Early Engagement

Rocks and seashells, weathered over long ages, had crumbled into sand. That sand, piled along the shore, was driven inland by the sea winds until it settled and built up into dunes.

Those coastal sand dunes now stretched across the path of Yeon-woo and his agents, blocking their advance.

"The dunes run on like a desert," Yeon-woo observed.

The ground swallowed their feet deeper than expected; pushing forward would burn through stamina fast.

Kim Su-hyeok nodded at the assessment and stared at the sand with a troubled look.

"But if we detour around this sand field to another sector, it defeats the whole point of avoiding the early engagements you mentioned, Team Leader…"

Yeon-woo rummaged in his pack and pulled something free: wide rubber sole attachments made for desert tactical boots.

"Attachments that clip onto desert tactical boot soles. Ever used them?"

Both men shook their heads.

Kim Su-hyeok and Park Jung-hyeon had both been deployed to Middle Eastern desert terrain during their service, yet most movement had been by tactical vehicle in unit formation. They had never needed to cross a desert on foot.

Yeon-woo demonstrated first, fastening a pair to his own boots.

"I only saw these on YouTube, so this is my first time using them for real. Center them under the sole, then loop them up through the lace holes like this. Hmm, does it hook here? Ah—yes, that's it."

Watching him deliberately fumble through the motions as if he had never done it before, claiming he had only seen it on YouTube, would have sent Han Hae-un into peals of laughter.

Once both attachments were secure, Yeon-woo walked slowly across the desertified dune.

"Oh. Doesn't sink at all."

"They say it spreads the weight over a wider surface. Still, if sand builds up on top you start to sink again, so you have to knock it off now and then. Or so YouTube claimed."

The two men simply nodded.

"You two gear up as well. We have a long way to go."

"Yes, sir."

They had come as guides and specialists to offer advice and support, yet from the moment they arrived they had done nothing but receive help from a young actor. By now the thought barely registered. Taking orders from him felt completely natural.

They fastened the attachments in seconds and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠took positions ahead and behind Yeon-woo. If the team leader went down the game was over; no enemy contact could be allowed to put a round into him first.

"Let's move."

Crunch—crunch—

The steady rhythm of boots on sand filled the air.

"Oho. They had gear like that?"

John McCallan lounged on the sofa in the control room, legs crossed, stroking his chin as he watched the monitors. The screens showed the Korean team racing across the broad desert expanse at impressive speed.

The chief director beside him only shrugged, gesturing that he had no idea either.

"The military specialists stocked the equipment. You have to know what something is before you can choose it. Didn't Francis Bacon say it?"

"Knowledge is power?"

"Exactly."

A monitoring staffer suddenly shouted.

"Engagement in sector B-13!"

B-13 sat at the island's eight-o'clock position.

"Put it up."

Before McCallan finished speaking the feed switched to the fighting. Two teams faced each other from cover behind trees and rocks.

"Who versus who?"

"France and England."

"Oho."

From the Hundred Years' War that produced Joan of Arc all the way to Waterloo, which sealed Napoleon's fall, the Anglo-French rivalry had always crackled with sparks—not quite Korea-Japan or India-Pakistan, but close enough. For entertainment value they had deliberately placed England next to France and Korea next to Japan and China when assigning starting positions. Seeing England and France collide in ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the very first engagement was pure gold.

Both France and England had been overshadowed by the presence of Ryu Yeon-woo and Marco Banchero, yet each had finished the first round in the top five—fourth and fifth respectively—and their team leaders were ranking players.

In the standoff both sides had already taken two hits each; the balance remained razor-tight.

England opened fire again. France answered. In the chaos one of the French specialists hurled himself into the thick tree line at the forest edge. England spotted him late and poured fire, but covering fire from the rest of the French team, still sheltered behind rock, was so fierce that only a single round found its mark.

"Damn it. One target just left our sight. We need to relocate before they get our flank!"

The English team's urgent voice crackled over the control-room speakers.

Even with a numerical edge after one man slipped away, charging from cover-to-cover was suicide. Now that a second enemy position had gone dark, the tactical disadvantage was obvious. If the player who vanished into the trees circled around and hit them from behind, they would be caught in a crossfire with nowhere to go.

Then the English team leader's flustered voice came through the speakers.

"Relocate? Fall back? What do we do?"

He had plenty of experience with airsoft survival games, but this fight was on another level. The special rounds produced gunfire nearly identical to the real thing, and both ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠teams were packed with professionals; the tempo was too fast to track.

"Left or right—just pick one! We have to move now!"

The sharp reports of gunfire slammed into trees in every direction, reflecting and diffracting until the sound seemed to come from everywhere at once.

"Oh—right!"

Ears ringing, rattled further by the specialist's barked urgency, the English team leader finally chose right. It was the last decision he ever made.

Bang—!

Rat-tat-tat—!

Clutching his spinning head as he ran, the English team leader took an undignified spray of rounds in the backside and crumpled.

Every smartwatch on the island chimed with the alert.

England's Player A was out—meaning their team leader was gone.

With their leader eliminated, the remaining English players had nothing left to lose. Even if they survived until the next strategy phase, the entire team would be wiped. The French player who had circled into the forest no longer mattered.

Two English veterans charged straight at the remaining French pair still behind the rock. A man with nothing left to protect is the most dangerous kind of opponent.

One of them was dropped before he reached the rock; the other used the interval to plant a boot on the stone and vault over the top.

"Hup!"

Rat-a-tat-tat—!

At point-blank range both sides simply hosed fire; whose rounds struck first was impossible to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠tell.

Then the messages arrived in rapid succession.

Reading the sequence, the charging English veteran had fallen first; the second Englishman who reached the rock eliminated the French teammate; in that same heartbeat the French team leader finished the last Englishman.

The entire exchange happened so fast that England, France, and the control room all fell silent.

"…How many lives does the French team leader have left?"

"Player France-A currently has one life remaining."

An early engagement fought while both teams still possessed full lives and full supplies always exacted a heavy toll. France had won the fight, yet lost one teammate, and their leader's last life was hanging by a thread.

"Reward team. Are the rewards ready?"

The table directors who had been conferring nodded.

"We intended to issue a first-kill reward, but that player was already eliminated before he could claim it. We'll award only the team-wipe bonus for completely eliminating England."

McCallan waved them to handle it as they saw fit and sat back down.

In the aftermath of the brutal fight, the French team leader sat dazed while the teammate who had circled for the rear attack returned. Then the French leader's smartwatch chimed.

At least that much was fortunate. They had lost one teammate, but the team leader no longer stood on the brink of elimination.

Watching the kill logs stack up one after another on his smartwatch, Yeon-woo felt the reality of Survival Island settling back into place.

"Looks like they tore each other apart."

The most terrifying-looking man on the team delivered the line in a quiet, almost casual tone that would have frozen anyone else's blood. Park Jung-hyeon's muttered observation made Kim Su-hyeok open his own smartwatch to check the logs.

"Early engagements really are a bad idea. Heading straight for the center was an excellent call."

While the control room remained glued to the England-France bloodbath, Yeon-woo and his team had kept running and reached the island's center.

They unclipped the sole attachments from their tactical boots and surveyed the ground. Up close the "center" was less a mountain than a low hill—much like the oreum volcanic cones common on Jeju Island. Aside from a few scattered trees there was almost no usable cover; any team still en route would find the first arrivals holding an absolute advantage.

"You two wait here a moment."

Both men tilted their heads.

"Where are you going?"

Kim Su-hyeok's question earned a simple nod from Yeon-woo. No other team could possibly have reached this far yet, so why the sudden departure?

Regardless of Su-hyeok's confusion, Yeon-woo pulled something from his pack. Su-hyeok's expression grew even more puzzled.

"…Lacquer spray?"

During the run a faint rattling had come from Yeon-woo's rucksack; neither man had guessed it was spray cans. The label read "Tactical Camouflage Spray," but it was essentially ordinary lacquer paint.

"Stay put. I'll be right back."

With that he left the rucksack behind, took only the spray and the operations pad, and trotted off. The lamp at the top of the operations pad immediately flipped from green to red—the warning that the team leader had moved more than thirty meters from his teammates and needed to return.

During strategy time it turned green when we separated; now it works the opposite way.

Still, the distance display continued to update faithfully.

Exactly one hundred meters from Kim Su-hyeok. Yeon-woo began spraying broad marks across the ground. He repeated the process at fifty-meter intervals out to three hundred meters.

Watching through the scope of his sniper rifle, Kim Su-hyeok clicked his tongue in admiration.

"He's using the operations pad to pre-mark exact ranges for my sniping."

The man truly found ingenious uses for every tool he was given. With the board laid out this thoroughly, anyone who stepped inside that three-hundred-meter circle was already as good as dead.