Chapter 63
Chapter 63
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 63
Chapter Title: Swamp of Grief
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The next afternoon, Yang Gil-sang asked.
“Are you sure about this?”
“About what?”
“That. Next year's E3.”
I looked up to see his serious face.
Wondering why, I didn't have to wait long for the answer.
“It's too soon.”
“Too soon?”
“Yes, think about it. We have about ten months until E3. No, it's even tighter if you consider the review and preparation process before the actual exhibition. We don't even have to look that far ahead. I understand Sona's visit is in less than half a year. I'm not confident we can get Hellic 3 to a playable demo state by then.”
He was telling me to reconsider accepting the proposal.
It was certainly a reasonable opinion.
Participating in E3 2013 was close to a gamble.
After all, if Hellic 3 showed a subpar performance there, we'd face a backlash and stumble right from the start.
But there was something Yang Gil-sang had overlooked.
In moments like this, it was clear that Hellic 3 was his first time developing a game.
“We're not making the whole thing, you know.”
“I know. The prologue and Chapters 1 and 2. I know that's all we have to show, but...”
“Then that makes it easier. Six months is enough.”
Since I said the development period was three years, he seemed to think the actual implementation would take that long.
But he was wrong.
The prologue chapter alone had already reached a state where it could be implemented.
From my personal experience, the two processes that took an exceptionally long time were the art, which required grinding away labor, and debugging, which was riddled with all sorts of variables.
Currently, the amount of work for those two core tasks had been drastically reduced.
For the art, the modeling for the early-game playable character, which had been the biggest hurdle, was complete, and we were now applying textures. For programming, we had already overcome a major ridge by implementing the basic combat system in the previous stage.
Simply put, the only remaining challenges for Rewind were map modeling and the various bugs that would appear after implementation.
“Of course, we might run into problems with debugging. Programming is the kind of thing where if the heavens are angry, there's no solution.”
“Then...”
“Even considering that, it'll be done in eight months at most.”
I couldn't provide concrete evidence for this conviction.
It was based on experience.
It's like how the elderly say their knees ache before it rains.
My experiences from my past life and the development experience I've gained in this one told me, 'For this volume and this level of performance, it will take about this long.'
In any case, that was the bottom line.
“We have to participate. It's too good of an opportunity. From now on, Hellic 3 needs its own marketing. There's a limit to how much we can ride on the coattails of the previous game's success. With three years until the planned release, Hellic 2 will have been erased from customers' minds. That means we'll have fewer assets to showcase in the AAA market.”
That's just how trends in this industry work.
The games that lead the trends change dozens of times a year, and each time, the previous trend becomes an 'old fad' and is forgotten by the public.
But right now, all we could put forward was that old fad.
We needed to generate new anticipation.
And that wasn't all.
“Furthermore, there are benefits to be gained beyond simple marketing intentions.”
“...What would that be?”
“It's an opportunity to improve Rewind's own performance capabilities. There's a big difference between having finished a game and not having finished one.”
It was easy to understand if I thought back to the production of Hellic 2.
Come to think of it, the situations were quite similar.
Especially the fact that we were creating a demo for a game exhibition.
“For most of the staff, this is their first time developing a game. They can't see the overall picture of the development process. I trust you understand the difference between knowing that and not knowing it. Now is the time for them to build experience.”
I could see Yang Gil-sang furiously crunching the numbers in his head.
The answer that came back was a sigh-filled affirmation.
“...If that's your will, President, then we'll do it. You know this industry better than I do, and above all, you're the final decision-maker.”
“Thank you for understanding.”
“I trust you. Development is entirely your domain.”
“Don't worry about that part.”
It seemed we had reached an agreement.
I started eating my chicken breast.
Yang Gil-sang asked.
“...By the way, what have you been eating?”
“My diet.”
“?”
“I'm working out.”
It was a struggle to forget the humiliating memory of my 100 total.
Of course, that day I was suffering from a debuff due to accumulated fatigue, which was why it was particularly low, but it still fell short of my goal.
“I need to get to a 200 total.”
When I returned to my normal condition and measured again, my total was 140.
Han Seo-rim's is 180.
...Shouldn't I at least be stronger than Han Seo-rim to save face?
“It's good that you're taking care of your health, but...”
Yang Gil-sang looked disappointed.
Come to think of it, besides me, there was no one else in the company to eat with him at that snack shop.
Feeling a little sorry for him, I said.
“...I'll go for bibimbap twice a week. I need a cheat day, too.”
Though I'm not sure you could call it a cheat.
“You promise?”
Yang Gil-sang's expression brightened, so I guess that was enough.
I decided not to dwell on the correlation between the taste of bibimbap and the word 'cheat'.
* * *
Establishing short-term goals is important.
Especially in a project like game development, where creating a single thing takes years, its importance couldn't be overstated.
Amidst this, the production of the demo began, spurred by a combination of external circumstances and our internal progress.
The prologue was already sent over to the QA department, and the next task was Chapter 1, designed for a two-and-a-half-hour playtime.
In mid-October, the map model arrived on my computer.
What appeared on the monitor was a sticky, blue-gray swamp, with desiccated trees rising from it.
A characteristic feature was the roots protruding from the swamp, tangled together like a messy ball of yarn.
“Woooow...”
Jo A-yun, who had pulled up a chair next to me, let her mouth hang open.
I could see a piece of chocolate in her mouth.
I gently lifted her chin with my index finger, and she clamped her mouth shut, mumbling the chocolate.
Only after swallowing it with a gulp did Jo A-yun speak.
“It's, it's amazing...! Oh! President, you have some chocolate too. Ah~!”
“It's okay, I'm on a diet.”
“Oh...”
Feeling sorry for her instantly crestfallen expression, I picked out the smallest piece and popped it into my mouth.
Jo A-yun's mood brightened immediately.
A sweetness so intense it felt sinful spread through my mouth.
Feeling guilty about letting it melt slowly, I swallowed it in one go.
Only then did I ask Jo A-yun about the map model.
“What do you think of the map?”
“Ah! It's really incredible...! It's like, sticky but clean... no, clear...? No...! Not that either, but anyway, it feels like I'm being pulled in...!”
Just as you'd expect from Jo A-yun, who was weak in Korean (actually, she was weak in all subjects), it was an assessment marked by atrocious expressive ability.
But she had grasped the core of it.
That, too, was her characteristic intuition.
A swamp that was sticky yet clear, transparently deep.
She had captured the keywords.
“Is this Chapter 1?”
“That's right. It's the place you see right after opening the first door in the temple.”
Jo A-yun took out a notepad and jotted down my words.
She was looking for sources for her sound design.
After scribbling for a while, Jo A-yun suddenly asked.
“Th-then, you know...!”
“Yes?”
“The BGM should be grand, right?”
When I tilted my head, Jo A-yun clenched her fists excitedly.
“I-I saw the monster models! The mummy-like desiccated monsters...! The protagonist has to defeat them, overcome the trial, and move on to the next place, right? The game is an action game! So it should be grand... Oh, since it's a swamp, how about a brass-based orchestra? Played stickily...”
Jo A-yun, full of enthusiasm, chattered on.
It seemed less like she was reciting a pre-determined idea and more like she was organizing fragmented information by weaving it together with words.
But the unfortunate fact was, Jo A-yun's guess was wrong.
“No, it needs to be gloomy. Hmm... yes, with a lingering, unpleasant aftertaste like this chocolate.”
“Huh...?”
“We need to create a dark atmosphere.”
As I tapped the monitor, Jo A-yun's head tilted to the side.
It was as if a question mark was floating above her head.
“...But it's an action game?”
“Yes.”
“The protagonist smashes everything...?”
“They don't smash things.”
Ah, right. I hadn't told Jo A-yun the full narrative of this game yet.
Belatedly realizing my mistake, I said.
“They can't smash things. Story-wise, the protagonists just have to make their way through here.”
“Huh...?”
I told Jo A-yun the key point she had missed.
“This is hell, you know.”
The setting of Hellic is hell.
The hell where those who have sinned go to be punished.
Of course, the standard for sin deviates from human law and ethics, but if I were to describe their journey solely within the definition of hell, one thing was quite clear.
“They're prisoners who have fallen into hell. They're here to be punished. How could they possibly destroy their prison? An escape, maybe, but not destruction.”
The protagonists of Hellic 3 are prisoners.
Prisoners could not destroy their prison.
The only thing they could attempt was to escape.
Following that context, their story essentially unfolds as a 'prisoner's escape attempt.'
'Of course...'
Whether they succeeded was another story.
I was reminded of that moment.
Doing so, I became certain of one thing again.
'As I thought.'
The Hell of War was one of the most unpleasant hells I had ever visited.
* * *
The Hell of War, in a temple on the outskirts.
The soldier who had just taken over Napoleon's body and the other three had just passed through an empty corridor.
—There's a door.
There stood a stone door covered in red writing in an unknown language.
The Paladin spoke.
—It could be an ominous symbol of devil worship. Is this the work of witches?
The Soldier replied.
—There are no such things as witches in this world. Witch hunts are a terrible atrocity.
—What?! You defend witches! I see! You're a pawn of the witches too!
—What kind of absurd...
—Enough. This is not the time for such squabbles.
The Spartan mediated.
He seemed a rather wise man.
He tried to preach that discussion was needed more than fighting, and,
—First, let's exchange information...
*Rumble!*
He failed.
Because the Barbarian had taken the opportunity to open the door.
—Unknown place. Go see, then know.
At the Barbarian's physically-backed opinion, the Paladin cried out in despair.
—You lowly brute!!!
—Noisy one. I'll rip your mouth.
Another fight was about to break out.
This time, the Soldier and the Spartan separated the two and stopped the fight.
—Enough! Whatever it is, the door is open! And have you forgotten? We had to go that way anyway!
The Soldier was right.
Although it was due to the Barbarian's unilateral action, the door was already open.
Since they had to go that way eventually, the less hesitation, the better.
Once he made them realize this, even the Paladin quickly calmed his excitement, and the four of them turned their gazes beyond the door.
I, too, looked at the same place.
It was a sight so alien and astonishing that it washed away the tense atmosphere from the preceding argument.
—A swamp!
—Was a swamp always that bluish color?
—I do not know. But there was nothing like this in Sparta.
—...The same for me. I thought I knew every corner of the world, but I've never seen anything like this.
A swamp where blue-gray mud sloshed, and despite the ground being so saturated with moisture, the trees rising from it were desiccated.
The tree roots draped over the water's surface were all chaotically intertwined, making it impossible to tell their beginnings or ends, and the blowing wind was filled with a chill.
Of course, there was nothing outwardly unsettling about it.
If it weren't for one single element, it would have been merely a strange and gloomy scene.
It was the Soldier who pointed out the oddity.
—...I thought the temple we entered was in the middle of a wasteland.
The place they had run to after escaping the battlefield, the temple where they had fought and formed an alliance, was certainly in a wasteland.
I knew because I had followed them.
But opening the door of the temple revealed a swamp.
Wasn't it too unsettling to be an exit? It was as if the space had been cut out and attached inside the temple.
They couldn't bring themselves to advance easily.
But they didn't stop either.
—...Let's move.
The Soldier cocked his rifle with a click and slowly walked forward.
The other three also moved with their weapons at the ready.
They naturally formed a line.
They walked not through the swamp, where who-knows-what lurked below, but on the endlessly tangled tree roots.
How much time passed like that?
At that time, as I was just getting used to observing hell, I thought.
'What's going to come out?'
As far as I knew, no space in hell was wasted.
That world, which pulsed as if the space itself had a will, placed a punishment for the prisoners in every space they were sent to.
In other words, this swamp was also some kind of terrible punishment for them.
The first anomaly I considered was the sudden appearance of a warden.
Or a monster emerging from the swamp.
However, my predictions were wrong.
Hell, as always, came up with a more creative display than I had anticipated.
—Ah...
*Creeak—*
The voice came from a desiccated tree.
—Wh-what is that!
The Paladin held his sword and shield close to his body.
The Barbarian let out a low, guttural growl of caution.
The Soldier had already shouldered his rifle, and the Spartan just stared blankly at the tree.
My reaction was closest to the Spartan's.
I mean, I just stared blankly at the tree.
—Whe-whe-when are you co-co-coming...?
With a creaking sound, a face sprouted on the tree.
It was the face of a child.
A voice that overlapped into many due to the vibration, two knotholes in the shape of eye sockets, and a discharge seeping from them.
If one looked closely at that discharge, one would realize something.
'Ah.'
The fluid flowing from the tree's eyes was the same blue-gray mud that covered the swamp floor.
A sudden anomaly, an appearance from an unexpected place.
The four of them, their guard raised to the maximum, stared at the tree.
—What in the world is that...?
—...How would I know.
However, their deliberation did not last long.
The tree gave them a surprisingly direct answer.
—Da-da-daddy... when are you co-co-coming?
The face on the tree grew gaunt and withered.
At that moment, the faces of the four men hardened.
As if that one phrase had made them recall something terrible.
—Th-that thing...!
—Mo-mo-mommy, da-da-daddy, whe-whe-when are you co-co-coming?
I had no way of knowing what thoughts the talking tree evoked in them.
Only their pale complexions indirectly hinted at their inner turmoil.
But a complete understanding was not impossible.
You could call it the power of background knowledge. When I stepped back a little and viewed the scene as a whole, a certain picture became visible.
—What are you doing! Does anyone have fire?! Let's burn it! We must burn that ominous thing!
They were soldiers who had left a battlefield.
—Da-da-daddy, you're not co-co-coming today either...?
The voice coming from the tree's mouth is that of a child waiting for their father.
—I said we have to burn it! Doesn't anyone have fire!!!
—Ughhhhh...
This swamp, with the soldier and the tree, is hell.
Hell is a place that houses sinners and metes out their punishment.
'...Ah.'
The puzzle pieces began to fall into place on the board.
As they were slowly fitted together, a picture was completed.
And, the moment it was complete, there was an answer that hell imparted to me.
A whisper carved words into my brain.
'The Swamp of Grief.'
This was a place that showed someone who participated in war the grief tied to the lives they had taken.
It was meant to stimulate their guilt.
Every element that constituted the space served that purpose.
The swamp was created from the overflow of grief that flowed from the tree's eyes.
Just as a person overwhelmed by a desperate wait, a heart-gnawing sorrow, and a despair that robs them of their legs to stand on might cry until they've expelled all the moisture from their body.
The tree was shedding grief to the point that its own body was drying up.
The tangled roots represented causality.
The malice carried by the soldier's sword killed an enemy, and the process of that malice reaching the enemy's surviving loved ones and turning into grief was embodied by the tangled, yarn-like roots.
The four men would see their own sins through the tree.
In other words, the tree would look to them like a mummy that had shriveled up, consumed by grief caused by them.
The moment they realized it, they were already sunk in the swamp.
The only thing they could do was flail, so to sum up this swamp, I'd say.
'Vicious.'
That was my judgment.
—N-no...!
The Paladin, at the end of his fit, finally took a step back.
And as he tried to flee, tragedy struck.
*Crack!*
One of the tangled roots on the ground shot up.
*Thrust!*
It pierced the Paladin's heart.
The Swamp of Grief (2)