The Floor Master Japan Fears, America Frets Over, and China Courts
I've said this before, but the Hunter Gallery is not exactly what you'd call a reliable site.
It was simply the place people had flocked to first, back in the early days after the Tower appeared — a site with the faded glory of a past when information was shared freely and opinions actually got exchanged. These days, though, it had degenerated into a trash heap where compulsive liars and the unhinged congregated to talk through their private delusions.
And then, in that degenerated place, things of genuine importance started going up. Namely, the operational announcements of The Enlightened One, Floor Master of the 5th Floor.
The Enhancement Workshop on the 5th floor had opened first. Now the Academy was open too. Tuition was waived for newbies who'd just arrived on the 5th floor. Veterans who'd climbed to the 10th or higher paid a fee. High-floor hunters who'd reached the 20th floor or beyond paid extra on top of that.
Some people complained that the Goblin Language course charging 20th-floor hunters 2,000 points was too expensive, but that was some seriously spoiled noise.
All kinds of reviews from all kinds of people kept pouring in, and somewhere in the middle of it the board started lagging badly. This much strain — on a simple image-and-text website that wasn't running any fancy graphics or complex computations?
In the early days of the internet's development, people had believed without a shred of doubt that it would be a place where the entire world could become one. But once they'd built it out a little, it turned out to be nothing more than a new market — another corner from which to wring money. Corporations built the platform environments and herded people into pens. Don't go anywhere else. Spend your money right here.
And so people gathered wherever their interests pulled them, and the fragmentation only grew worse. The internet, which ought to have been a plaza more open than any other, was in truth dividing people more thoroughly than any novelty that had come before it. Of course the walls weren't all that solid — anyone who really wanted to still crossed them every day.
Anyway. On a normal day, the Hunter Gallery — a place that drew no attention whatsoever, where nothing but garbage posts went up — averaged somewhere between 500 and 1,000 views. Right now, even a shitpost with nothing in it was clearing 10,000 views without breaking a sweat. More than twenty times the usual traffic was pouring into HuntGal. Important reviews and information about the 5th floor, in particular, sailed past 100,000 views like it was nothing. That was how much of the world's attention the 5th floor had seized.
First there was the Nine Dragons Alliance, the coalition of Chinese martial sects still scrambling to stanch the catastrophic wounds of their failed assault on the 40th floor. They were desperate for any new information that might make them stronger.
"If our equipment had been enchanted too, we never would have failed the 40th floor!"
The European Hunter Alliance, which had been preparing to tackle the 20th floor, had taken one look at the disaster on the 40th and decided to play it safe. They were endlessly reviewing their operations, pushing the date back again and again.
"Are you telling me that on this entire vast Earth, there is truly only one Korean who can handle enchantments?"
"To lose to Korea at mining hidden elements… it wounds my pride, NIDA!"
Japan was afraid. America was fretting.
"You still haven't located The Enlightened One?"
"Identifying a single ordinary civilian isn't exactly a simple task."
"Korea's a tiny country, isn't it? How long could it possibly take? Authorize an operation by US intelligence!"
"Absolutely not."
The US government hounded Korea to put them in contact with The Enlightened One as soon as possible. Korea knew perfectly well that even as America said this, they'd already slipped their intelligence people in through the back. What they were demanding now was that Korea throw open the front door and roll out the welcome mat. That was not something a nation responsible for its own sovereignty and security could permit.
And Seo Yul — South Korea's rank 1 hunter, and the only person who actually knew anything about The Enlightened One — wasn't talking.
The Enlightened One that Seo Yul had seen back then hadn't prepared a disguise yet. A girl of indeterminate age, a towel wound around her face, clothes that fluttered on a frame they didn't fit, two pale and slender legs left bare. But Seo Yul kept her silence. She had a feeling that leaking the information would only make things more dangerous.
She was powerful, and she was unknowable. All Seo Yul could do was pray that The Enlightened One wouldn't start anything strange — wouldn't commit any evil.
With this many people watching Korea's Hunter Gallery, even a disgusting shitpost like "I just took a massive dump" was racking up 10,000 views. Thanks to that, the usual attention-seekers were even more unhinged than usual, and the server died. The gallery admins had never had a plan for handling this kind of traffic.
"Simona. Rip the visitors' computers and use them as a distributed server."
Simona planted spyware on the computers of everyone who visited the gallery and used them as compute and transmission nodes for the server. She didn't ask for anyone's consent, of course. Well — who told them to come peeping at the Hunter Gallery when they weren't even Korean hunters?
Of course the world was overflowing with people who wanted enhancements. And since the Enhancement Workshop charged a commission, more customers would have been a good thing. Those expectations were dashed by my brief reply.
I hadn't even climbed past the 8th floor. The only one who could perform enchantments was Shauta, the Hobgoblin Shaman. There was no particular need to tell them any of this.
Nope. Not doing it.
That ought to have been all the answer they needed. But my refusal only made the world start courting me more aggressively.
People saw the spectacle and still couldn't believe it.
Because I had Simona with me, I knew those IPs were not the kind of people who spat empty boasts. Instead, they'd try to bind me with all sorts of conditions and contracts. That kind of money was a life-graduation sum — the amount you could retire on and be done. But I was no longer someone who'd cling to that kind of pocket change.
What interested me now?
Climbing the Tower. Finding hidden elements. Making friends with new races. Leveling up. Gaining new subordinates. Getting stronger with new abilities.
"Can't wait for it to hit midnight. I'm climbing the Tower with Steak."
For now, I was rolling around in my room, waiting for the 9th floor to open.
You know the concept of aggro mobs, right? Anyone who's played an online RPG would have to. Explore a continent in an RPG and you run into countless monsters. Sometimes they attack the player first. Sometimes they only fight back if you hit them. Sometimes they will never attack the player at all. The rude ones who swing first are called aggro mobs. The ones who counterattack are called passive mobs.
"You're a Tau I haven't seen around."
"I'm a Tau traveling in search of the strong. Name's Steak."
"And that thing next to you?"
"A pet I captured."
"Well now. Pale and tempting."
WHAM!
Steak's fist smashed into the face of the Tau we'd met on the 9th floor. A punch that said, how dare you eye what's mine — have you lost your mind?
Doesn't this kind of defeat the whole point of the disguise?
"That's one hell of a punch, pal. You really do look like someone who travels hunting for the strong."
The Tau who'd taken the hit lowered his horns and charged Steak. Steak met him horn to horn.
CRASH!
A deep, grinding rumble filled the air as they shoved against each other, locked in place, straining to push the other back. Ten seconds of it. The wild Tau of the 9th floor was forced back and surrendered.
"I acknowledge your strength!"
"Your muscles weren't half bad either."
Taus were, to put it one way, like eighth-grade boys — the kind of creature that sees one of its own and just has to pick a fight. If the other guy looked easy, they'd stomp him and take his stuff. If not, they'd breeze right on past.
What a species.
I'd learned the Tau language, so this time I'd come to the 9th floor pretending to be Steak's pet, hoping to recruit some of them. I'd left the mystery robe behind and armed myself with my little sister's school uniform.
What was I even supposed to call this look? Schoolboy? Trap?
The plan in my head had gone like this. If Steak walked around with me in tow, there wouldn't be any fights. I'd figure out exactly what kind of trial the 9th floor was, and then, if the opportunity presented itself, I'd recruit some Taus.
Reality: the Taus, who were more like semi-aggressive mobs, challenged Steak without a break. I genuinely hadn't expected them to do this to their own kind. Lunatics.
If I had to compare it to an RPG, it was like an unrestricted PK server — the kind of atmosphere where every passerby gets a little shove just to see what happens. It's a flavor that kids these days, the ones who only play block-stacking games, would never understand. Something you only get from those old-school RPGs that actually had PK.
And for the record, PK is not the same as PVP. PVP is a fair duel. PK is jumping some guy walking by and shaking him down.
That's right. The world of the Tau was a world of thugs running protection rackets.
Maybe I just won't recruit them. Savages.
Anyway, having Steak walk around with me disguised as his pet was less dangerous than me walking around with Steak as my pet. The latter meant a slaughter — a fight to the death. The former ended the moment their incomprehensible in-group recognition kicked in and the fight was over.
What is this species even doing with itself.
And so we infiltrated all the way into the depths of Tauland.