The Perfect Strategy
Players write guides. And they read them.
Not long after the game launched, small tips started popping up one by one on community sites, and as they piled up, those tips turned into full-blown guides.
Why do players write guides or tips like that?
Some probably feel proud about discovering some new uncharted territory.
Others crave the attention.
And some might just genuinely want others to enjoy the game more easily—a pure act of kindness. A single "Thanks!" comment on a hard-earned tip can feel pretty rewarding.
—But every once in a while, there's that one guy who crunches the numbers thoroughly and writes a guide because he figures it'll pay off big.
"That's the Mammonism guild master?"
—Yeah, that money ghost. Sigh... Human psychology can be so damn simple sometimes.
If a guide on a massive player community site rockets to the top with overwhelming recommendations, becoming the best of the best, and its comment section is flooded with pure praise like "This is too good," "I was cured of cancer thanks to this guide"—what happens then?
—People start treating it like 100% trustworthy gospel. They swallow it whole as perfect truth. At that point, it's not just a guide anymore—it's the Bible.
Most online games, MMORPGs included, have competitive elements. People want to win when they compete, and tryhards especially burn for it.
—'Can't fall behind if everyone's doing it but me.' Boom, that's game over. Every single one of those readers will sell their coins without a second thought.
"Still, some people play without reading guides, right?"
—That's why they have shitstains like that guy lurking, baiting them gently with quests.
"Whoa... that's insane."
Carpe let out a disbelieving chuckle.
Who could've imagined?
The beginner best guide, the beginner support guild, and the Ranged PK Squad—all masterminded by one person.
"But Cheonma hyung, how'd you even know about this?"
—About a year from now, someone who was briefly in Mammonism makes a full confession. He spills the beans after becoming a high-enough ranker to not fear their backlash. And the shocking truth? Those coins everyone dismissed as junk...
"Yeah?"
—Were essential materials for the guerrilla quest 'Junk Shop' that only appears in beginner cities.
"Guerrilla?"
Among the countless hidden pieces in RaSe, this guerrilla quest stood out as especially bizarre.
The quest NPC's spawn time and location changed every time.
—True to the name, it's an NPC that pops up guerrilla-style for a brief moment then vanishes. Spotting it is like chasing stars, but the rewards make it worth it.
The rewards were so juicy that even Mammonism Guild—the frontrunners of RaSe—went to the trouble of operating in beginner villages.
—Somewhere in the village, a shabby NPC called 'Junk Shop Old Man' appears, demanding coins to 'collect scrap.'
"How many?"
—Minimum one, maximum nine. Random.
"What? That sounds super easy?"
—Exactly why Mammonism was desperate to snatch every coin from other players. Even if a coin-holder stumbled on the Junk Shop by luck, they couldn't do the quest. It's first-come, first-served, one player only per spawn.
A quest where you don't know when or where the NPC appears, limited to one player on a first-come basis. Plus, it's one-time only per player—no repeats even if you've done it once before.
The bullshit conditions matched the sweet rewards—that's what made it a true guerrilla quest.
"Something that OP, and it's only coming up now...? Oh, right. I didn't have any coins."
—Yep. Now that you've lucked into some, I'm spilling.
"But even with coins, doesn't it mean much? The NPC spawns randomly in time and place, right?"
Having coins didn't guarantee shit if the NPC was random. Hell, it was a luck contest—and they had way more manpower, so he'd be at a disadvantage.
But Cheonma looked at Carpe like he'd said something stupid.
—Random? What're you talking about?
"No, just now you said..."
—I said the spawn location changes every time. Never called it random.
"Isn't that the same thing?"
—Totally different. If it changes every time but follows a fixed pattern?
"...Huh?"
—Eh, at this point in the game, it's no different from random. No way some weird pattern gets found half a year after launch.
Unless...
—A hardcore vet who's played over ten years through seven regressions might know.
Cheonma grinned as he said it. Carpe grinned back, his lips twitching like he was about to ascend to heaven.
—So, what's next?
"Obvious, isn't it?"
Carpe equipped the dropped wrist guards and continued.
"Gotta sweep up the rest of those coins."
—Go get 'em, Sonic! Eat every coin in this forest!
Carpe bolted off like a blue hedgehog at full speed.
The Ranged PK Squad. Or Wonpi Squad for short.
This group, formed about a month ago, had earned infamy in just three days.
As someone put it, "scum" fit them perfectly.
Most PKs start with trash talk and escalate impulsively. Or they're after gear or to check a rival faction.
But Wonpi Squad was different. They had no reason.
What items or power did beginner-zone players have? Killing noobs yielded zero real gains.
That's why they were scum.
Slaughtering innocent beginners just for "fun." At least, that's what most people thought.
But the truth was otherwise.
"Boss! Big trouble!"
"What? Spill it."
"Our guys are getting wrecked!"
"Sigh. Figures. Been too quiet lately."
Wonpi Squad leader Jeong Woo-hyuk took a deep drag on his cigarette, spat it out, and scratched his head irritably at the guy who'd called him.
"How many down?"
"Ten so far."
"Damn, that's a lot. How many bastards invaded to take out ten?"
"That's the thing... just one guy."
"...What?"
"You heard right. One guy. Solo."
"...Fuck, we're screwed. No wonder I had bad dreams last night."
"Your incident report's gonna be razor-sharp, huh."
"Shut it before I stab you with something sharp."
Jeong Woo-hyuk sighed deeply. If word reached the higher-ups that one guy wiped ten of theirs, it'd be more than a report—maybe even docked bonuses.
"Sigh. Got Heejin's first birthday next month. This is a total clusterfuck."
"Whaddya gonna do? Field agents like us roll with the punches. Me too."
"Quit if it's so dirty. That invader's gotta be an alt, right?"
"Wiping ten solo? Pretty much confirmed."
Last Savior had no sub-characters. One account, one character via iris scan.
So "alt" in RaSe meant deleting your main—everything—and starting over.
"Bourgeois bastards' brains are beyond me. Would you drop cash on an alt?"
"Am I shot in the head? That buys a mid-size sedan."
RaSe had a gacha at tutorial start. To curb gacha-reset grinding, it slapped two harsh penalties on alts.
First: Cash.
First character free. Second onward: $40K USD—about 50 million KRW. Third: 100 million. Fourth: 200 million. Doubles each time.
But the world was big, rich folks plentiful.
So RaSe added a second penalty: Stat reduction.
Second character: All stats -1%. Third: -2%. Fourth: -4%. Doubles progressively.
Super effective. Rankers bet their lives on 0.5% stat edges.
"Hurts at high levels, but level 10 fights? Barely notice."
"Yeah. That's why our guys got shredded so bad."
"Tch. Only one way, then."
If ten got steamrolled, the guy was a leveled highbie who deleted and restarted. Numbers wouldn't matter—experience gap too wide.
One way to counter an alt: Throw in your own.
Obvious, but their gig drew enemies. Sometimes newbie hordes, sometimes alts like this.
Wonpi Squad always pulled through. They had an ace.
The guild master's personally hired top ranker's alt.
The squad's last resort.
"Ugh, that guy's creepy."
"But he doesn't pull petty shit like Manager Lim. Skills are legit."
"True, but..."
"You think I like it? No clue what that guy's thinking..."
Whoosh!
Then a shadow landed behind them.
"I've heard the tale from others. 'Tis time for this humble one to step forth?"
"..."
"..."
The shadow wasn't your average player.
Tall, sleek black tights hugging his frame. Face mask showing only eyes. One word came to mind.
'Fuck. A ninja this time?'
'Can't these guys just play normal?'
They sighed inwardly. Headache already from the convo ahead.
"Hoo. The crescent moon wails—surely a formidable foe."
The ninja drew his wakizashi slightly from its sheath.
...A plain level-10 dagger.
"Why so silent? Do you not need this one's strength?"
"Ah, no! Spot on!"
"Just caught us off guard with the sudden entrance. Haha."
They straightened up. Looked ridiculous, but he was guild master direct—leagues above grunts like them.
Jeong Woo-hyuk opened cautiously.
"Uh, Sword Emperor sir..."
"Hanjo."
"Pardon?"
"You labor under a delusion, sirrah. This one is no Sword Emperor—merely Hanjo, the ninja."
"...Ah, yes. Hanjo-nim."
'Aish. Please.'
Peak chuunibyou.
Top skills, no harassment of underlings—but that's why they cringed.
Perfect guy minus the roleplay. But the RP was the issue. No play-along, no action. Maddening.
'Better than last concept, though.'
'Way better than demanding I bring a demon lord before the 'Orthodox Sword Emperor.'
Compared to that, this was tame. Jeong Woo-hyuk stayed tense anyway. Guy could bolt anywhere, anytime.
"Seems we must borrow Hanjo-nim's power."
"Understood. Entrust it to this one. At last, chance to repay old debts. Swiftly dealt with... Ghk?!"
Hanjo clutched his chest and dropped to one knee.
"H-Hanjo-nim?! What happened?!"
"Urgh. Naught serious. An old wound from my past life flared."
"Ah... I see."
Fuck. Past life my ass.
He ground his teeth.
Tough to talk straight, but no backing out. Refuse, and he'd clutch his chest all day.
"Uh, by past life, you mean your previous character before this one?"
"Hah, nay. That was but a fleeting illusion of falsehood. My true past life was a warrior of another world... Nay, you'd not comprehend."
'Should I just quit this shit?'
'Heejin-ah, Daddy earns money the hard way.'
Hanjo rose smoothly, gazing wistfully at the sky.
"A fine moonlit night to die."
The sky was brighter and bluer than ever.