Rank Game
"Die, you goddamn bastards!"
"Idiot, dying American pups!"
Swearing and gunfire and screams.
It took only a few hours for the library—a place that tolerated nothing but the rustle of pages—to become a ruin filled with blood, shattered stone, and splintered wood.
Future officers who would lead the U.S. Army, and Russia's finest killing machines, clashed and piled corpses into mountains of wasted potential.
At the center of it all, the ones being pushed back were the officer candidates of the U.S. Military Academy at West Point.
As the virus spread across the globe, they had taken up arms, stood guard, and taken in refugees, fulfilling their duty as officers. But unfortunately, their capabilities were not enough to handle the Russian airborne brigade that had dropped from the sky with infantry fighting vehicles.
The heads of those on watch were blown apart by sniper rifles. Thick outer walls and hastily erected barricades were mercilessly torn down by heavy weapons.
Like slicing a cake, the enemy cut through the campus in an instant, shattering their formation like a storm. The candidates, pushed back, fought a desperate, scattered battle inside the buildings.
But they were outmatched in both firepower and skill.
Having sacrificed their own sleep to serve their country and its people, it was truly difficult to oppose killers who had prepared thoroughly under the cover of night.
"They're flanking right—*cough*!"
"Damn it, Kevin's hit! We need to fall back!"
"Leave me… just leave me…! I'm done for!"
A bullet through the abdomen.
Blood poured from his belly and back, soaking his shirt, then his uniform trousers, and staining the floor red. The bleeding wouldn't stop. He was dying slowly.
But he didn't let go of the pistol in his hand. He would die here. And if he was going to die anyway, he would have wanted it that way.
Above the harmony of metal and screams, a crackling sound joined the orchestra. Fire. The flames from grenades, heavy weapons, and rockets easily devoured the library's books.
The fire raged out of control. The smoke rising to the ceiling carried the lives of many.
With a ting, the slide of Kevin's pistol locked back. No ammo. The strength in his hand, fumbling for his pockets, slowly faded.
"…Kevin, Kevin! Damn it, we have to fall back! Further inside!"
"Hell, there's nowhere further to go!"
"Ha, we're completely screwed."
His vision blurred.
The floor was already covered in his own blood. His finger on the trigger was white. His whole body grew heavy, and sounds were ringing in his ears.
Thud. A bullet pierced his shoulder with a hammer-blow impact, and he tumbled backward. Maybe because he was already dying, the pain was less than he expected.
He lay still, staring at the ceiling.
The noise faded. All the voices that had been clamoring around him gradually left his ears.
His comrades were saying something, but he could no longer move.
Even as his body was dragged somewhere, leaving a long trail of blood, his senses grew distant.
Soon, no one was left around him.
But then—
—BOOM!
A vibration that shook his entire body.
As the wall shattered and thousands of fragments flew in all directions, two silhouettes appeared through the breach created by the explosion.
Gunfire he hadn't heard before, and screams that matched it, bounced off the walls and shattered in every direction, and then a needle pierced his thigh.
Only a few seconds must have passed. His senses gradually returned, and the wound burned like fire. It was a fierce pain that told him he was still alive.
Even though he clenched his teeth, a scream escaped.
Through his barely opened eyes, he saw a figure.
"It's a medical nanomachine injector. Don't move; it'll slow the healing."
"…Ah…"
Eyes that seemed to glow blue even in the middle of a battlefield.
A phoenix mark that looked like it was burning.
With that as the last thing he saw, he lost consciousness.
—[Haptic: Many enemies in Washington Hall. Pushing with just the two of us is a bit tough. Can we get support?]
"I just finished cleaning up the library, so I'll be there in five minutes. Don't force an entry—just handle the enemies approaching with the idea of cutting off the bulge."
New magazine inserted, one round in the chamber, ten magazines left.
It seemed like a lot more than I'd used, but that was actually a third of my total. Without air support, I would have run out long ago. Anyway, one thing was certain: it was more than enough to clean out the remaining enemies in the facility.
I took a breath, checked that I hadn't dropped anything, and pulled an IR marker from my pocket. I'd heard it emits a massive amount of infrared radiation when activated.
From deep inside the library, people started pouring out. At least a few dozen. From soldiers to armed civilians, it was a mix.
The script progressed automatically.
I handed the IR marker to the person in charge who stepped forward, briefly explained how to use it, and told them that the support team was ready to depart.
On the Hudson River, which occupied most of the right side of the map, dozens of boats were approaching one by one to carry friendly forces. From ferries to motorboats, it was a variety.
Even as I moved quickly, I checked what I needed to check.
—[Current Friendly Forces: 87%.]
—[Current Enemy Forces: 34%.]
"With that many casualties, it's surprising that friendly forces are still so high."
Enemy forces at 34%.
But with the consecutive bombings destroying the temporary command post and communication systems, the engagements were actually much easier than before. The enemy squads, not receiving any movement orders, had become passive in their movements, even their small-unit tactics were a mess, and they easily became prey. This was the same everywhere.
Of course, since it's a game, I have to consider that I'm fighting AI… but for me, it didn't matter how it turned out.
Whether it was a comfort or something else that the situation wasn't playing out exactly the same as the past… I don't know.
The straight-line distance to Washington Hall was about 150 meters.
The rendezvous happened faster than I'd thought, and as the torn party reunited, the airborne brigade melted away like autumn leaves.
Since it wasn't a real combat engagement, the enemy movements weren't that smart either.
Maybe that's why my fingers kept clicking and pulling the trigger, and the rate at which my magazines emptied was almost directly proportional to my advance speed.
The enemy force percentage had already dropped into the early 20s.
Considering that normally, a 20% loss of force results in an annihilation call, they were practically demolished.
Specifically, even if we didn't touch them, the friendly forces putting up scattered resistance elsewhere could handle them easily.
—BOOM!
By the time the mission elapsed time exceeded one hour in-game, a flare shot high into the sky.
Boats filled the Hudson River, and over a dozen Black Hawks had landed wherever they could.
Civilians, officer candidates, and the professors and instructors who taught them boarded various transports one after another, disappearing into the black sky and the darkness over the Hudson River.
Through the propeller wind that made it hard to even open my eyes, countless messages popped up alongside an incoming transmission indicating the end of the mission.
They were all telling me the mission was complete.
—[ISO: Impressive work. Over a hundred people. I never expected we'd rescue this many. The base won't have a moment's rest for a while. We'll have to convert a nearby building into a dormitory.]
—[ISO: I'd like to pop open a bottle of champagne to celebrate, but unfortunately, the people involved aren't here, so it's a bit premature. See you when you're back. This will expand the variety of support the base can provide.]
—[Mission: West Point Recapture - South Infiltration // Recommended Party Size: 4]
—[Difficulty: Very Hard (Hardcore Users Exist)]
—[Current Status: Complete]
—[Clear Time: 01:13:02]
—[Friendly Forces: 89%.]
—[Enemy Forces: 13%.]
—[Mission Clear Rank: ]
—[Base Feature Unlock: Gunsmith / Firearm Crafting]
—[Blueprint Acquired: RPK-16 / AK-74MR / AK-12 / AS-Val / MK18 / MCX… and 18 Others.]
—[Accessible Ammo Production Lines: 7N39 / M995 / SSAAP… and 11 Others.]
—[The addition of more support operators slightly increases the chance of obtaining additional rewards during missions, and increases the probability of clearing difficult mission routes.]
"That's a lot of stuff."
There were a lot of familiar terms, but I was just dumbfounded. It wasn't like I started the game knowing a lot in advance—I was just pushing through in my own way… I don't know. Let's not worry about it too much. I'll figure it out later somehow.
With the noisy sound of the Black Hawk that was still waiting for us, the three people who had been playing the mission with me—the viewer participants—approached.
I greeted them lightly.
"Good work. You must have had a rough time. Did you get a lot out of it?"
"Uh… we got basically everything we could. Good work to you too, Mr. Eugene. Do you have any plans to do other missions?"
"If I do, I'll probably just do random matchmaking again like this time."
So please, put away that disappointed look.
With that kind of feeling, I carefully sat down on the bench inside the helicopter that was returning to base. The door closed, and through the window, the clear night sky appeared faintly.
And so, one mission ended.
We returned to base.
"I don't know. I'm not sure. I'll give it a try at least once, but I don't know the events or the qualification requirements."
That was the beginning of the debate.
When it came to the actual game, I showed skill that others couldn't possibly imitate, but when it came to this kind of thing, I knew nothing. That remark of mine ruthlessly piqued the interest of the viewers, who had played countless games and knew all sorts of information, and soon a flood of donations and chat messages started pouring in.
I couldn't handle it in-game anymore, so I had to move to the streamer's private room—the place where I'd first started streaming.
About 30 minutes of chaos ensued, and to summarize roughly:
- The PVP events are Survival, Apex Predator, Team Six, and Fallen Angel.
- Among them, Team Six and Fallen Angel are 5-player and 4-player team games respectively, so you need to find a compatible team or join an esports team.
- Survival and Apex Predator are modified battle royale genres, where solo play is possible, and during the esports period, rank games with tournament rules are available.
So, my options were Survival and Apex Predator.
And as for what the tournament rules were, specifically, they increased item drop rates several times higher than usual and adjusted various variables to induce intense early-game engagements.
It was said to help players adapt to the tournament rules instead of regular ranked games. The abbreviation was the Tournament Rank Server, or just Tournament Rank.
"So, when does that Tournament Rank start?"
Ah.
Then… I quickly counted the days. It was now the middle of August, which meant that at most, only a few weeks remained until the tournament started.
I took a small breath and read a post that had been uploaded online.
- The Tournament Rank baseline tier is TIER 2. In other games, that's equivalent to Master rank, which is considered the basic qualification to participate in the tournament.
- The tier order is: WOL 1, WOL 2, WOL 3, Recon, SOF, TIER 2, TIER 1, Medal of Honor. Think of it as Bronze/Silver/Gold/Platinum/Diamond/Master/Grandmaster/Challenger in other games.
Hmm. In short, I needed to grind ranked games diligently and get to the highest rank I could. I wondered what the point of doing this was… but honestly, I'd already decided on the event in my heart.
After logging back into the game, I clicked on Apex Predator without hesitation.
Specifically, it was a mishmash of a battle royale game that felt like a mix of that old chicken-eating game with a shrinking zone, or Duty and Call, or a battle royale that shared a universe with the game where Titans fall.
As I pressed the button for the Tournament Rank game, I opened my mouth without much thought, as always.
"Well then… today, let's give this a try."
Survival was too cold, and it brought back memories of the past I didn't want to recall.