Lv.5 Swordsman Gaon

"Hardheaded knife-eared bastards."

The newspapers never did anything but depress him. Forty years ago, twenty years ago, ten years ago — it was always the same. Gaon crumpled the paper and shut his eyes.

When his mood soured, there were two reliable ways to settle his mind: religion, and games. He decided to do both. Religion first.

In a solemn voice, Gaon offered up a prayer.

"O Goddess. Please watch over me as I wreck that unicorn, Hago. I will have my revenge. Without fail."

The Goddess of the Hearth was the most merciful being in the heavens. Merciful enough, at any rate, not to scold him for proposing to avenge himself by killing someone in a video game, or to ask whether he had well and truly lost his mind.

Her voice was far too warm. Gaon caught the drift of what she was thinking and hurried to explain himself.

"I don't mean I'll kill him in the game and then celebrate as if I've actually avenged myself against the real Hago! I obviously know that killing him in a game has no effect on reality whatsoever."

"Of course I can tell reality from a game! So I have a plan, you see..."

Gaon explained with great diligence, and the Goddess heard him out. Thirty minutes later, mentally exhausted, he started the game.

4 Fantasy Online was a game built on the physical laws of reality. There was no numerical damage, no numerical defense. And yet the concepts of levels and stats still existed.

Gaon had gained a massive amount of experience in the previous battle and reached level 5. The stat points awarded as a reward numbered four. He poured every last one of them into MP.

He savored the fruits of the level-up and laughed with genuine pleasure. Visible growth. That was one of the reasons he could never quit games. Steady progress gave you the sense, as time slipped by, that you had actually accomplished something.

A little happiness still warming him, he looked around the city. A twentieth-century colonial town occupied by Earthlings. Traditional buildings and modern ones stood side by side, as befit a place where the tide of modernity was seeping in. The era had been recreated so faithfully that even Gaon, who remembered the twentieth century firsthand, found himself wondering whether he was really playing a game or had somehow managed to travel through time.

It was not time travel, of course. Not with players standing in the middle of the street hurling abuse at each other.

"Heard you got your asses handed to you by a bunch of newbies? Real fucking impressive, you maggot pieces of shit."

"Shut your damn mouth, you Geunchub bastard."

Hearing a conversation that Korean, it was definitely a game after all.

He was still taking in the surroundings with a wry smile when someone came pounding up and planted himself in front of him. Jijonmussang opened his mouth.

"You're playing again? That's a great decision. A really great decision! Yeah, that's the right call. No matter how much money you've got, you can't pass up a guaranteed chance to make more. I've looked into every way to make money in this thing. See, I heard that..."

Money talk, the instant they met, same as always. Gaon cut him off before he had to hear any more of it.

"I've looked into a few things myself. So I've drawn up a schedule for the time being."

"A schedule?"

"There's a combat training center in this game. Everyone just starting out is going to be a combat newbie, right? They train them for free. I'm going to spend a while doing nothing but training at the center, so why don't you get some training in too while you're at it, Jijonmussang?"

Jijonmussang blinked, then said,

"I did my military service. Expert marksman, I'll have you know. I don't need training at all... Plus, Gaon, you've got the skills to wipe the floor with everyone by yourself, so why..."

"It's not that I need the training — I want to level up. I heard finishing the drills at the training grounds is the fastest way to level in the early game."

"Levels aren't really that important in this game, though? You saw it last time — you massacred a bunch of people at level 1. This whole thing is physics-based. We're fighting with guns anyway, so raising your stats isn't going to increase the damage. Get shot and you die in one hit whether you're high level or not, so there's no reason to pump stats..."

"It's important to me."

"Why?"

"I'm going to use magic. I need to raise my MP."

"Ah... magic. Right. Yeah. Come to think of it, you did use magic."

Only then did Jijonmussang accept it. Or rather, yield — that was the more accurate word.

"So you really are a fantasy native..."

He muttered it in a deflated voice, the way a man might react to seeing someone he knew pull up in a high-end sports car. Gaon understood the reason for that reaction well enough.

Well, for an Earthling to use magic they have to swallow a pile of expensive drugs, don't they? The cost of those drugs easily outstrips the price of a luxury car, so on Earth, magic is a symbol of wealth. He must have realized I'm actually loaded and felt inferior...

Apparently this cowed the man more than the feat of wiping out dozens of people single-handedly. Gaon found it so absurd he laughed to himself. Jijonmussang asked, his voice gone weak,

"You're not just going to keep training forever, right?"

"Of course not. Once I farm a bit of EXP I'll head out to fight right away. For now the goal is to raise my level as high as it'll go."

"Why? Like I said, if you can just shoot well..."

"Ah, because there's an enemy I can't beat with guns alone! You seem unhappy that I'm obsessing over levels instead of making money, but to level up I'll have to fight this guy and that guy anyway, and I'll make money in the process if I can. Okay?"

He couldn't quite bring himself to add that if Jijonmussang had a problem with it, they could go their separate ways. Gaon had exactly two people he could call friends, and one of them he hadn't heard from in decades. Which meant this money-obsessed middle-aged Korean was Gaon's only remaining human relationship. They had only gamed together for four years, so it was hardly a precious bond — but it was what he had.

Fortunately, Jijonmussang didn't push any further. He just nodded. And so it was decided: both of them would train for a while.

Gaon set off to take care of his own business. Following what he'd seen online, he shouted toward the street.

"Hey, errand boy! Come show me the way!"

It was an excessively realistic game, overflowing with freedom. In a game like that, you could easily wander in circles, not knowing where to go or what to do. To prevent that kind of confusion, guide NPCs roamed the streets.

"Yes, coming!"

A scruffy little kid came pounding over and bowed at the waist. The dingy traditional clothes told Gaon he was a local — an As native. An NPC whose setting was that he scraped by doing odd jobs, shining the boots of Earthling mercenaries and the like. And since Gaon's own setting was that of an Earthling mercenary, the kid NPC grinned up at him, all obsequious little chuckles.

"Directions? Of course I can do that, sir! Just one coin and I'll take you anywhere..."

A patriotic As native would have been furious at a situation so faithful to the historical record. Gaon, however, was no patriot. He just found it unsettling how human the NPC seemed.

"The swordsmanship school."

The swordsmanship school he arrived at under the boy's guidance was large and lavish. Gaon stepped inside — and his eyes went wide.

"Put more into it! More power!"

"When you fall into a deadlock, hardness is overcome by softness, and softness..."

The school was astonishingly crowded. There were even more people here than at the shooting range next door, which was strange considering this was a war game whose principal weapon was the gun. Then again, considering there were users who didn't enjoy war in the first place, it wasn't strange at all. People whose entire purpose was the training itself had taken up residence here. People who enjoyed sword training for its own sake.

"Wind the blade! The principle of the lever! Think about the lever!"

ARMA members were absorbed in their drills. A medieval swordsmanship club. In reality, enjoying swordsmanship meant buying all sorts of expensive equipment and wrangling meetup schedules, a thoroughly inconvenient hobby — but here you just paid the account fee and could enjoy swordplay that rivaled actual combat. A group that had well and truly hit the jackpot.

Cute little things.

Gaon walked on with a leisurely smile. A Western Earthling approached him — the NPC in charge of sword training at this hall.

"A face I haven't seen. I'm the instructor. Here for training?"

Gaon nodded.

"Yes."

"New students are always welcome. Your skill level?"

"An incredible master. Just give me the various tests already and hand over the EXP."

"Hmm."

Whether the instructor NPC understood the word EXP was anyone's guess, but he at least understood that this one was being arrogant. His face tightened slightly.

"Let's see whether you're all talk or the real thing."

The instructor raised the longsword gripped in both hands above his head — the German roof guard. Gaon didn't even take his longsword in both hands. He simply lifted it one-handed, roughly, to chest height.

"That's your stance?"

When the instructor pointed it out, Gaon only hurried him along.

"Yes. Come on. Check my skill already."

The attitude seemed to have angered him. Without warning, the instructor stepped in and brought the sword down — a powerful diagonal cut. As he made the motion, he expected his opponent to answer with the same diagonal hew. From that non-stance, it was about the only thing the man could do. The cuts would clash, they would enter a bind, and from a bind the instructor knew dozens of ways to overpower an enemy.

Gaon's movement defied every one of those expectations.

Suddenly Gaon's sword thrust. The instructor recoiled in horror. Just attacking straight back, full force? You'll get badly hurt doing that. Too much of a gamble, too dangerous — not something you did in the middle of a training bout. The thought that he needed to knock this man down quickly and teach him a lesson put real force into the descending blade.

The next instant, dismay settled over the instructor's heated head. Gaon's thrust struck the flat of his sword, throwing the diagonal cut off its path. The attack failed. Bewildered by a move he had never seen or heard of, the instructor still took an appropriate guard at once. As befit a master, he went immediately to the counter.

"Hup!"

A thrust aimed at the head. It was blocked in an equally bizarre fashion. How had he even blocked that? The instructor couldn't have described it if he'd tried. The method was so strange it didn't even stick in his memory. He panicked, certain his moves were being read.

They were being read. A Swordmaster's supernatural combat sense. Just as AlphaGo selected, from among countless possibilities, the move with the highest predicted win rate, a Swordmaster instinctively took the best action for each situation.

The instructor decided he would win on sheer momentum if nothing else. He opened a little distance, caught his breath, then charged, swinging. Gaon swung to meet him.

A clash of force. But Gaon's muscular strength was lacking, and he had been swinging one-handed to begin with. The power behind the blade was weak. A ringing clang — and the longsword tore free of Gaon's hand and spun into the air. The instructor, who had been bracing for his own defeat, faltered in confusion. Did I just win?

He had not.

The longsword flew through the air, having left the left hand. In that same instant Gaon leapt on a diagonal — not only carrying himself out of the instructor's reach, but moving into the very path of the sword as it came spinning toward him. He had grasped its rotation and trajectory perfectly. The right hand, idle until now, flicked out and caught the blade by the exact tip. And in the same motion, he brought it down.

A heavy thunk. The pommel slammed into the instructor's shoulder.

"Ugh..."

The instructor sank to the floor. He stared blankly at empty air for a moment, then finally managed to speak.

"I lost."

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

So training alone ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠really did give experience. Gaon asked, satisfied,

"I am a master, right?"

The instructor stared into space, thinking it over, then answered,

"I couldn't say."

"What?"

"I can't tell at all with my eye. At a glance it looks like you're just swinging wildly. Looking at that, you'd think you had no fundamentals whatsoever — and yet the one who lost pathetically is me. This is... if I dare speculate with my insufficient insight..."

Was he doing this because he didn't want to admit defeat? Gaon frowned. Then the instructor asked, almost in a whisper,

"Might you perhaps be Sir Gaon the Swordmaster?"

Gaon nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Gaon's a Gray Elf. I may be as handsome as an elf, sure, but do my ears look pointy to you?"

"Sir Gaon is famous as a master of polymorph magic. Perhaps you've transformed into a human..."

Flustered, Gaon snapped.

"Let's say I am Swordmaster Gaon — I'm not the real Swordmaster Gaon, but anyway, if I really were Swordmaster Gaon, you think someone who's been swinging a sword for over two hundred years would beat a junior so far beneath him and then show off about it? You think a Swordmaster would do something that pathetic? You think I'd be hiding my power past the age of two hundred? Huh?"

Not, unfortunately, that it helped. The instructor apologized without resistance.

"Ah... indeed. A master of the sword wouldn't conduct himself like a man who'd do such a thing. My thinking was short. I apologize."