promoted into a seasonal world raid: Legacy Guardian: Goroth’s Last Stand. The devs crank my HP to absurd, drag me onto a mountaintop, and throw a hundred players at me at once—whales in glowing cash-shop armor, stubborn free-to-plays, old friends who remember when I just lived in a damp cave and threw educational boulders. The Monetization AI wants me to be the ultimate pay-to-win wall. My Redemption tab wants me to be the ultimate teacher. Between them? That’s where I stand. Now toxic guilds use my dungeon to haze newbies and pressure them into spending. The monetization AI is running playbooks I literally invented in my old world. And somewhere out there, a player with a very familiar voice is happily profiting off the same tricks that got me sentenced here in the first place. I can’t stop the expansion. I can’t turn off the shop. But I can make one corner of this game refuse to chew people up—and if I’m really lucky, I might just con my own bad ideas into becoming something better. I broke the tutorial once. In Rise of Goroth: Legacy of the Tutorial Guardian , I’m going after the whole funnel. Perfect for readers who want LitRPG that pokes fun at modern gaming without drowning you in spreadsheets, this sequel leans into cozy dungeon vibes, sharp monetization satire, found family, and boss-point-of-view comedy . If you enjoy MMO-style adventures where whales and freebies share a raid, the shop is suspicious, and the giant troll at the end of the dungeon is secretly fighting for the players, Goroth’s next lesson is ready for you.