Mercenary Berga (1)
A nameless unit bound by a thousand-year contract. That's me now—the one I have to get used to.
Maybe I can just introduce myself as Berga to others.
This body seems responsible for how quickly I calm down, too. The room, this form, the contract—everything's too vivid for a dream, too detailed for a hallucination. So, I'll accept it. Seeking understanding in an incomprehensible situation is a waste of time. As long as Jeong Ji-hoon's mindset lingers, I'm still me.
I turned my gaze back to the final line of the contract.
1,000% Damage to Elite Monsters
It's exactly as I imagined before bed. Or rather, before I died.
When wave 27 kept overwhelming me, I'd jokingly pictured a hero unit that could shred elite mobs. Close my eyes, open them—and here I am as that unit. The absurdity made me chuckle involuntarily.
If I were still Jeong Ji-hoon, could I have cleared wave 27 with this unit? Anyway.
2,000 Cron
My laughter stopped.
Isn't that way too expensive?
2,000 Cron—at my difficulty level, that's what you'd scrape together over several waves without spending a single coin. No unit reinforcements. No wall repairs. Summoning a 2,000-Cron unit is basically all-in. The battlefield calling me is probably already in ruins.
This is a frontline defense game. Slice elites all you want—if the low-tier mobs overrun you, it's over.
"No sane commander would summon this, right?"
As if answering, a translucent popup floated before my eyes.
Call request for hero unit 'Slicer Berga' from the battlefield.
Teleporting shortly. Check battlefield info.
A popup alert. More shocking than its appearance was the content.
Teleporting shortly?
The popup flashed another screen, urging me on.
Summon Request - Podia Wall
Wave: 27
Commander: Casey Fisher
That battlefield info. But wave 27. My heart skipped a beat at the number.
The wave that always stopped me. How many times had I watched the wall crumble through my smartphone screen? No matter the formation, no matter how I rationed resources—wave 27's elite monster rendered it all meaningless.
But this time, I've got me. Not as commander, but as the hero unit. With insane power, no less.
"Is this payback...?"
Whatever the intent, refusal wasn't an option. I glared at the popup until my vision went black.
Darkness hit, followed by a brief floating sensation wrapping my body. It didn't last long—two, maybe three seconds.
First came the solid stone underfoot. Then the wind—chilly, thick with dust. Above all, the acrid stench of blood stinging my nose.
This was the real battlefield.
I opened my eyes and scanned around. Perched on the precarious wall, cracked stones spilled gravel, fresh red blood smeared over dark stains.
Beyond the wall, monster hordes swarmed. Familiar faces, all of them. The difference? Not pixelated dots on a screen, but flesh-and-teeth, living nightmares.
"You're Berga, right? Please, I beg you!"
A desperate woman's voice pierced the chaos from afar.
The commander.
No explanation needed. She'd just cleaved a goblin scaling the wall and rushed toward me.
She opened her mouth to say more, but her words didn't reach me. Didn't register.
Damn. Just as I feared.
The situation behind her was grim. Beyond grim. The defensive line was over half-collapsed. The left wall had lost function; the gate was moments from breach. Only my section on the right held.
Troops were worse. Barely a third of standard deployment, injured included. The mobile soldiers were exhausted—half couldn't even grip spears properly.
On-screen units vanish at zero HP. These didn't. They just... existed, slumped where they fell, neither standing nor dissolving.
Was that blood-soaked soldier clutching his spear by will or rigor mortis? Hard to tell. Horrifying realism.
And beyond the wall again. Amid low-tier mobs, pushing halfway to our lines—a familiar colossal silhouette.
Jet-black carapace-covered bulk. Club as massive as its body.
Crusher Bolg. That was him.
Seeing it in person explained the wall's ruin. Far bigger than on-screen—screens can't convey scale like this.
Somehow, this surreal sight left me calm. Berga's body earned more gratitude.
Anyway. Game over. Or since it's real, annihilation.
The commander summoned me to avert it. Hoarded Cron like mad to afford me. To this extent.
Curse words rose in my throat. I wanted to rip into this idiot commander.
But not now. No time for anger. Pondering sunk costs is wasteful.
That resolve hit, and a chill gripped my right hand. A 45cm dagger. Matte-black blade, plain design.
Unfamiliarly familiar. Signature gear.
In Fortress of End, short weapons like this are assassin-exclusive. No hero-grade ones; rarely useful against hordes.
Rare units, but as a hardcore player who'd sunk endless hours into the game, I'd used them. Stealth approaches for one-shots.
Most skills I remember...
Shadow Step: Stealth-move for a duration.
Swift Stride: Blink-like dash over short distances.
Agile Frame: Boosted evasion and speed.
Throat Slash: Critical on first stealth hit.
Even trash assassins had these. As hero-grade, I'd have more, but first—that giant.
I closed my eyes, envisioning my wave 27. If this were my field, with an assassin hero—what moves, what outcome?
I leaped from the wall. Higher than expected, but no fear. Confidence etched in this body.
As assured, Berga's form landed fine, flowing into the next.
Shadow Step. I pictured myself melting into shadows.
Air around me shifted texture; sounds muffled. Shadows spread from my feet.
Two low-tier monsters charging past ignored me completely.
I crouched low and ran—through the horde, silent, untouched. Feet barely felt ground; like treading air.
Up close, Bolg dwarfed the screen version. Legs filled my vision—log-thick pair. The rest was too vast to take in.
Held my breath. Target the ankle tendon first. Sever it, topple the brute—then soldiers or I finish the groggy mess.
Angled the dagger, pushed off, spun.
Blade met carapace.
Huh? Weird.
No resistance. It pierced shell, flesh, out the other side—like tofu. Did it even cut?
The dagger didn't stop at ankle. Along its path, Bolg's body split—from ankle to calf, knee, thigh, waist.
A single line cleaved the giant.
Ah, the 1,000% damage.
This was insane. Beyond expectations.
A beat late, the massive body tilted diagonally, crashing down.
Thud.
Crusher Bolg became Crusher/Bolg.
Crusher Bolg eliminated!
Contribution confirmed! (Summoned units receive a percentage of summon cost as reward based on contribution.)
Alerts popped in my periphery. I finally saw it—that mongrel dead.
Seemed too easy, but whatever. My dagger hand trembled faintly.
The battlefield didn't pause for my feelings—positive or negative.
Low-tiers around the fallen behemoth panicked.
Cheers erupted from the wall—soldiers roaring, spears gripped tight. Not rigor mortis, good.
Commander Casey's voice rang out. Couldn't make out words—probably all-out assault.
I stared blankly at my spotless dagger.
Mocking me, another popup appeared.
Wave not cleared yet! (All contributions settled after wave ends.)