Chapter 120
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 120
Chapter Title: Impossible? Is that something you eat?
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[Team 1: Cheonhwa Department Store cleared. Eliminated two entities. Requesting next orders.]
[Team 2: Heukryong Noodles cleared. Eliminated one entity. Five moderately injured being tended to. Will report when done.]
[Teams 3 and 4: Engaging at Xiao Market. Two entities spotted. Will wrap up within 10 minutes.]
[Team 5: Heukryong Bank...]
[Team 6...]
A room packed with countless monitors.
Modeled after Hotel Leviathan's situation room, the place was now buzzing with as many calls and reports as Leviathan itself.
Three key differences stood out.
First, these were reports from Infinity Guild, not the Black Dragon Clan.
Second, not a single one requested backup or sounded an emergency alarm.
Third, a lone figure oversaw it all.
"Team 1, stand by for potential follow-up assaults. Guardian System has detected new intruders."
"Team 2, head to Sahwa Pavilion as soon as cleanup's done."
"Teams 3 and 4..."
It was a display of classical multitasking.
The cross-dressing woman barking orders non-stop—enough to rival the chaos of Asura's three heads and six arms—was Wailing. In her mind:
'Sword Duke, next time I see you, you're dead.'
She'd already spent days and sleepless nights cleaning up after Rimon's abrupt security contract with Infinity Guild.
And just recently, she'd added an emergency response protocol to the Guardian System on top of that.
Now saddled with wartime command duties too.
She'd nearly keeled over from overwork, and she was still in the thick of it. A perfectly valid grudge.
'If I actually drop dead from exhaustion, it'll be a disgrace for generations.'
Yet her flawless handling of it all proved why only Wailing could pull it off—her sheer competence.
Just coordinating the situation now would've overwhelmed three or four people.
'...Still, thanks to that, we made it through the crisis.'
Wailing had practically built and now commanded the Guardian System single-handedly.
That's why she knew.
The grueling prep she'd poured herself into had saved the teetering affiliates and clan branches from collapse.
And it was all thanks to Rimon.
Securing that security contract with Infinity Guild had been impossible on paper.
Without one of the top ten guilds like Infinity, no amount of massive guilds could've handled this mess.
Even now, claiming full control was a stretch.
'Our contracted affiliates are stable at least, but the rest...'
Wailing frowned at the monitors linked to Leviathan's situation room, checking unsecured affiliates via Guardian.
Only Guardian-contracted spots had improved.
The others were still locked in bloody fights against Ryu Gangcheol's clones.
'No support possible.'
Her judgment was ice-cold.
The contract covered only Guardian-registered affiliates.
No extra deal, no help from Infinity Guild for other Black Dragon branches—even fellow clanmates.
Even if they did, it wouldn't work.
'Not enough manpower to cover everything.'
Infinity Guild wasn't infinite.
Meanwhile, Ryu Gangcheol's clones respawned endlessly, assaulting affiliates no matter how many you killed.
Dispersing forces to aid non-contracted sites risked letting contracted ones fall—totally counterproductive.
Those level 80 murder ghosts were that tricky.
Only level 60+ high-rankers or equivalents could even fight them properly.
'Three times our current force... no, at least double. Anything less is futile.'
Calculating the bare minimum to protect all affiliates, she shook her head.
Even if only partial forces, facing Ryu now were Seven Dragon Society's strike teams and Infinity's raiders.
Nation-level elites.
No way to muster more on the spot without days of prep.
[Hey, fake smartass.]
Then it came.
A single comm slipped in amid the flood of reports—she nearly missed it but caught it just in time. Frowning for a different reason now.
"Contacting me now? What the hell have you been doing amid all this?"
[Save the chit-chat. Plot me a route and send it over.]
"What route?"
[Uncontracted affiliates. Fastest path starting from the most endangered.]
Out of left field.
But grasping the intent, Wailing wore a strange expression.
"...You're saying you'll handle all the other affiliates solo?"
[Nah, not handling. Just thought I'd swing my sword for fun while taking a stroll.]
"Impossible."
She cut it off flat.
Of course she knew Rimon was strong.
Strong enough to dismantle via phone advice alone.
In person? Thirty exchanges tops, ten at shortest—to finish Ryu Gangcheol.
But that assumed one Ryu, one spot, one kill ends it.
Dozens confirmed already, zombies popping up endlessly. No one could solo-block them all.
[Yeah, for normal folks, sure.]
Shockingly agreeable.
Numbers were the ultimate unfairness—like ten hands beating one.
[But fake smartass, I'm no normal guy.]
With one caveat.
[I'm a Sword Master.]
"..."
Exceptions always existed in the world.
And Sword Masters were them, he declared.
Wailing fell silent hearing it.
Not stunned by his arrogance piercing the heavens, delivered so brazenly.
If anything, the opposite.
Why his absurd claim felt plausible—that rattled her sanity.
"Sending it soon. Wait up."
[Good. I expect great things.]
"..."
Conversation over, apparently.
Rimon hung up lightly.
Wailing busied her hands plotting the route, muttering absently.
"Expect great things, huh."
She knew.
That "expectation" was pure faith in his ability.
Rimon trusted no one in Seven Dragons—not even the intel she'd send. He'd filter, judge, act solo.
Yet that line stirred odd pride. Proof she wasn't right in the head.
'All his fault.'
After fighting Ryu with Rimon's phone coaching...
Wailing had changed.
Close her eyes, swords appeared.
So she'd grip one whenever free.
But no swing satisfied.
Never replicated his coached strikes, that ecstatic thrill.
Each swing deepened the thirst, yet she couldn't stop—an endless hell loop.
'If not for him...'
She should hate him.
Curse the one who shoved her into hell.
But no—yearning surfaced.
Sight alone recalled those swords, heart racing.
Loathed him viscerally, yet craved his sight.
Shunned talk, hungered for lessons.
To flee that contradiction, she'd dodged him busily since.
Yet one word—"expect"—shook her resolve.
'Pointless worries.'
She shook her head.
No time for petty distractions now.
Beep-beep.
Even amid turmoil, she'd swiftly compiled affiliate data into a path and fired it to Rimon's communicator.
"...Still reckless no matter how you slice it."
Just following orders.
She remained skeptical.
The colder the logic, the less sense solo-saving all affiliates made.
Beep—
'Of course.'
A monitor mapping affiliates.
The first red dot flipped green abruptly.
But disappointment hit her.
'Too late.'
From her intel to first clear: about three minutes.
Blazing fast for rushing a level 80.
Not fast enough.
Dozens of critical sites.
Even at three minutes each, by four clears, the rest would be bloodbaths.
'What was I even expecting?'
Scoffing at her letdown over the obvious.
She forced focus off Rimon.
Back to commanding Infinity, safeguarding contracted sites.
Or trying to.
Beep—
'Already?'
Under two minutes.
Another red to green.
'Second one just closer?'
She analyzed: faster than expected, geography, luck.
Until then, she'd stayed cool.
Beep—
'Again?'
One minute flat.
No excuse explained that slash in time.
Wailing's brows shot up.
But just the start.
Beep-beep—
Beep-beep-beep—
Beep-beep-beep-beep-beep—!
"...!?"
Fifty seconds. Thirty. Fifteen. Ten.
Times shrinking relentlessly.
The board neon-flooding green like night signs, alerts blaring too fast.
'What... is this?'
Under ten minutes total.
Forty percent of red-clogged map now green. She swallowed.
Even space-skill high-rankers couldn't chain long jumps this absurdly.
Non-player Rimon blinking across dozens of kilos, saving sites.
This felt more like a virus or hack glitching the board—a million times more plausible.
But Wailing rejected that.
Couldn't.
Rimon's calm claim.
His lesson's memory.
This heart pounding.
All screamed truth—no error. His doing.
So staring bewildered at the board, she muttered:
"What the hell are you up to, you mad Sword Master?"