That Day (3)

A brief silence settled over the stream.

Under ordinary circumstances, it was the kind of situation a streamer ought to be wary of. The broadcast had gone quiet, leaving nothing but a black screen with system messages floating in the dark.

She needed to say something — anything. It took her far too long to arrive at that thought.

"Uh… so I died. That was Ga-wol just now… right?"

Eldrin scratched lightly at the side of her head. The chat was mostly filled with concern for her. Thankfully, no one pointed out the stretch of dead air. Ga-wol, on the other hand, was taking a beating.

Eldrin's stream style tended to pull viewers in deep, after all. She wasn't some corporate giant hauling massive audiences, but she had a solid core of fiercely loyal fans. When a streamer like that got blindsided mid-hunt, of course the chat was going to be furious.

"Alright, everyone, calm down. Anyway, I think that's it for Infinity Black today. Or should we just hang out and chat for a bit before I call it?"

Eldrin slowly began settling her viewers down. The truth was, she didn't particularly mind this death. Dying during a hunt was never pleasant, but she'd already been planning to end the stream. Even if Ga-wol hadn't shown up, she would have logged out soon enough.

And looking back on it a moment later, it hadn't been an especially painful memory either. At first the tightness in her throat had startled her, but her Sensory Synchronization Rate was set to 25% — and she'd dialed the pain sensitivity even lower than that. All she'd actually felt was a mild pressure around her neck.

Which meant everything else had come through that much more clearly. The sound of breathing against the back of her neck, for instance.

I should switch the stream layout first, and scrub the VOD…

It probably hadn't come through clearly on stream. Still, that faintly warm breath was hard to forget. There had been a soft laugh in it, too — something almost alluring. And in that final moment… had that been an embrace?

It wouldn't have been strange to feel violated. Maybe she was overthinking it, but what she felt first wasn't discomfort so much as pity. Was that too much? If she said the wrong thing out loud, it might come out sounding weird.

"I don't think I've ever run into Ga-wol before, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠but she's seriously good. People always say the top players move differently, and they weren't kidding. It was like she was from another world. I genuinely couldn't do a thing."

"Oh, I've heard of Traveler. Right — Ga-wol was an Assassin, wasn't she? Aww, Assassin… I wanted to be good at that too. It was just too hard for me."

Eldrin said it with genuine envy. She was a Mage now, but until a few months ago Assassin had been her main. She'd only given it up because she was convinced it simply wasn't her path.

Combat in Infinity Black was movement-based. That meant players had to personally control characters with near-superhuman physicality. The system offered all kinds of assistance, but it still wasn't easy — and Assassin was especially brutal.

The first time she'd tried the class, Eldrin had learned just how difficult it was to build a playstyle around evasion and speed. Her perception simply couldn't keep up with her body's velocity. It felt like her own limbs were running wild, completely beyond her control.

"I saw her using a Chain-Sickle earlier too? First time I've ever seen someone use ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠one. Did I try it? Of course. Picked it up in the training grounds, knew immediately it wasn't for me, and tossed it."

Time to watch a viewer-submitted clip together. A ninja-styled character assassinated an enemy Mage with dazzling footwork — the kind of cinematic sequence only a top-tier pro could pull off.

But what caught Eldrin's eye was a different set of messages in chat.

"Hmm… is that so."

In Eldrin's mind, a quiet interest in Ga-wol began to take root.

Periods were unpleasant enough on their own, but they were also a genuine hassle. As long as blood kept flowing, the pad had to be changed on a schedule. There were other hygiene products besides pads, of course… but the idea of those made my skin crawl so badly I couldn't even consider them.

Even now, swapping out a pad left me feeling thoroughly embarrassed. Still, I couldn't risk anything going wrong with my precious connector. It wasn't something I could just go out and buy a replacement for — careful maintenance was the only option I had.

At least I'd just changed it, so I was good for the next few hours. Scrolling through the streaming platforms turned up no appetizing prey. My mood kept ebbing and surging with the craving for blood, and my fingers kept finding their way to my dagger.

In the end, this was the only option left to me.

Personally, I preferred field fights with all their variables. But when there was no one to fight, this was the next best thing.

As time passed, the number of survivors in Infinity Arena had dwindled considerably — which made sense, given that each phase carved out a huge chunk of the remaining field. Word was that ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠queueing up now gave you a pretty high chance of matching against foreigners. The final phase opened in a few days, and after that came the main tournament.

From that point on, maybe I could start looking forward to a match against Luce. With fewer people left, it seemed possible. If she was streaming while queueing, I'd been thinking about "viewer participation" myself. Meeting her this early might be premature — but there was no guarantee we'd cross paths later either. I wouldn't be doing it out of malice, so it wouldn't really count as sniping. Someone famous had said that once, so it was probably true.

I could figure out the Arena situation later.

For now, I'd focus on the fight. This opponent was going to be a pain. Guardian held the highest defense of any class in the game. The matchup wasn't as bad as it looked on paper, but finishing one off took forever. Ordinarily this would have been a long, tedious game…

A faint smile found its way onto my lips. I'd just thought of a way to enjoy this one.

"Heh."

True to its name, the Sanctum of the Dead spawned packs of undead monsters. Killing them offered no real benefit — they were pure obstacles, shambling after players with agonizingly slow steps. The map was designed to keep fighters constantly on the move. And Guardian ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠happened to be one of the slowest classes in the game.

My footsteps turned toward high ground.

About ten minutes later, a Guardian went tumbling down the hillside, launched by a hard kick. Undead seized his body, and he had to thrash and twist free of every grasping hand. He shoved corpses aside with his shield; a hand reaching for his leg shattered under a holy hammer. The moment he tried to take a step — an Assassin was already there, kicking him in the back of the head and vanishing.

No. Not just vanishing.

The Assassin harassed him without end. Every time he tried to plant a slowed foot, every time he finally shook free of the undead — that silver-haired Assassin reappeared, shoved him back into the throng of corpses, and melted away. Laughing the whole time, as if nothing in the world could be more entertaining.

"Pffft… ahaha!"

She could have killed him whenever she wanted. She never inflicted a single fatal wound. By this point, even a complete fool would have realized he was being toyed with. And after the fourth kick to the back of the head, the Guardian's patience finally snapped.

You are a truly awful person! Playing the game this way is an act of appalling rudeness. If this kind of unsportsmanlike behavior continues, I will have no choice but to question the quality of your upbringing — or so he intended to say, in rather rawer language.

What actually came out, delivered in a voice of righteous conviction, was this:

"You are a bad child! Enjoy the game! I come to ask after your well-being!"

The system had filtered the profanity, and the translator had mangled whatever remained into pure catastrophe. The Guardian kept shouting for a long while, ignoring even the undead gnawing at him. Then, realizing his words weren't getting through, his head drooped.

"Farewell… with sorrow."