Efficient Farming (1)

I rather enjoy combat in this game.

A world rendered so close to reality it might as well be perfect. A system painted in vivid colors that sharpens the flavor of every fight, and enemies who pour out killing intent without a shred of hesitation.

What I love is the chill that radiates from a well-honed blade. And the clear, ringing sound of true steel meeting true steel.

The thrill of slipping an enemy's killing blow by a hair's breadth had thoroughly enchanted me with this world. And then there was the pleasure of snuffing out an opponent's life—like a drug flooding my brain until my head was swimming in it.

A few more matches like this and I'd be sitting comfortably in the safe zone.

Judging by the community reaction, the point penalty for a loss was steeper than expected. Without a win streak, scraping together Victory Points looked like a real grind. Conversely, if you could stack wins, you wouldn't need to grind through dozens or hundreds of matches. Just check the trends every day and stay inside the safe range—that would be enough.

Then again, even in ranked competition, the score cutoffs rarely spiked out of nowhere. I'd assumed that once the second preliminaries opened I'd have to throw myself entirely into the qualifiers, but now I had breathing room. Because matchmaking ignored tiers entirely, racking up wins wasn't particularly hard either. Maybe the developers had factored in the time burden on pro gamers. Or maybe participation had come in lower than they'd projected.

Either way, it wasn't a bad thing for me.

"At this rate, I could manage it alongside my actual work."

I'd been fretting over money as it was.

Infinity Black is an RPG. The stated goal is to find the "Infinite Abyss" somewhere on the continent. Supposedly the first person to see it said something like "endless black stretched out forever," and that became the name… or so the story goes. I don't really know. Honestly, the naming sense is garbage. It has the distinct flavor of a developer-CEO forcing a name through while the underlings scrambled to dress it up somehow.

Anyway—I'm not a pro gamer who only needs to perform well in the ranked environment. If anything, I'm closer to the opposite. Most of my income comes from siege guilds, so the messy, ugly fights out in the field are what I should really call home. For someone like me, keeping good gear was non-negotiable. In an RPG, equipment is skill.

Once the announced patch dropped, I'd have to swap into better gear than what I was running now. Maintaining high-end specs at all times meant a serious amount of money flowing out. I had savings set aside, but spending a lump sum never sat well with me. From the finals onward, who knew what would happen—better to earn while I could.

"…Hm?"

Something had felt oddly familiar, and sure enough—this match had paired me with someone I knew. Right on cue, text started climbing the chat window. I'd set all messages from strangers to hidden, which meant this person was on my friends list.

Whether "friend" was the right word for it was another question entirely.

Because I don't actually have to reply. It's not like this is some warm, cherished connection that deserves a friendly chat.

DongjakStationAgent was a member of the SSA guild. SSA was too weak to count as a major guild and a little too strong to call mid-tier. Even on the siege scene—already packed with aggressive players—their hostility was enough to make people click their tongues. And if this guy's role was the harassment unit, the one who doggedly checked enemy guild members, then his personality and character hardly needed spelling out.

I'd accepted the friend request mostly for professional reasons. Call it the relationship between a contract killer and a hired thug. We fought each other sometimes, and every so often we collaborated…

"Where are you right now? I'll come find you. Been a while—maybe we should catch up face to face."

I clearly asked for a location. Why isn't he answering?

Does he think I'm a pushover? Might be time for a long-overdue reminder of the pecking order. Between people like us, killing and dying wasn't anything special. "You pissed me off" was more than sufficient as a motive for murder—it was practically textbook.

"I'm calm. So where are you? I won't come. Seriously. I swear on my balls."

Rude. I used to have them, you know. Swearing man-to-man used to be a badge of trust. Of course, I'd never once sworn with any intention of keeping the promise. Take them if you can. If you can beat me when I'm holding a bamboo sword, that is.

…There was a time when I could still say things like that.

Dongjak's words made me frown. The reply came out of my spinal cord without passing through my brain.

"No."

"That line you just used is from a movie I love. Putting that dialogue in your filthy mouth is a serious insult. You've ruined my mood."

That's what I said—but in the end, I decided to hear the offer before making the call. The money on the table was too big to refuse outright. And at a glance, the job itself didn't look terrible either.

"You know me well. I've got no interest in getting too deep into that side of things."

As a rule, I rarely take requests to join sieges or wars. Commit to one faction and it becomes hard to inflate your asking price; bounce between both sides like a bat and you become a thorn in everyone's side. This game has guild wars, so the internal bonds inside a guild run fairly deep. When you're getting bullied and a guildmate drops everything to come back you up, it hits you right in the chest. Belong to the same guild and people start treating you as a comrade or a fellow soldier. The more emotionally invested they get, the stronger the hostility they carry—that's only natural. Get too carried away and make enemies, and the road ahead gets exhausting.

The best revenue model is to occasionally show up on a battlefield ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠where running wild won't get you in trouble, just enough to flex your presence. But if the contract terms are good enough, exceptions can be made.

"And if a hostile harassment unit shows up?"

Jobs like this came up now and then. When you wanted to insert yourself into a dispute between other guilds, you staged a party hunt to manufacture a pretext. In an MMORPG, parties are essential content. But you can't always fill every party from inside your own guild, and among the people you pick up, some will inevitably belong to a guild you're at war with. If a hostile guild then interferes with the hunt, the other party members have grounds to declare war.

It was a see-no-evil kind of arrangement… but even in in-game wars, justification played a surprisingly important role. Avoiding community callouts, preventing member attrition, tightening internal cohesion—there were reasons people went through the trouble.

"So what are you actually trying to pull with this stunt? Fair warning—if anything feels even slightly off, I'm walking immediately."

And if that happened, of course I wouldn't return the advance. In this line of work, being the client didn't automatically make you trustworthy. I'd nearly been stabbed in the back more times than I could count. On top of that, Dongjak and I had fought as enemies more than once. Sure, we both did this for the money—and that was exactly why I couldn't trust him. He was the type who'd sell me out the moment the situation called for it.

The reason I kept lasting in this business even while people called me scum day in and day out was caution like this. Nothing in this world was ever easy.

"I've seen the name once or twice. Never watched the stream."

"Good lord. I can't believe it."

I was so shocked my mouth wouldn't close. Dongjak seemed surprised by the reaction.

"No, not that. I can't believe the words 'trash' just came out of your mouth."

"Sorry. Keep talking."