Black Monkey Duel

I'd logged in at dawn, so by the time I made it back I'd spent a good long while getting knocked around in the Black Monkeys' territory. Warm rice and kimchi stew were waiting when I got home.

"Meat'll be ready in a minute. Go wash up."

Kim Sujeong said it while doing her best to hide a worried look. One glance at Ruru's face, still crammed full of fuss, and I could guess what she'd been thinking — that it hadn't been an easy fight. She did this every time, but an A- rank monster out of a level 2 biome was probably reason enough. From Kim Sujeong's side of things, we were lashed to the same fate: the moment I died, there was no going back to Earth. Of course she was anxious.

"How'd it go? Did it ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠go okay?"

"I've got to beat them until they'll work as slaves, so it's going to take a while."

I went ahead and explained even the parts I wasn't sure were worth explaining. Talking it through over a meal wasn't hard, and for someone waiting in the cabin — working through the fear of not knowing what had become of me — this much was only fair.

"...Huh?"

"Three Goblings already died on us, and we needed the manpower anyway, so it works out. Black Monkeys have good physiques. If I can take them on as slaves, I'm taking them."

"Ruru says the Black Monkeys are A- rank monsters. You're sure that's fine?"

"Through the level 2 biome, at least, they didn't look all that dangerous."

"Really? God. And here I was worrying for nothing because Ruru got in my head."

Only then did Kim Sujeong break into a bright smile and let out a sigh of relief. I put an appropriate amount of tension back into her.

"Don't get too comfortable. In Farming World, getting wiped out by some S+ rank monster that showed up out of nowhere — not a soul the wiser — is an everyday thing. You know if I die, you're rotting here for the rest of your life, right? You've got one lousy C- rank ability. The second I drop, you're speedrunning the apocalypse."

"...I'm just gonna quit Farming Company. Let me out."

"Not a chance."

Ruru ate with a brighter face as well.

One way or another, the first day logged in had stumbled past in a jumble. This wasn't how I'd meant to spend it. The messy house, and everything I'd hauled in still dumped where I'd left it, made my head ache. At least the front yard had been cleaned up to some degree — the Goblings must have worked at it all day — so that was a mercy.

"Solar panels can wait until I've dealt with the monkeys."

The plan had been to install the solar panels the moment I arrived, hook up the fridge, and take it easy while I watched the dramas and movies I'd saved on the portable TV. Nothing to be done. This was everyday life in Farming World. I took it in stride and turned in early. Tomorrow would be packed from dawn, and I meant to sleep a full eight hours.

The rest buff was, you could say, the system Farming World used to give its users a reason they actually had to sleep.

Even in reality, plenty of people carved sleep — a basic human necessity — down to the bone just to eat well and live well. Why would a game be any different? In most games a tired character didn't make the player tired, so among the ones who were genuinely hooked and logging long hours, it was common to shave both their real-world sleep and their in-game sleep and just keep playing.

A game company had no particular reason to stop that. A user staying up to run their character meant they found the game fun and were playing it hard.

Farming World didn't work that way.

Farming World, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠which made such a point of "freedom," penalized you if your character failed to fill a mandatory six hours of sleep. Those six hours weren't pegged to a hard midnight-to-midnight line, either. The system was lenient: judged on a two-day basis, sleep you came up short could be made up the next day and still counted. That, too, was freedom.

Otherwise, fall asleep around ten and wake around four, and you hadn't slept six hours at all — by that day's count, only four. Keep a regular ten-to-four schedule and the two hours between ten and midnight would fill the six. Let the day's work run long and fall asleep at midnight instead, and that day the penalty was yours whether you liked it or not.

At any rate, Farming World and its six-hour sleep rule had even spawned the joke that it kept a person's daily routine more regular than real life did. So did that mean you absolutely had to sleep?

Not exactly.

It was freedom. Not sleeping was freedom, and sleeping was freedom. So long as you were willing to shoulder the penalty ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠yourself, the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠hours meant for sleep could be spent on farm work however you liked. Not sleeping didn't mean you'd suddenly keel over, or have your farm torn up.

So in practice, when a situation justified eating the penalty — no real threat from monsters, and farm work that needed your full attention — people did sometimes push through a few nights and work straight on.

The six-hour penalty was split into five stages, climbing one stage a day. Take it again the next day and it rose to stage two. Stage One cut mana recovery per minute by 5 percent and health recovery per minute by 30 percent. Stage Two dropped attack and defense by 10 percent. Stage Three dulled the senses by 30 percent. From Stage Four, one random stat fell a full rank. At Stage Five, three additional random stats dropped a rank, and from the day after that it simply kept going — three random stats down one rank apiece — until every stat was F-rank.

You might figure you wouldn't actually die just from never sleeping. According to users who had tested it, by the fourteenth day the stacked penalties inflicted Stun, forcing twelve hours of sleep and dropping the debuff by one stage. Which might sound like it solved things, except the debuff was still sitting there, so if it stacked again the next day you were right back at stage five. You could tell yourself that at least you wouldn't die — but unless you were a pervert, there was no reason to play while piling debuffs on yourself.

In the other direction, eight hours or more of solid sleep granted the opposite. For twenty-four hours, you received one buff drawn from mana recovery per minute +5 percent, health recovery per minute +30 percent, one random stat +1 rank, attack +10 percent, or defense +10 percent. Next to the debuffs, the buffs could feel a little stingy, but they were the reward for two extra hours of sleep, so the choice belonged to the user.

For my part, on days with an important dungeon clear or a fight against a boss, I'd sleep eight hours and try to roll a buff. The odds of pulling something actually useful were higher than they looked. Aside from health recovery per minute, which I had no use for where I stood now, every option earned its place in a fight. Land that single random stat at +1 rank, and it could do more for you than pouring tens of millions of dollars into gear.

So today, I'd slept eight hours.

"There it is."

Two extra hours of sleep?

I was starting to think it wasn't a bad trade after all. Originally this had been a single-player game I ran by myself, and two hours was enough time to get up, water the fields, scatter seed, and get a fair amount of growing done. Trading that for a grab bag of minor buffs, every single day? I'd decided it wasn't worth it, and I hadn't bothered. But the rift dimension wasn't single-player. It had to be treated as multiplayer.

In multiplayer I'd already brought Kim Sujeong in to handle the farming, and I could put the slaves to work on top of that, so I could hand down a few management orders and spend my time exploring. Spending two extra hours to pick up one buff was starting to feel like the profit. Those two hours were still a lot of time, of course, if you counted them as mapping. Even so, I no longer needed to underrate the eight-hour sleep buff the way I always had.

That was the thought.

S+ rank Strength, and S+ rank Agility. I set out for the Black Monkeys' territory with one resolution: beat them until they couldn't make those fierce, ear-splitting screeches anymore.

"Kik-kik. Human. Let us talk."

"...Huh?"

I wondered what S+ rank Strength would feel like. I'd set foot in the level 2 biome with a spring in my step, already certain today was going to be fun, and a Black Monkey was standing in front of me, striking up a conversation.

A conversation?

The Black Monkeys I knew were not a race that did anything of the sort. Crushing others with strength and taking what they wanted — that was the nature of the species, and the attitude they took toward every other race. It held for the strong and the weak alike.

And they wanted to talk?

"Talk about what?"

"Kik... Human, I acknowledge you. You are strong. But you are a coward. Let us duel, fair and square."

"What kind of fucking retarded sh—"

I was right in the middle of asking what kind of fucking retarded shit he thought he was spouting, when—

"We're doing it. The duel. Fair and square."

A justification had been handed to me.