Chapter 3
[Match Format: 1-on-1 Solo Match]
[Match Type: Japan Amateur League Match]
[Victory Condition: Eliminate Opponent]
[Map: Silent Downtown (Small)]
[Current Spectators: 1,042]
[Matchup: 2,749 vs 8,674]
This time, the arena was the heart of a city plunged into darkness.
Thanks to the ambient light leaking from office windows and the scattered streetlamps, making out my surroundings wasn’t particularly difficult.
“…!”
I threw myself into a roll, evading an incoming projectile.
An arrow embedded itself deep into a street tree.
The opponent was an archer.
Whether the guy was professionally trained or merely a versatile combatant who chose a bow to exploit this particular map remained to be seen.
The important takeaway was that he had opted for a fight built around concealment, mobility, and guerrilla skirmishing.
I slipped into a shadow-draped alley without delay.
A bow was notoriously hard to master.
I had handled one myself in the past, given that few weapons could rival it for quietly eliminating a mark.
Because of that experience, I understood the present danger better than anyone.
An arrow loosed from the dark was lethal even to a battle-hardened mercenary.
In an urban cityscape, the danger compounded into a nightmare.
Streetlights, neon signs, and indoor illumination mixed together, casting erratic, overlapping shadows everywhere.
On top of that, an urban landscape was a vertical battlefield.
Simply pinpointing a direction wasn’t enough to isolate the archer’s exact perch.
This vertical layout clearly favored him as the hunter, threatening to reduce me to helpless prey.
Breaking out of the alley, I sprinted along the main boulevard.
Accompanied by a sharp crimson tracer, an arrow grazed past me and skipped violently across the asphalt.
Thanks to that shot, I had a rough bead on his position.
Eight o’clock relative to the tallest skyscraper.
Factoring in typical bow effective range, he had to be within two to three hundred meters.
I shifted into a zigzag sprint, tracing back along the projectile’s trajectory.
Hunting a sniper followed a simple principle.
They always clung to a safe zone: a vantage point offering clear line of sight, a guaranteed escape route, and stable wind conditions.
Several spots satisfied those criteria, but near my position, only one made sense.
Closing the distance, I deliberately tossed stones and rapped the flat of my blade against concrete walls, producing rhythmic noise.
It was bait designed to force him to shift his hide.
Right then, a crimson tracer zeroed straight between my brows.
“…!”
Reflexively, I snapped my head aside.
The arrowhead slammed into the concrete wall, spraying pulverized cement across my face.
Beyond the cloud of dust, I caught sight of a man clad in a dark gray hooded jacket over a tactical vest fitted with light ballistic plates.
“…Tch!”
Exposed, the archer leaped down from the billboard platform and ducked into an adjacent high-rise.
He was evidently looking to exploit the complex interior to set up a secondary shooting nest.
There was just one thing he had failed to account for.
Concealment, close-quarters chaos in cramped quarters, and tracking happened to be my bread and butter.
Without hesitation, I took the stairs of the building the archer had entered.
Carrying a wide array of secondary gear might grant versatility across varied situations, but it exacted a steep toll in mobility.
The moment I fixed his position, the archer had practically surrendered his back.
I passed the fifth floor. Just as I moved to ascend toward the sixth…
“…”
A thin smile crossed my lips beneath the mask.
A crisp red trajectory line intersected my vision.
Even before his blade fully thrust forward, my sword was already waiting at the exact point of impact.
Deflecting his sword aside, I drew a combat knife with my free left hand and buried it deep into his thigh.
“Guh…!”
Driving him straight down to the floor, I pinned his left arm under my right knee and leveled the point of my sword at his chest.
Brows furrowing against the agony, the archer’s lips trembled.
“Sasuga… uwasa no toori da. Yokereba waga girudo ni konaika? Saikou kurasu no taiguu o yakusoku shi…”
What was he rambling about?
Knowing only rudimentary Japanese, I simply drove the blade home.
“Tch… H-Hito ga hanashiten da…”
The gruesome sensation of steel parting bone traveled up through my palm.
After a brief, violent tremor, the man went limp.
At the same moment, a notification window materialized before my eyes.
[Defeated Participant 8,674.]
[Victory!]
“…Ugh, eyes are burning. Strained too hard, maybe.”
Stepping out of the capsule, Go Taemin let out a long breath.
He was drenched in sweat from head to toe.
They said nobody actually died in the arena, but combat remained combat.
Every single match took an immense toll on his stamina.
Considering that live mercenary contracts rarely involved actual firefights more than two or three times a week at most, Nova Arena imposed a brutal environment on its participants.
More than that…
Through the first three days, the competition had stayed roughly even.
Now, every opponent he drew matched or exceeded the samurai he had fought on day one.
As Go Taemin puzzled over the sudden spike in difficulty, Chae Geonuk rolled his office chair across the floor and spoke up.
“You out? Time to eat. What do you want?”
“Bulgogi burger.”
Chae Geonuk grimaced in sheer exasperation.
“Burgers again? Eat some variety, kid.”
“I am varying it.”
Shrimp burger for lunch yesterday.
Chicken burger for dinner, and a rice burger this morning.
When Taemin explained that breakdown, Geonuk’s expression soured even further.
Taemin tilted his head.
A hamburger was the ultimate meal.
The macro balance of carbs, protein, and fat was solid, the flavor was reliably consistent, and it packed high caloric density.
On top of that, you could eat it immediately without fuss.
Above all, it was cheap.
He couldn’t fathom why his senior disliked it so much.
“Damn it, now I have to order a burger too just to meet the delivery minimum.”
Geonuk vented his frustration while glaring at his phone screen.
Watching him, Taemin let out a dry chuckle.
Geonuk complained like this now, but back when they first crossed paths, the senior had been a rigid, by-the-book soldier.
Their first meeting had taken place at a makeshift forward operating base near the Cameroonian jungle, marked by Geonuk’s frosty, formal salute.
Back then, Go Taemin was an operative belonging to the 9th Operations Unit, an outfit that recruited only a fraction of a percent from within the Defense Intelligence Command.
A solo specialist deployed as an individual cell to infiltrate hostile territory.
Chae Geonuk, meanwhile, belonged to the Special Mission Group directly attached to the command, specializing in reconnaissance and extraction.
The bond forged during an operation to secure and extract Taemin along his escape corridor deep behind enemy lines had lasted to this day.
To be honest, Taemin had never imagined Geonuk would end up working as an information broker after his discharge.
Seeing a man who once worshiped regulations and standard operating procedures become a dealer in the gray market was proof that life never went as expected.
A short while later, the food Geonuk ordered arrived.
Chomping steadily through his burger, Taemin spoke around a mouthful.
“Did you poke around regarding the guys who ambushed me back then?”
“Ah, those bastards? They went all in. Looks like an entire private firm was deployed just to put you under. They scrubbed the scene clean ā didn’t leave a single trace behind.”
“That much muscle? Man, what the hell was out there that justified throwing that kind of headcount at it?”
Taemin let out a hollow laugh in disbelief, and Geonuk tapped his phone screen as he continued.
“Besides, high-difficulty infiltration contracts have suddenly been flooding the market lately. Custom-tailored for a guy with your exact skill set.”
“So they set up a tidy little mousetrap?”
Taemin rubbed his chin, murmuring under his breath.
Recalling the intercepted radio chatter at the very end, there was no doubt the opposition had targeted him specifically.
That made resuming active mercenary work out of the question for the time being.
For someone in desperate need of cash, the imperative to break into the pro league had only grown more urgent.
Tucking a fallen shred of lettuce back into his burger, Taemin muttered softly.
“We’ll see who ends up the prey… once this plays all the way out.”
In Nova Arena, climbing the ladder translated directly into earning more money.
Fight purses, corporate sponsors, advertising slots, and viewership numbers all scaled exponentially.
Put simply, more eyes meant greater revenue.
In that regard, the amateur league boasted the highest participant count while commanding the least attention.
Normally, matches struggled to draw spectator counts in the double digits.
Lately, however, one amateur competitor’s matches routinely opened with at least a thousand viewers.
Participant 2,749.
Go Taemin’s bouts.
ćNekopanchićĀ 2,749 is here!!!!!!!
ā Whoa… still undefeated?
ā That’s why people are already calling him Akwi.
ā Personally, I hope he sets his handle to Akwi when he jumps to the pro league. I’m already a fan.
ā Won’t he just keep dominating after he promotes? His movement is already World League tier.
ā Oi, isn’t that underestimating World Warriors a bit much?
ćSake Trash SamuraićĀ Where can I buy that demon mask? (Dead serious)
ā Word is 2749 made it himself.
ā Search ‘demon mask’ on Mercari and similar ones pop up.
ā Doesn’t wearing a mask narrow your field of view and make things annoying though?
ćNameless SwordsmanćĀ I analyzed 2749’s combat patternsĀ [Long read]
ā Thanks for the long post (didn’t read).
ā Seeing how steady his breathing stays when he swings his sword, he’s definitely someone who’s lived through battles like this before.
ā This is the analysis post I’ve been waiting for! So what’s the conclusion?
ā (TL;DR on dealing with 2749: Don’t get matched against him)
ā Wow, thaaaanks for the summary.
ā At this rate, aren’t we going to see the Japan Amateur League’s first undefeated promotion?
The audience watching the amateur league consisted almost exclusively of competitors aiming for the pro circuit.
Naturally, the associated online communities mirrored that demographic.
The overwhelming majority were driven competitors exchanging intel and studying tape solely to earn a pro license.
Under those conditions, word of Go Taemin’s exploits spread like wildfire.
Before long, news reached South Korea, where the domestic scene was starving for top-tier talent.
“Have you heard the rumors? Word is an amateur in Japan has been racking up an undefeated streak.”
Nova Korea Arena.
Director Oh Hyeonseok of NKA addressed his secretary.
“Are you referring to the competitor already nicknamed Akwi? The one sitting on an eighty-five-fight win streak?”
“That was yesterday. He ran two more today, making it eighty-seven straight. Damn it, Amagi Shohei is going to gloat again.”
Oh Hyeonseok pressed a hand to his brow, letting out a low groan.
Representative Amagi Shohei of Nova Japan Arena had a sharp tongue and a special talent for getting under the skin of competing branches.
The secretary offered an awkward smile, adding carefully.
“Must sting quite a bit, sir.”
Korea was a global powerhouse in esports and virtual reality content.
Because of that pedigree, many had expected Korean competitors to dominate Nova Arena as well.
The reality, however, had proven unforgiving.
Far from a simple virtual reality game, this modern-day Colosseum was a different breed of combat platform entirely, demanding real-world combat instincts and pushing physical limits to the edge.
Consequently, Korean warriors had failed to produce meaningful results in Nova Arena.
Not a single Korean warrior competed in the Super League or Master League, and barely a dozen hovered inside the World League.
NKA had poured tremendous resources over the years into prospect development, gear subsidies, and hiring overseas coaching staff, but the returns remained dismal.
Prospects who soared under the initial spotlight routinely crashed against the hard ceiling of their own talent.
“We need at least one talent like that of our own…”
Director Oh shook his head as he watched the masked figure on his monitor.
Nova Arena had long outgrown the label of mere entertainment.
Once BCI technology made zero-casualty combat feasible, nations had begun using Nova Arena to cultivate elite combat talent rather than absorbing the risks of live military drills and covert black ops.
Dominance in Nova Arena had effectively become a direct yardstick of national power.
Furthermore, Nova Arena’s popularity had already eclipsed traditional sports like soccer, baseball, MMA, and boxing.
Super League viewership outstripped the World Cup finals, and the names of top rankers were routinely dropped during summits between heads of state.
The quantity and caliber of a nation’s high-tier warriors directly dictated its international prestige.
It was only natural that Oh Hyeonseok hungered for a Korean warrior capable of contending in the upper leagues.
“And headquarters is preparing an international showdown, aren’t they?”
“That’s correct, sir. They reportedly aim to build it into a worldwide spectacle surpassing the Olympic Games.”
Both men sighed in unison.
For Korea, lacking a single promising top-tier warrior, the event promised only embarrassment.
“Damn it. That 2,749 should have come out of the Korean league…”
Oh Hyeonseok muttered, his eyes glued to the replay of the man in the demon mask.
The silhouette moving like black lightning on the screen left an increasingly bitter taste in his mouth.
