Siege of the Ancient Kingdom Territory (6)

Damn.

I should have finished this already.

An ominous power erupted from Camellia’s body. In an instant the gap in strength inverted, and the dagger that had been driving for her heart was forced back. My own body, which had held the high ground, was shoved away with it.

No. If this continues I’ll end up underneath her. The moment it turns into a pure grapple, an assassin’s frail frame won’t last.

I rolled free just as Camellia shouted after me.

“Don’t win and then run!”

Shut up. Before I tear that mouth open.

I wasn’t running because I wanted to.

“Maybe I’m wrong, but I’ve watched a lot of your matches. A whole lot.”

“So?”

“I thought you wanted to go pro.”

“That’s a mental illness. Delusions of grandeur. Go see a doctor—the meds work great.”

“You’re surprisingly bad at lying. Funny, since you’re so good at tricks.”

“…….”

Elderin had said the same thing once. That I was worse at lying than I thought. With her jabbing at me like this, I had nothing to fire back.

Of course I didn’t. I’d watched my own match footage too. Analyzing the opponent mattered, but reviewing my own play mattered just as much. Every so often the camera caught a good expression on my face—something that looked half like envy of someone else, half like pure enjoyment.

Was it simply the pleasure of being watched? I didn’t think so. I was an affection-starved patient who craved other people’s love, and at the same time I was so thirsty for victory that the hunger for recognition burned just as hot. A greedy idiot dreaming two dreams she had no right to. That was me. So maybe a little of it had shown. Maybe a lot. You learn things when you trade blades with someone.

“You already have everything. You were born with talent that someone like me can’t even touch. You have it all, and yet—”

“Ah. You really shouldn’t have said that.”

“At first I thought you were laughing at my dream. But then—”

“I can’t.”

“You can. You could have gone anywhere.”

“I wish you’d shut up already.”

My head was boiling. Rationally I knew better than to rise to words like these. If I just kept running until her rampage ended, the win would still be mine. But I couldn’t hold it in. My feet carried me forward before I knew it; I met the thrust of her spear head-on. My wrist throbbed, but the parry itself was perfect. I kicked the gash I’d already opened in her side—and for a moment it felt almost satisfying.

“Agh—! Answer me—”

“I said I can’t! Some clueless bitch doesn’t get to run her mouth! Do you have any idea how many hours, how many years I thrashed around like a cripple in that goddamn tank?!”

“Tank……?”

“Until my mouth tasted like blood! Until my head was so hot I was dizzy! While people told me I should just give up, I gritted my teeth and held on!”

I was screaming like a cornered animal. I hadn’t even known I could raise my voice this loud. The hours of clenched teeth in the rehab center seemed to close around my throat.

I have everything? What the hell do I have?

I don’t need any of it. I never asked for this girl’s body—I’d hand it over right now if I could. Just give me back what I lost. Give me back the peaceful house we had. Give me back my healthy body. Let me pick up a bamboo sword again. Let me walk on my own legs instead of these damned crutches. Let me use a real blade in the real world, not this game. Let me look at other people without the weight of inferiority.

—Give me back warmth. Give me back my dream.

I bit my lip too hard. Blood welled and it hurt.

“Don’t dig around in someone else’s wounds like you own them!”

It stung. I was the one who held the initiative—I was the one pinning Camellia’s knee, shoving her spear shaft aside, driving a dagger toward her throat—yet it felt as if the blade had been buried in my own neck.

Even so, the anger wouldn’t drain. I stomped on the fallen Camellia’s head again and again. Only after her corpse vanished did I realize her health bar had hit zero long ago—she had been dead for quite a while.

The only place left for the orphaned rage was the battlefield itself. I switched the comms back on.

“Kang Yuhan. You there?”

—Yeah, what? You finished over there?

“Just tell me where to go. That’s all I need.”

—Still the east gate. Hey, is something wro—

“On my way.”

Yurang thought he had chosen the wrong title for the stream. It was less a siege broadcast than a Ga-wol broadcast ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠at this point. Not that he had much choice. The outnumbered defenders had resorted to an almost ugly stalling strategy, so the main battlefield had nothing worth watching. The old saying about a famous feast with nothing to eat fit perfectly. The only real spectacle left was Ga-wol running high-risk solo operations.

“Whoa, Camellia’s still getting pushed back. Guess first place in the Arena is first place for a reason. Black Moon buff is still on cooldown, right?”

“No can do. If I broadcast every sound that comes out during a siege, my channel’s gone. There are guilds with serious grudges in this fight.”

That was what he said, but cold sweat seemed to be beading on Yurang’s forehead. The conversation between the two was far too deep. He even felt a strange guilt, as if he were eavesdropping. If it hadn’t been a stream he would have given them space. Pointing a camera at a fight like that would get the channel nuked. He muted their voices and walked the razor’s edge.

“Ripper or Kelberos would probably be pretty speechless if they saw this. She’s absorbed their signature styles that thoroughly in the meantime.”

Yurang’s own gift was a natural eye. He could see exactly whose techniques Ga-wol was borrowing. Kelberos’s style had been heavily rearranged, but the foundation was unmistakable.

The fierce duel raced toward its end: Camellia’s rampage, Ga-wol’s bold re-engagement—and finally Ga-wol’s furious kicks once her temper had completely snapped. The emotion was a little too visible, so he swung the camera away. Thankfully he was in time.

“The expected result… can we even call this expected? Camellia’s a pretty big deal even among first-string players right now. Anyway, one-on-one has been proven once again. Shall we check the east gate for a bit?”

No choice. Putting ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠that footage on stream would make him the center of every firestorm imaginable. Yurang’s motto was thin and long. People just refused to believe it.

Of the four gates, the fiercest fighting was without question at the east. The Alliance’s firepower was concentrated there at maximum, and it was also the sector where the defenders were being pushed hardest. The gate itself had been smashed long ago; they were barely holding by shoving every barricade and scrap of cover they had into the breach.

“Whoa, at this rate they’re going to break through. Looking at the clock… there’s still a decent amount of time left. Thinking of a mainland castle, maybe about twenty minutes? Right now the attackers look like the favorites.”

Just as Yurang delivered that cold assessment, a single shadow poked its head out from behind the east gate. The hem of a cloak still carried the lingering darkness of the Black Moon buff. A thick black line cut across the battlefield. Every movement was free of hesitation—and why wouldn’t it be? The enemy main force had abandoned cannon and disruption and was simply pushing in. The attackers had effectively conceded the assassin war, which meant Ga-wol’s mission was already complete. Even if she died now it wouldn’t be a major loss; at this stage dying after taking even one more mage with her would be a net gain.

No. This is a little different.

This wasn’t the movement of someone running those calculations. She looked rougher and more aggressive than usual—less like someone trying to kill one more enemy and more like a nihilist flinging herself into the flames. Only her peak-level skill kept it from showing. The way she rode the shadows and used enemy bodies as cover felt almost instinctive. Proof: her damage calculations weren’t clean the way they usually were. Instead of dealing exactly the required amount, she sometimes overkilled and sometimes came up just short, forcing extra motions. To Yurang’s eye it looked more like venting than anything else.

Ga-wol’s venting did not stop until the siege ended. When the defenders scraped out a victory by the thinnest of margins, she logged out with a vacant expression, as if every last attachment had finally left her.