The Limit of My Patience (2)

Swarms of reporters closed in.

"That was really close! Congratulations on the first clear!"

"You've claimed the first-clear title that no one saw coming—what's your take on it?"

"Was there anything different about this rift compared to the usual ones?"

Berserker's guild master, Leoni, gave a curt reply.

"No comment."

The reporters flinched at her response.

"...Pardon? What do you mean by that?"

It wasn't just kicking away a stroke of luck that had rolled in—it was like smashing it over the fence with a baseball bat!

The attention on this new rift was off the charts. One word from Leoni could send Berserker's stock soaring, not to mention elevate her home country, Germany's, standing in the world.

"Don't speak English? Means I got nothin' to say."

No comment, though? And that expression on her face was far from normal. Her furrowed brow made her look like an angry Pomeranian.

With Leoni digging in like that, the reporters had no choice but to back off. Time to chase interviews elsewhere.

"Sis, I get how you feel, but..."

"This fucking sucks."

"Boss, you could've at least said it nicely..."

"Ugh, I'm such a fucking moron!!"

Leoni wailed at her guildmates' words. She hated this situation.

Because Berserker hadn't earned the first clear on their own merits.

Even thinking back on it now, she couldn't wrap her head around it.

Leoni turned to a guildmate trailing behind her. "That guy—wasn't wearing any jewelry or anything, right?"

"Nah. If he'd had earrings or a ring with a suit like that, it would've stood out big time."

"Crazy... how the hell did he stay fine?"

The reason Berserker pulled off the first clear? It was all thanks to that man.

A mysterious figure whose class was unknown—he'd drawn all the aggro from the demonkin!

What kind of monsters were demonkin? The type that relentlessly inflicted status ailments at every opportunity.

"No gear advantage, and he tanked that shit? How?"

Hallucinations, auditory hallucinations, illusions... Without a priest's buffs or mental resistance gear, you'd fall into status ailments in no time.

Yet that man, without any of it, had pulled aggro from hundreds of demons and come out unscathed.

"...Damn it, anyway, sorry everyone. I was a total fucking idiot."

Leoni apologized to her guildmates. If that man hadn't drawn the aggro, there would've been serious casualties by now—because of her charge command.

"Sis, we're berserkers. Crazy bitches."

"We die on the battlefield. That's our motto, right?"

"Boss, don't try to act all cool. It doesn't suit you."

Yeah, that foul-mouthed pep talk fired her up. Leoni shook off her self-recrimination.

"...But where'd he go?"

"Chatted with the reporters right after we popped out, then just bounced."

"...Huh? He just left?"

This was unexpected. Leoni had figured the man would strut in front of the reporters.

He'd been wearing a suit and dress shoes during combat, after all. With that kind of concept, he'd surely bask in the spotlight.

And he'd performed, too...

No comment. That was why Leoni ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠had zipped her lips about the first clear. Without him, they'd still be fighting for their lives inside the rift.

She'd graciously yielded the spotlight out of conscience.

"...But he just left?"

Her doubts grew. Then one guildmate pointed.

"Oh, over there. He talked to those folks and split."

There stood the reporters, shoulders slumped.

"Haa. I'm so dead with my senior."

The camera director sighed heavily. Then someone tapped his ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠shoulder.

Tap-tap—

"?"

He turned and freaked out. What the—is that a goddess? No, it's Leoni?!

She'd clearly said no interviews earlier.

I don't know what's going on, but... score! I'll snag a Leoni interview. Exclusive! Instead of getting chewed out, I might even get praised.

But it was the camera director who ended up getting interviewed.

Leoni asked in English, "Nationality."

"Pardon? M-Me?"

Nod—

"Uh, Yoon Jongmin from VBC News, Republic of Korea."

...Or should it be Jongmin Yoon? Yoon Jongmin stammered in broken English.

Players had it easy. They could communicate freely with each other. Arcana characters overlaid on them came with Arcana's translation abilities, naturally.

Gotta do the interview in English somehow?

As Yoon Jongmin agonized, Leoni turned to leave.

He panicked. If he lost Leoni too, he was done.

Pouring his soul into his tongue, he pleaded, "Please, just one word! Pleeease!"

Did his desperation get through? Leoni turned back.

"So Korea's got more than just Gaon."

"...Pardon? What do you mean?"

Leoni shrugged.

The assault on Viscount Ascura was just beginning.

I don't wanna piss off that suit guy.

There was good reason for skipping the interview. One wrong word could sour relations—and that would be disastrous.

...Saying it like that made it sound off, huh?

No, I mean, it's not like I wanna be buddies or anything.

Turning a monster like that into an enemy? Unthinkable.

So Leoni kept it short.

"No comment."

*

Gaon's base camp.

Steam rose from a cup of instant ramen.

Taemin and Cheolmin, the Nam brothers, were watching Leoni's interview.

"What the hell? Who's she mocking?"

Nam Taemin was pissed.

It had been a razor-thin margin. With Nam Cheolmin's joining and his analysis, Gaon had cleared the rift at breakneck speed. Unlike Shining, no guildmates fell to status ailments.

So he'd thought they could really compete for first clear.

But then.

"Claims first clear and talks shit? What?"

Berserker out of nowhere. He wanted to know their secret, so he'd watched the interview...

"'Korea's got more than Gaon'..."

"That's all she said. No gloating or anything."

"Something's definitely up."

The sharper one, his brother Nam Cheolmin, continued.

"Looks like they ran into a Korean player in the rift."

"...What? Who? Shinwa guys maybe?"

World rank 5, Gaon. World rank 41, Shinwa. Korea's top two guilds had a clear gap.

If it was about Shinwa, that'd complicate things.

Nam Cheolmin shook his head. "Nah, Shinwa's still tackling their rift. They entered late—dragged in some hired mercs."

"Good... I mean, who the hell is she talking about?"

"Exactly. No clue."

The nuance screamed "Korean player in the rift," but no comment on the details.

That was just Berserker and Leoni's side, though.

Nam Cheolmin slurped some ramen. "With all this attention? They won't stay quiet."

"Yeah. Their mouths are itching for it."

"Our job's simple. When that player reveals themselves, offer good terms and snag 'em. Investment's worth it."

Berserker guild, first clear on a new rift. Endorsed by their guild master, a Korean player.

Nam Taemin added, "And enough to make her name-drop Gaon?"

Individual or guild, better as allies than enemies.

The brothers aligned and dug in.

Slurp—

"Man, it was freezing out there, bro."

"What about me, just sitting outside? Thought I'd freeze solid."

"Nah, first time mid-clear I wanted to go home 'cause of the cold! Hell, I'd portal to Korea right now if I could."

*

...The cold was unbearable.

"Make way."

As he'd told the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠reporters.

"The limit of my patience."

He really couldn't take it anymore.

From Russia to Seoul, the Mage Tower.

Stepping out of the portal, he headed straight home.

No wonder Seoul land prices are insane.

Total travel time: barely 20 minutes. The tower had saved his life.

Unlike other players, he couldn't warm up at base camp.

Any longer in that cold, and frostbite might've claimed his toes.

Shhh—

A hot shower thawed his frozen body. He wanted to crash into bed right away.

But his body had other ideas.

He opened the fridge, prepped ingredients, and cooked a meal. No matter how tired, muscle loss was non-negotiable.

After eating, his mind finally cleared.

...That was close.

In the territory outskirts, that rift had exposed his shortcomings.

Hunting monsters with efficient magic was fine. But even efficient magic had mana limits.

My mana regen was pathetically low.

Obviously. Demon hunter class—nothing special about it. No mana regen skills, and he had no gear for it either.

In the end, his mana bottomed out mid-fight.

Without those other players, disaster.

He'd have thanked them if he knew who. A returning player after 12 years couldn't recognize others.

Still, the world had its redeeming qualities.

Thanks to them, levels up too.

Can't equip it yet, but...

New loot acquired.

His inadequacies remained unchanged.

But no regrets either.

Humility was an emotion foreign to Grandfell. Underestimation demanded proof. Overestimation? He made it reality.

Yes, to uphold that towering pride.

A pitiable soul doomed to suffer for it.

That was him.

He checked his quest log.

"Make them feel the fear of being hunted."

Still in progress.

Viscount Ascura. His performance hadn't instilled enough fear yet.

A realization that made perfect sense now.

So...

His gaze shifted to the repeat quest.

● Train your weakened body. (Repeat)

Time to roll.

With Viscount Ascura's rift assault ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠underway, no time to waste.

Multitasking required. Body and mind in tandem.

And today, he'd spotted the perfect research subject.

Players swinging weapons amid bandits.

Most eye-catching: the one dual-wielding swords.

Recalling her movements, he moved.

Grandfell's talents weren't limited to one domain.

"However, no matter the haste, tidying comes first."

Clink—

...Dishes first, then start.

.

.

.

The next day, he was grateful for his diligent nature.

The anchor's urgent voice blared from the speaker.