139 - Soap Bubbles Instead of Blood

The victory structure of World of Arceria could be summed up briefly in three stages: capturing checkpoints, slaying neutral bosses, and finally destroying the enemy's Yggdrasil.

To keep pushing forward the respawn points for your allies and allied NPCs, you had to seize specific checkpoints. Along the way, you'd take down neutral NPCs that handed out buffs favorable to your side or could even join your team as reinforcements. Judgment was always based on last hits—no exceptions. And through it all, even if you botched everything else, destroying the enemy's Yggdrasil in their base sealed the win. A deceptively simple structure wrapped in layers of complexity.

If I had to mash it into a crude analogy, it was like nonstop early-game dragon 1v1s in Legacy of Legend, or Overwatch where you had to farm gold and XP while actually growing your character.

"N-Nocturne Nailingk, that's me!"

"Whoa, who's this cutie?"

"Yeah, I don't think we've ever met her in the story mode."

"My name is Nocturne Nailingk...! Ah, we gotta hurry! When they see our team, it'll be smart to take A region first—will you come with me?"

Nocturne Nailingk flailed her arms wildly in the air, her urgency plain as day.

"What do we do? Splitting into pairs at the start is standard, right?"

"Let's do that. Hey, you and me hit B outpost."

"Got it, boss."

"Then Archer, you come with me and follow the NPC."

Naturally, that left me paired with the mage boy. So the last one was C outpost, huh?

"Healer and mage isn't a great combo though..."

"Why not?"

"N-Never mind! It's nothing..."

We bolted toward the C outpost on the right. The forest path squelched underfoot, still damp from yesterday's rain. The endless canopy finally broke, opening up the view. A blue cubic box marked ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠simply with a 'C' hovered in the sky above.

"Enemies incoming soon. When I signal, you charge first."

"I'm a mage though? Oh right, you're the healer..."

The clearing was already a chaotic clash of NPC mobs. We'd arrived a bit late to the outpost, but not enough to swing the game.

The boy diligently cleared the NPCs for now. He wasn't used to the last-hit concept yet, so gold was leaking, but games were always about the big picture. Enemy presence nearby, but no sign of them. Guess we'd play into their trap.

I stepped into the C outpost with the boy, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠raising our capture progress.

"Woo-hoo, gotcha!"

"No way, it's really NoName? Dude, when'd you clear the story? And what's with that combat power?"

NPC frontline ahead, axe-and-crossbow wielders behind. They'd farmed no gold, just waited for us.

"What now? Melee vs ranged, we're boxed in—we're dead for sure!"

"I'm the healer. You go fight."

"Ugh, screw this!"

"Fresh newbie meat after so long! Save NoName for the main course later—just stay put!"

* * *

The sky filled with soap bubbles. Hot embers turned to sharp thorns, popping bubbles furiously, but they multiplied like tadpoles in a pond, numbers unyielding.

I hadn't used heals much in story mode, so I didn't realize spamming them wasn't optimal. Like injecting just the right mana into a transmutation circle, it was about proportional use—square root of missing HP. Don't spam, but when you do, fill to full.

That's why the boy, despite leaking a lethal dose of "blood" (soap bubbles), stood firm.

"Maybe I'm secretly good at this!"

The boy shouted, engulfed in bubbles. Not a pretty sight.

"Damn, he won't die."

"Healer first, go go."

The men charged recklessly. Early game, combat power gaps weren't huge—they were prioritizing picks. Seemed predictable, but they were already feinting direction shifts.

Oh? Giving it their all, huh? Knowing my skill, their eyes turned deadly serious once combat hit.

I drew Skia Vona, slicing between the charging foes. True PvP—psychological warfare you couldn't feel in story mode. Who strikes first?

No time to think—an axe whistled past my head, leaving an afterimage.

"Dodged that...?"

Multi-foe fights demand minimal footwork. Left foot back, body low in a flash, priming the motion. Muscle memory from thousands of daily swings took over my arm. From waist to sky—a heavenly cleave. Blue lightning flashed, diagonal slash across the man's throat.

Half HP gone in one shot—the man belatedly tried to retreat, but prey never escapes. Follow-up thrust thudded into his armor as intended. Another foe nearby.

Side-eye catch, max grip strength. Fling the hooked man into his buddy. Skia Vona spun a full circle, delivering the final horizontal slash.

"Daring to crossbow in melee?"

"But chances to see NoName up close like this don't come often...!"

Splash—! Sheathed Skia Vona and healed the mage still bleeding out.

"Sis, that your alt?"

"Nah, main."

"How do you do it so well? As a... healer?"

No class could use another's skills. But no penalty? Good enough. No skill? Land skill-like autos.

Words wouldn't cut it—I handed him my sword. Pressed close behind, overlaid my hand on his on the hilt.

"W-Wait a sec!"

"Close your eyes, deep breath. Feel it—how your body moves."

Corrected his stance, bent his knees myself. Sword isn't swung—it's flowed. Like holding a dog's leash: control within freedom to romp. Or whatever worked for him.

Level too low for visual shockwave, but soldiers along the path took criticals and dropped. Gold chimed in. I supplied the power; his arm trembled.

"Got it?"

The boy nodded vigorously. I popped the bubble on his cheek. Blood, probably? He'd think I wiped it.

"C's ours—buy items and regroup center. Object time soon."

The boy was more obedient now. Shopkeeper popped up as checkpoint secured. With early gold haul, I loaded up on attack power items.

"To win this, physical seems right."

Only two melees at C. Our team's skill gap with enemies was bleak. I'd fight often—rational pick.

We gathered to hunt her—team looked deflated.

"Not one death, but two each? Oof!"

"They camped our respawn... no choice!"

"At least C's ours. But Nocturne's at zero HP—can't fight this one."

"Enemies full HP?"

"Probably 90%+... basically topped off."

"6v7 essentially."

"And enemies keep yelling weird stuff like 'Hand over NoName!', 'Give us our NoName!', 'Revenge for NoName!'—super scary."

The boy's gaze hit me. Others checked my overhead nick too.

"Let's go anyway. Gotta win the game."

Realizing their惨敗 was my fault, faces soured.

"Some celeb or what?"

The dual-wield rogue uncle muttered en route to the objective. No need to answer. Skipped heals pre-fight to save mana—bubbles clung everywhere.

Viewers annoyed by it too, huh. Combat looming—I quickly tweaked the interface.

"Oh right..."

What could I do? "I'm not old enough yet."

My managers later said the stream flatlined for a moment.