Ancient Kingdom Territory Siege (3)

Time flew by as if it had grown wings.

After leaving a greeting in a pre-recorded message, I didn't post anything further on the community boards.

Part of it was that I already felt satisfied without needing to — but there was another reason.

The image people had of me had gotten… a little strange.

……

How on earth did it come to this?

That's seriously rude.

Calling a person's voice lewd.

It wasn't even a voice I chose — and I have to live with this voice for the rest of my life.

……Is it actually that sexy?

When everyone says the same thing, you have to at least consider the possibility that you're the one who's wrong.

"Mm. Ahem. Ahh. A-E-I-O-U."

Still no idea.

I'd been speaking and living with this voice for quite a while now. There was no way I'd suddenly start noticing something like that.

Anyway — the real reason I stopped posting was that the siege date had arrived.

And that the results of my login restriction were about to come down any day now.

I'd inquired about it, a little nervous, and it looked like a decision would land within two days of the siege ending.

The only person who knew that so far was Elderin.

My contract with Sulbbang had already run out by then, so I didn't bother telling them. No point dumping extra worry on people right before an important war.

If I really needed help, I could bring it up then. For now, it seemed better to clear my head of stray thoughts — so I started a cold shower.

There was a time when I'd clung to even the warmth of bathwater. I didn't feel the need for that anymore.

Attention was still attention, even from people whose faces I'd never seen in my life. Once the feeling of being alone faded, my heart found room to breathe.

The cool water washed away a whole mess of feelings with it. The restless excitement that had been yanking my heart around for days. The formless anxiety that kept finding me. Even the thin edge of pre-battle adrenaline settled, and my head cleared.

I didn't know whether I'd still be Ga-wol after this.

But if this was going to be Ga-wol's last stand — I didn't want the first light I'd ever found to end in defeat.

I towel-dried a body I'd scrubbed more carefully than usual. A faint scent of body wash rose from my skin. In my pajamas, I climbed into the dive unit and drew a deep breath.

Around the towering walls, people moved with crisp, coordinated purpose. Archers and mages filled the watchtowers; behind the battlements, knights with shields gathered into formation.

Infinity Black was a fantasy world full of flashy skills — but the basic structure of a battlefield wasn't so different from the Middle Ages. It still came down to frontline formation fighting.

Arrows rode the wind and climbed hard into the sky. The moment sunlight caught the tips at their peak — a flash of blue light, and rain made of wind came pouring down.

Warriors ducked behind their shields to escape the shower, or pressed tight against the walls hunting for dead angles.

They're putting real expectations on me.

I'd better not disappoint them.

An assassin like me wasn't going to pull off anything spectacular in a meat grinder like that. Leaving the gate and the main front to other people was the smart call.

What I needed to hunt instead were the assault side's artillery crews.

System-wise, cannons didn't deal much damage to players. What they did was apply massive bonus damage to auxiliary structures. Leave the cannons alone and our recovery, supply lines, and communications would all go dead.

"Cannon positions. Found them?"

"On my way."

I slipped out beyond the walls under cover of the chaos — and a guest latched on like they'd been waiting for me.

They were even using stealth to tail me, but the footwork was sloppy. The sound dampening was decent, so they weren't total amateurs.

Two of them? No — one more just joined. Three.

Too many to clean up alongside the artillery crew. I'd have to deal with them here.

Finding me this fast meant these guys were my dedicated hunter squad. The alliance had handpicked them.

No time to measure them up. No room for it either.

The moment a nearby branch trembled, I spun and opened with a full-body strike.

"Welcome."

"……!"

My knee cracked into a jaw and the enemy's stealth dropped. An assassin, just as I thought.

Getting cocky with a senior, huh.

They weren't idiots, though. The second one of them got made, the plan fell apart — and the other two immediately flung weapons at me.

I had to give ground, but that was enough to lock down every position.

I batted aside a shuriken, then a knife, in sequence, and drove another kick into the assassin's head.

Composition looked like assassin, shinobi, tracker, in that order?

The tracker was a pretty familiar face. Whether they'd changed costumes or something else, I couldn't say — but the other two were new to me.

"Stalker fans are a bit much."

"Who the hell's your fan?"

"Fine, never mind. They've been multiplying lately, so I got my hopes up."

I'd more or less figured it out. These guys had stuck to me the second I came out. Impossible without a competent tracker.

Like any game, at the high end you keep running into the same people. Not that we'd built any special memories together. This industry wasn't the kind where colleagues got warm and fuzzy.

The tracker closed in and swung a sword with ferocious force. Fast and clean — but simple. Rely purely on physicals and you end up with a sword path like that.

I parried from the side with a dagger. Snapped the blade tip against the flat of the sword like I was stamping it, then flung a hidden weapon at the throat.

Unfortunately, the hit landed around the collarbone.

"Kh—!"

"You haven't changed a bit."

"You're the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠one who changed too much. Barely recognized you."

"Yeah, well. Fair enough."

That one in particular — I'd heard they used to be a pro trainee, or something like that.

It was a common story on the siege circuit. Not every skilled player gets to be a pro gamer. Especially not these days, with the gap between pros and everyone else stretched so wide.

Losers are always born alongside winners. Someone has to fall short of going pro and end up stuck.

The ones who went down that way weren't so different from me. People who'd sprinted toward a pro career didn't just casually start over at something else. Eventually, they drifted toward the siege scene.

Which was why plenty of pros hated this circuit. Some saw it as a den of failures. It had a nasty enough reputation that it was treated almost like a taboo.

"How many friends did you invite today? You're not seriously thinking three of you can kill me."

"Would you tell me if you were in my shoes?"

"Absolutely not. I only asked to piss you off."

"That part of you really should've changed."

Anyway — these weren't the usual civilians who'd just matched their gear. Reinforcements were definitely on the way. I couldn't afford to drag this out.

At minimum, the assassin needed to die right now. Before they could reset their stance.

I shook off the tracker and launched myself again. The moment I went for the throat with the dagger, the body vanished — riding a shadow, no doubt. But they'd overlooked one thing.

I was the one who'd knocked their thrown weapons aside. Of course I'd prepared for this.

"……How?"

"Skill."

That was why same-class fights became pure skill contests. You used the same skills, so the geometry of the fight didn't shift easily.

I sank into the shadow with them. The second we emerged, the same situation repeated — with one difference. They no longer had a survival skill.

The dagger punched through the throat. Red blood dripped in thick drops. I mounted ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠them, pinning one arm, and delivered a clean death even as I took a throwing weapon in the lower back.

Two left.

Let's finish this in two minutes.

"Don't sweat it. If everything went according to plan in this line of work, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it'd almost feel wrong."

"Ah."

One possibility clicked immediately. There was someone who'd begged me over and over for a fight, and I'd never given them one.

Sure enough — standing in front of the cannons was someone I was less than thrilled to see.

FundoshiMania.

A brawler in an outfit that looked like pure perversion charged me without a word of warning.

With a nightmare of a support unit at their back.