Prologue
What makes a strong boss monster?
“High stats, I guess? Attack power, HP, defense, that sort of thing.”
“A mob that summons a ton of minions.”
“Spamming debuffs is a pain, too.”
“And nonstop AoE attacks.”
The answers might differ, but most people would end up talking about the boss’s abilities—its stats, its gimmicks, the things it could do.
So then, what made a well-made boss monster?
“A backstory makes it more appealing.”
“More than that, the concept is what really matters.”
“A difficulty that stirs up your competitive spirit.”
“No matter how well designed it is, if it looks bad, doesn’t that kill the mood a little?”
“A pattern that’s hard but still makes sense.”
If anything, the answers would be even more varied than when asking about a “strong boss monster.”
That was because saying something was well made meant people found it appealing, and what people found appealing varied from person to person.
Some would be drawn to a boss’s appearance, while others would be moved by its past and find that compelling.
Those elements would gather piece by piece, or clash with one another, until they formed a more appealing—better-made—character.
That was why, when someone asked,
“Hey, isn’t this boss really well made?”
someone else would inevitably fire back,
“Hmm... is it really that great?”
And then there were the people who just liked stirring things up.
But in an MMORPG, especially in a raid—a boss designed for a group to tackle together—the standards for a well-made boss monster were more or less set.
Appearance, story, concept.
Those were important, of course.
If players found the boss appealing, their immersion in the game would deepen, and if immersion deepened, the chances of them settling in and staying would rise as well.
But even if those things were absent, not every player would be disappointed and leave.
Everyone enjoyed games differently, and there were people who didn’t care about that sort of thing at all—people who simply liked clearing raids over and over, gearing up, and watching their characters get stronger.
So what did a well-made raid boss need?
In the opinion of a man with about five years of MMORPG experience, the most important question was whether players could see it as reasonable.
Take a typical raid, for example.
Depending on the gimmicks involved, the goal was usually to survive the boss’s attacks and burn down its HP without dying.
That was why most RPGs had some way to recover health.
Sometimes it was potions, and sometimes it was a specific role—the so-called healer.
In other words, healers were the supply lines of a party, a crucial role that kept combat going.
On the flip side, that also meant if you killed the healer first, you could wipe the whole party without much trouble.
So from a pure efficiency standpoint, a raid boss should probably ignore the other roles and take out the healer first, but...
would players actually think that was reasonable?
The reason a boss didn’t just target the healer from the start, or spam instant-kill attacks the moment the fight began, wasn’t because the boss was stupid. It was because the game developers had designed it that way.
No one would enjoy a game where the boss immediately killed the rear line and ended the fight, or where they died as soon as they entered the boss room and then had to go, “Wow! That boss is so strong!” with delight.
What if a boss that was supposed to have a general’s concept instead summoned hundreds of underlings and sent them swarming in to fight?
You could only feel a boss’s appeal if you were actually able to play the game; if it shut down play entirely through sheer unfairness, there was no way anyone would find it appealing.
That was the man’s opinion: fairness had to come before appeal if a raid boss monster was to be considered well made.
A well-made boss could be appealing and strong, but being appealing and strong did not automatically mean it was well made.
“Ah, fuck!”
Bang!
By that standard, the boss monster he was currently challenging fell squarely into the category of “badly made.”
No—more than that, calling it “badly made” was almost polite. “Completely fucked up” or “what the hell were they thinking” would have been more accurate.
A boss room? Sure, technically it existed.
But if a boss room meant a place where you had a higher chance of running into the boss than anywhere else, then that was about as far as it went.
It never stayed in one place, and because it roamed all over the damn map, just challenging it was a headache.
“Died again?”
“No, how is this even real? It ignores taunt, charges straight at us, and starts on the healer first—how the hell are we supposed to live?”
“Did somebody force you to roll healer with a knife to your throat?”
“You’re the one who raised it, and now you’re throwing a tantrum at us?”
The aggro system that most monsters had.
Also called enmity, it built up when you damaged a monster or used skills on it, and the monster would attack the person with the highest value.
Most tank classes had skills that drastically increased enmity or let them pull aggro.
But this boss ignored even Taunt, the skill meant to force aggro, and still charged straight for the healer.
On top of that, its attack power was so high that one hit was enough to send you off to the better place.
And that wasn’t all. It was a mess of unfair mechanics, including the fact that only one party could challenge it at a time.
“Okay. From now on, bring another healer when you raid. I’m moving to a different party.”
“No, no, no, that’s insane for real. If you leave, we’ll be stuck trying to recruit a healer all day.”
“Not my problem.”
“I didn’t say a word. I’ll ban the bastards who slandered you, boss. Or, if you go raiding, you could just take me with you... heh heh.”
“Traitor!”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Please don’t abandon us....”
The man gave a wry smile as he watched his party members switch sides so quickly it was as if they’d never been rallying against him in the first place.
While they exchanged jokes in a light, playful atmosphere, his party was steadily marching toward a total wipe.
After he died, the boss’s next sword strike sent the healer beside him after him as well.
At the same time, the boss spun around and brought its blade down in a wide arc, taking out the three rushing DPS in a single blow.
With the next movement, it shoved the tank aside and launched a blade aura, finishing off the final DPS who had been standing far back.
The boss ignored the sturdier tank and took out the soft healer and DPS first.
That left only two durable punching bags who couldn’t be healed and couldn’t deal enough damage to bring the boss down.
Before long, even the tank collapsed, and the battlefield was left with nothing but the boss standing alone in its ragged hooded cape.
As he watched the familiar light envelop the fallen party members, the man muttered,
“This is straight-up trash-tier. I can’t take this shit anymore.”
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
One, two, three... seven.
“And eight.”
Was there some kind of code of conduct that said every ambush had to be carried out by eight people?
Today, I’d taken down eight—maybe eight moths drawn to a flame—and with a stagger, I walked over and sat on a fairly large rock.
It wasn’t exhausting.
What was so hard about dealing with idiots who dropped one by one every time I swung my sword once?
Still, moths thrown at me had a certain kind of annoyance all their own....
And they were swinging swords and magic, too, apparently?
So, yeah. A little tiring.
I pressed the fingers of one hand against my useless eyes and let out a long sigh.
I’d been living in this other world for...
How many years had it been again?
I started counting on my right hand, folded over two fingers, unfolded them again, and gave up.
It was probably somewhere in the teens. What did it matter?
“I want chicken....”
Once again, I chewed on a wish that would never come true and smacked my lips in vain.