LV.1 Swordsman Gaon
Gaon considered it. Recreating a character meant paying the account fee all over again?
Not that it had anything to do with him, honestly.
People from As get their accounts for free.
The fee was charged to Earthlings only. He'd been about to ask how much it was, then thought better of it.
Judging by the looks on everyone's faces, it was obscenely expensive. That much was easy to guess.
And the guess was right. Jijonmussang trembled with humiliation, but he didn't dare open his mouth.
He couldn't afford to throw away a hundred dollars in account fees.
The starter pack alone cost eighty dollars to create an account, plus a twenty-dollar monthly charge. A hundred dollars might have been pocket change to some people. To Jijonmussang, it was a nauseating sum. Especially when you were six months behind on rent.
While everyone's faces twisted, a man approached from behind the instructor.
A man wearing a lieutenant's rank insignia — some officer or other — spoke up.
"Apologies for the inconvenience. We're with the White Skull Unit. I understand this doesn't sit well, but we'd appreciate your cooperation. Ah — you can speak now."
Only after permission was granted did Jijonmussang finally find his voice.
"Cooperation? For what?"
"This is our territory. Even if you're just starting out, we'd like you to follow our rules while you're here. Nothing major — those weapons you picked as starting items? Just set them down here, head out, and enjoy the game from there."
"Set down our weapons and leave — so you want the weapons, period?"
"Yes."
"I heard starting weapons are only given once per account and they're insanely expensive. Over fifty bucks in real cash..."
The officer didn't bother answering. He just smiled, unhurried and at ease.
The instructor spoke for him.
"If you'd rather throw away a hundred dollars to save fifty, be my guest."
The muzzle of the gun in the instructor's hands caught the sunlight and flashed. Jijonmussang flinched and muttered under his breath.
"Crazy..."
Slowly, everyone began to understand. Veteran players, shaking down the newbies.
It was a high-freedom game, which meant you could build. So they had raised walls around the starting zone, trapped the beginners inside, and confiscated the weapons handed out at character creation — that was how they turned a profit.
And the newbies fighting back? Impossible. The guns poking through the firing slits of a solid fortress left no room for a counterattack. This side was completely exposed, and completely surrounded.
Gaon muttered, just loud enough to hear.
"People actually go all-in on a shit game like this?"
A young man nearby answered him.
"It's because people go all-in that shit like this happens. Look. See those people standing watch on the walls? Those aren't NPCs. Those are real people."
"Wait. They log into a game just to pull boring sentry duty?"
"They're probably getting two hundred gold an hour for it. Two hundred gold's about a couple bucks in cash? It's low for a real hourly wage, but in those guys' countries that's actually decent money. I saw it online. If I'd known this place was occupied, I would've started in a different region, dammit."
Meanwhile the officer put on a friendly smile and addressed the new players.
"Of course, snatching things outright would make us thugs, right? We're not thugs. We'll give you a chance to keep your weapons, of course. There's a condition, though... Anyone here with an artillery background? Former officers?"
One newbie spoke up.
"Uh... I was a 4.2-inch mortar man."
"4.2-inch? That's talent. Want to join the White Skull Unit? Artillery and officer backgrounds get appointed as full guild members on the spot, and we cover your account fees every month. You looking to go pro?"
"Uh, yeah."
"Joining a guild is the fastest way to go pro. Work hard through a three-month probation and we'll cover your account fees right away, and if you contribute more and make officer, we guarantee two thousand a month in earnings. Probation's normally four months, but we give artillery guys special treatment..."
Under ordinary circumstances, a promise of instant income would have set off every alarm. The words special treatment, though, seemed to have him hooked.
The officer turned to the others.
"Everyone, tell me your jobs from your service days."
"Signalman."
"Rifleman."
Jijonmussang shot his hand straight up.
"I was a driver! And a distinguished marksman — perfect score!"
He clearly wanted into this White Skull Unit, or whatever it was. Had the two thousand a month gotten to him?
Gaon clicked his tongue. The officer asked,
"How old are you?"
Jijonmussang glanced around and answered.
"Forty-four."
"Ah. We don't really take fossils."
That, apparently, he could not let slide.
"Fossils? You little shit, watch your mouth..."
That was when the instructor's enraged voice rang out.
"The fuck did you just say?"
Jijonmussang froze, certain for a split second that the attack was coming their way.
It wasn't.
"Public service?"
At the instructor's words, the young man standing in front of him shrank back.
"Ah... yes."
"Christ, why is a public-service punk even playing this game? We're confiscating your gun in advance, so just get the hell out."
"Wait, why..."
"Why would a public-service bastard even touch a gun? Go play a public-service game, you fucking—"
Thieves, and they had the nerve to play the victim. As for why they were going out of their way to get angry — it was a calculated bit of theater. Emphasize that the guild didn't take just anyone, and joining would start to feel like a privilege.
The whole thing was absurd, but the public-service youth hung his head as if he'd actually done something wrong. It was a game. Whatever his circumstances in real life, he had every right to stand tall — and yet he couldn't bring himself to push back.
The sense of reality still hadn't let up. And so the ugliness of the situation ran just as deep, even for those merely watching.
Gaon fought down his anger and asked,
"Starting weapons are over fifty bucks each, you said? So that guy's getting shaken down for fifty dollars right now?"
Jijonmussang, still limp from the rejection and the insult, answered weakly.
"Yeah, probably."
"Looks like it's time for a champion of justice to step in."
"What?"
Gaon swept his gaze across the surroundings and mapped the fortress in a glance.
A circular rampart enclosing them on all sides. A structure built to pour one-sided crossfire into the interior. If you wanted a fight, you had to get up on those walls somehow.
A way up? A single ladder, perched precariously against the stone.
"Oh, the public-service punk's talking back? You wanna die?"
As the instructor's furious voice rang out, Gaon checked his character's capabilities.
First, the body.
His arms hadn't packed on as much muscle as his real ones, but they moved well enough. He could handle the recoil of a firearm, at least. His legs weren't as fast as his real body's — weren't even as fast as an ordinary elf's — but they moved just fine all the same.
And the nerves?
Dynamic visual acuity. This part was no worse than his original body's. It was exactly the level he'd possessed in reality. He was certain of it. He'd caught a glimpse of the incoming bullet's trajectory earlier.
His hearing was barely different from reality either, even with a human's inferior ears instead of an elf's pointed ones. Thanks to that, he could make out the idle chatter from the distant walls.
Does the stat reduction of a game character not interfere with the brain?
There was no time to dwell on it. The instructor came toward them and asked, picking a fight.
"And what about you. Why'd you pick a sword for your starting weapon instead of a gun?"
"What's wrong with a sword?"
Gaon answered indifferently, and that attitude seemed to piss the instructor off.
"You retarded? This is a war game. Why would you pick a knife. You public service too?"
Gaon asked, unhurried.
"What, swords are useless so you're not confiscating this one?"
"That wouldn't be fair, asshole. You put the sword down and get lost too."
"And if I don't want to?"
As he kept the conversation going, he checked the game's help.
The moment he thought the word, information poured into his mind.
In-game data loaded.
Weapon specifications · Combat mechanics · Item properties
And among it was something useful. Something he could apply to this situation right now.
While he scanned the help, he idly toyed with the longsword. More precisely, with the pommel at the end of the hilt.
It was common knowledge that a longsword's pommel was a rather useful piece of hardware. Heavy enough to balance the blade, and hard enough to serve as a striking surface if you reversed the grip and swung it like a bludgeon. Important enough that it was designed to be removable, so you could replace it if it broke.
All of which were excellent advantages in the present situation.
Of course, the instructor — who had no appreciation whatsoever for swordsmanship — didn't know any of that. Which is why he paid no attention even as the pommel was finally worked free, and just kept talking.
The instructor shut up. Because the longsword's pommel, flung in a blur, had just smashed into his face.