Field War (3)

Have you ever stayed up all night talking in front of a campfire rendered inside a game?

Have you ever spent hours just talking on voice chat?

Some memories burn so bright they rewrite a person's entire relationship with games.

Just as an "internet friend" you talked with through the night can, at some point, simply become a friend, time and shared memory are the wellspring of deep relationships.

That is why guilds in Infinity Black never stop at being mere communities.

Anyone who has never lived it cannot understand.

When something unjust happens to you out in the hunting grounds—when a guildmate drops everything and comes running—they look, in that moment, like nothing short of a hero.

Win or lose, you start to see them as comrades-in-arms.

And that is why wars in Infinity Black were like wildfires.

Once they caught, the flames became impossible to contain.

The spark was almost always a personal dispute.

Word that a guildmate had been hit would bring reinforcements from both sides, and the fire would grow.

The point of no return came when feelings entered the picture.

Pride that refused to bow to those people, of all people.

A sense of injustice coiled deep in the chest.

A wildfire fed on every kind of emotion as kindling would become a disaster beyond anyone's control.

That was why Sulbbang had always been careful about wildfires.

No preemptive provocation against any guild, period.

Anyone who dragged the guild into a war without cause was expelled without warning.

If you found yourself in an unjust situation, securing evidence was mandatory.

In short, he had always been good at putting the fire out early—before it could spread.

But what if the other side was just an arsonist who wanted to watch the world burn?

What if they brought in helicopters, dumped oil on the mountain, and threw torches on top of it?

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

And what if there wasn't just one or two of them—but six?

Simply being careful and well-prepared would not be enough to resolve the situation.

"Hyung. This isn't going to work."

"I know. Any sign of an escape route?"

"Looks rough. The active numbers are way too far apart. Want to try breaking out toward the ravine for now?"

"Got it. Hope we're not just getting herded into a trap."

"Two Dark Knights circling around the flank. Watch yourself."

"Right."

Magic poured down and hammered the earth.

Violet flashes of light. Spears forged of solid ice. A meteor shower wreathed in flame.

Most of it was stopped by the front line's shields, but once rain starts falling, it shows no sign of stopping.

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What people casually call "actives."

More precisely: the difference in headcount was simply too large.

The enemy's ranged dealers poured out firepower at will, while Kkamppang's dealers were hard-pressed just to stay alive.

Barely scraping off the Assassin-types rampaging in the rear was the best they could manage.

And they couldn't even send Assassins of their own into the enemy lines.

The numbers gap looked like two-to-one at ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a glance.

With a little exaggeration, you could call it three-to-one.

Throwing yourself into the enemy formation with no support and no backup was nothing short of a suicide charge.

"Hyung. I think my position's been made. Two Kunoichi coming my way."

"…Right. Call me again once you've secured a spot."

To make matters worse, even the sniper who'd been holding vision for them had to fall back.

For Sulbbang, it was a gut punch.

The sniper who'd just withdrawn was one of the guild's core assets—the kind of player people called a "guardian deity."

And sure enough, cracks were already opening across the battlefield.

The absence of the sniper who had been coordinating the fight.

Which meant that even if a hole opened in the front line, there was no one left to shore it up.

No—not quite no one.

Sulbbang stepped forward without hesitation.

The ash-gray warrior drove a crude mass of a weapon into a swordsman who had broken through the line.

A hitch of the beat—pausing for a fraction just before the parry window, then driving in.

It was one of Ripper's signatures, a dirty little trick Gawol had taught him, and it landed perfectly.

The moment Sulbbang entered the fight in earnest, the balance swung back.

He kept running into irregulars like Gawol, so it was easy to forget—but even by siege-battle standards, he was a considerable powerhouse.

His destructive force was enough to collapse an enemy formation in a single breath.

His greatsword slammed into the ground, and the enemy lines flinched back for a moment.

Life returned to a front that had been steadily giving ground—but it was not exactly a hopeful development.

The guildmaster taking the field himself meant he had played every card he had left.

If Sulbbang fell here, his guildmates at this position would be wiped out in all but name.

Four hours of total blackout for the guild.

How much longer could a decision this risky hold?

He was grinding his teeth through the despair when, for a fleeting second, the enemy lines seemed to stir with confusion.

The assault that had been crashing down so hard was starting to thin out.

What? Am I imagining things?

Sulbbang blinked.

"Hyung, push in!"

"What? You already got a position? I knew I could count on you."

"No—I'm still being chased, just go in already! Their rear is wide open!"

"…?"

"Gawol's here! Holy crap, this is insane. I'll send you the clip later, you have to watch it. This is how a pro gamer cuts through a field and wins a championship."

His close junior's voice was pitched high with excitement.

Only then did a system message, late to the party, finally catch his eye.

…

Annoying. Get rid of it.

A crossbow bolt hissed through the empty space between my neck and shoulder.

Behind me, a Pyromancer's Unstable Ember dropped.

The explosion was about to go off.

Getting completely clear of the blast radius was impossible.

In that case—use the pressure wave as propulsion instead.

A searing heat bloomed across my back—and the body that had already leapt hard picked up even more speed.

As if some violent force were shoving me forward.

Just extending my weapon a fraction left deep gashes across two enemy dealers.

Without slowing, I drove a knee into the Pyromancer's face for the third kill.

I yanked on a Silver Thread I'd set earlier, and one more went down.

A tidy haul—but the real target was this one.

A man in white martial robes and a mask.

I brought my axe down on Venom Guild's named Spirit Medium, Immaemangryang.

"It's been a while, Gawol."

"Has it. I wasn't exactly hoping to see you on the job."

"Can't be helped. Have you settled in for good, by any chance?"

The first strike missed.

A formless black beast—a Guseondae—caught my attack on its razor-sharp claws.

I shoved through with ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠raw force, and the Guseondae gave way first.

"No. They said the pay was good. I'm a mercenary."

"I see. That's a relief. I'll have to be more careful about my positioning next time."

"Go easy on me. I'm already tired."

"I should be the one saying that."

A handful of spirits closed in around my back.

A stopgap measure, nothing more.

He couldn't have seriously believed a single summon would hold me.

The moment the Guseondae spread both arms to strike—

I crushed the core in its heart and seized the Spirit Medium's face in the same motion.

I put an axe into his throat, then used his limp body as a shield.

A Barbarian Warrior's thrown spear punched through Immaemangryang's gut—

and grazed my side on the same trajectory.

"I'll see you again."

"Ugh…"

Yeah, well. I'd rather not see that guy again.

Just as Assassins grow stronger in many-versus-many fights, Spirit Mediums are a class that truly shines in large-scale combat.

From the next engagement on, he would almost certainly start traveling with a full escort specifically as a countermeasure against me.

Immaemangryang was one of the people I least wanted to run into on a field or in a siege.

He never ran wild with overwhelming presence—but he was the type who stayed consistently, relentlessly annoying.

Less a single hero than a man who did the work of a hundred soldiers.

This time, he hadn't been watching for me, so he'd gone down easy.

Facing him like this again would not be so simple.

A finish was a finish, either way.

The instant I confirmed Immaemangryang's death, I hurled my axe at a mage mid-cast.

Hiding behind a shield doesn't make you safe.

You can throw an axe on a curved trajectory, too.

I sent a clone toward the enemy ranged dealers.

With the feint in place, I went for the Barbarian Warrior who'd been getting in the way.

Most of them wasted their skills on the clone—but the sharp-eyed ones planted theirs on me with perfect accuracy.

They'd clearly thought far enough ahead to realize the Barbarian needed protecting.

Because he was the last frontliner left back here.

With most of the Warrior-types sucked toward Sulbbang's side of the fight, the rear—packed with nothing but ranged dealers—was free real estate as far as I was concerned.

In the pro scene, the highest-priced players are top-class Assassins.

Part of it is how hard they are to raise—but the real reason is that their ceiling sits so absurdly high.

That same value holds on the siege field.

An Assassin who can single-handedly tear through an enemy backline is valued at more than a full party of combat power.

And of course—I could do far more than any of them.