ChapterĀ 1
I hold an occupation rarely seen in modern society.
A mercenary.
A professional combat specialist who carries out high-risk missions and fighting for money.
More specifically, I am an independent contractor mercenary who belongs to no specific private military companyĀ (PMC), moving from contract to contract.
My usual role in these commissions is straightforward.
Infiltrate enemy territory ahead of everyone else, cut the power, quietly neutralize the guards, and disable the surveillance grid.
Relay real-time intel gathered during infiltration back to the main force or client, and map out a secure extraction route afterwardā
A role commonly known as a covert saboteur.
Naturally, the pay was enormous, but the risks ran just as steep.
Today was no exception.
“Target location reached. Thirty seconds to power cutoff. Two lobby guards eliminated. A three-man patrol is stationed below the west stairwell. The main breaker for CCTV is in the basement control room. Motion sensors in the east corridor are active, proceed with caution.”
Concealed within a pre-secured hide site, I transmitted the intel gathered along my infiltration path as concisely as possible.
A moment later, the low, gravelly voice of Leclerc, our bald French team leader, crackled through my tactical earpiece.
[Copy. Secure your extraction route immediately.]
We had ten minutes.
After that, the bought-and-paid-for police would arrive.
Keeping to the shadows, I shifted forward with minimal movement.
The combat dagger in my hand caught the moonlight, flashing a blood-red glint.
It happened just as I reached the designated extraction corridor.
[Alpha, do you copy? The eastern patrol route is completely clear. The scene is too clean. Intel might have been leak ā ]
Leclerc never finished his sentence.
“…”
The building shuddered under a deafening blast. Heavy gunfire erupted from the upper floors immediately after.
A cold chill ran down my spine.
The worst possible scenario.
Before trying to piece together what had gone wrong, I needed to secure a safe hide site first.
I opened my mouth to hail our sniper, who was supposed to be watching our flank from an adjacent building.
Before I could speak, another voice cut across the earpiece.
A frigid voice devoid of all emotion, one I had never heard before.
[Sniper down. Overwatch position clear.]
[D’accord. And the mole?]
[Not yet located.]
Fluent French.
Up until then, our team had operated exclusively in English.
Right there on the spot, I ditched the earpiece, the burner phone, my chest rig, night-vision goggles, and spare magazines before bolting straight into the jungle.
“So you spent two weeks laying low in the jungle near Kisangani? How’d you manage drinking water?”
Go Taemin took a massive bite of his burger before replying to Chae Geonuk’s question.
“Found a way. You remember that CEET training we had back then, don’t you?”
“Ugh… sucking juice out of tree roots? Don’t tell me you actually did that again?”
“Go without water for three days and see how you do. You’d probably be out of your mind, digging up dirt and giving earthworms high-fives.”
“Ugh, don’t even make me picture it. What about food?”
“African lizards are surprisingly meaty. Pinch your nose past the fishy smell and they beat chicken any day. Want me to catch one for you next time?”
Taemin had wandered the deep jungle for two solid weeks, evading pursuit.
Gunfire only echoed for the first few days, but the silence that followed proved far deadlier.
Cut off from external communication, stranded in absolute isolation.
Every dawn, he oriented himself by the stars, moving strictly under cover of darkness to survive day by day.
To avoid leaving tracks, he stepped only on exposed roots and slept curled up in the canopy of trees.
Following the river northeast, he managed to reach the vicinity of the border.
“Ran into a local broker there and slipped into Uganda. Made my way down to the Port of Mombasa and smuggled myself aboard a cargo ship.”
Taemin spoke as if it were nothing, yet every day of that journey had been a grueling battle on the razor’s edge of life and death.
The cargo ship sailed from Mombasa to Naples, but he could not afford to let his guard down there either.
Because he was fleeing pursuit, passing through regular immigration was out of the question from the start.
The moment he stepped off the freighter, Taemin took cover on the outskirts of the harbor, contacted a local broker, and barely secured forged identification before attempting to return home.
That entire escape cost him a staggering twenty thousand dollars.
“Ugh, my hard-earned cash…”
Clutching his chest in bitter agony, Taemin grimaced while Chae Geonuk offered some comfort.
“Hey, at least you came back in one piece with all four limbs intact. You’ve been through hell, so take a break for a while.”
“Come on, if I wanted a break, I wouldn’t have come looking for you. Gotta hustle while I’m still young so I don’t suffer down the road.”
Chae Geonuk was a senior comrade who had shared life and death with Go Taemin in the same military unit, currently working as an information broker.
Because of that bond, Taemin often took contracts brokered through him.
Setting down the whiskey bottle he had been wiping, Geonuk clicked his tongue.
“You’re seriously telling me you want to jump back into the field under these conditions? You don’t even know how deep their reach goes, are you out of your mind?”
“It’s not like I show my real face or use my real name in this line of work anyway. How many scrubbed identities do you think I’m sitting on?”
“Even so, you crossed a line this time, man. I know things are rough for you. But Taemin, can’t you just pace yourself? Just how much more do you need before you can pull yourself out of that rut?”
“A long way to go before I can completely turn things around for Mom and my brothers.”
“Know when to ease up, kid. If you get killed, do you think your family is going to celebrate having that cash?”
“Come on, I’m not dying that easily. Even the underworld wouldn’t take a guy like me ā my rates are too high. So hurry up and find me some work.”
Geonuk shook his head in resignation.
The junior sitting before him possessed a stubbornness forged of iron.
If Geonuk refused, Taemin would inevitably track down work through someone else.
Granted, he had operated under aliases with his face covered, so his true identity was unlikely to be exposed, but jumping straight back into the field right now was far too dangerous.
“Why don’t you try something else for a bit instead? Like Nova Arena.”
“Nova Arena? What’s that?”
Taemin tilted his head.
Having operated solely in the remote corners of Africa for years, he had no way of knowing how the outside world had changed.
Seeing Taemin show interest, Geonuk grinned.
In the year 2030.
A company named Nova succeeded in developing a BCI system ā a brain-computer interface technology.
It could read the brain’s sensory and motor signals, and even memories, in real time, allowing a user to move a virtual body as naturally as their physical self.
ā
With this technology, they created an unprecedented form of entertainment.
Its name was Nova Arena.
In simple terms, a modern-day Colosseum.
Inside virtual arenas realized through BCI technology, competitors engaged in gladiatorial combat armed with weapons and shields.
Death was met with revival, yet the terror of dying and the pain inflicted were indistinguishable from reality.
This paradoxical realm, where the physical body remained unharmed despite visceral combat, captivated audiences across the globe the instant it was unveiled.
Crowds flocked to watch Nova Arena matches, and with that surge of spectators, vast sums of capital poured into the league.
The formats varied widely.
Competitors fought bloody one-on-one duels with weapons drawn.
Over a thousand warriors clashed in massive sieges.
Others plunged into jungles to execute specialized missions, or navigated labyrinthine prisons to mount daring escapesā
Match after match of white-knuckle spectacle unfolded across Nova Arena.
“Well? Doesn’t that sound like something you’d excel at? You’re an industry specialist, after all.”
Despite Geonuk’s praise, Taemin focused on only one thing.
“Does it pay well?”
“You have to climb up to a certain level, of course. But you’ll make far more than you ever could in MMA.”
Listening to the explanation, Taemin rested his chin on his hand, lost in thought.
Seven years in special forces, followed by three years as a mercenary.
He had seen enough combat to grow thoroughly sick of it.
For a covert saboteur whose life depended on stealth, a blade was a tool one had to master in spare moments to erase one’s presence and slip in silently.
All to carry out missions deep inside hostile lines without being discovered.
Though he had never received formal training in dedicated swordsmanship, it had never been a major issue so far.
Most adversaries he encountered on the battlefield were accustomed strictly to modern warfare.
They were lethal at a distance, but closing the gap made everything simple.
A dagger shoved into a vital organ, or disabling their ability to raise a firearm, was all it took.
One concern lingered, however.
“Wouldn’t entering Nova Arena actually risk exposing my identity?”
Geonuk chuckled at Taemin’s question.
“Don’t sweat it. You connect through a capsule anyway. If you put on a mask and compete out of Japan or the US, who’s going to know it’s you? Just pick a different handle too.”
No need to show his face.
He could operate under an avatar handle, and he was free to change the country he represented at will.
Having heard that much, Taemin made his decision.
“What do I need to do to get in?”
“Whoa. It’s quite a bit bigger than I imagined, isn’t it?”
The purchased capsule sat in a small room adjacent to my senior’s workshop.
He gained a dependable guard in me, and I secured a safe hideout to operate without worry ā a clear win-win for both of us.
“Which country do you want to start in?”
“Where’s best?”
“Plenty of solid options.”
After deliberating with him, I narrowed the choices down to three: the United States, Japan, or China.
My English was passable, and my East Asian features made blending in and disguising my identity far simpler in those regions.
“I’d recommend Japan. Earning a pro license is easier there than in the US or China. Plus, no time difference.”
I nodded readily.
“Let’s go with Japan then.”
If the payout was the same, there was no need to pick the hard route.
While my senior filled out the application on my behalf, I inspected the inside of the capsule.
A metallic capsule contoured to the curves of the human body.
Lying inside this pod to interface directly with virtual reality still felt somewhat surreal.
While I was wrestling with venomous insects in the African jungle, the world had advanced far further than I realized.
“Done! You’re ready to play right now. What do you think? Want to give it a spin immediately?”
“Already?”
“The system’s streamlined these days. Tons of people are vying for a pro license, so the procedures are much simpler than they used to be.”
My senior tapped the capsule casing.
“Climb on in. I’ll help you with the setup.”
I slid slowly into the capsule.
As I settled into a recline, cold, heavy metal met my back.
With practiced familiarity, he sorted through the electrodes and sensors, attaching them one by one to my head and limbs.
“Heh, have fun. You’re probably going to be blown away.”
“…?”
With a knowing smirk, he sealed the capsule hatch.
The mechanical thud of the capsule sealing airtight sent a chill crawling up the back of my neck.
To a black-ops operative, darkness and an enclosed space meant imminent death.
Forcing the tension out of my muscles, I closed my eyes.
A heartbeat later, the entire capsule hummed with a faint vibration.
Simultaneously, a soft electronic voice murmured beside my ear.
[Initiating neural synchronization for Nova Arena connection.]
[Verifying sensory signals… 13%]
[Connecting motor nerve groups… 27%]
[Synchronizing electromyography (EMG) patterns… 41%]
[Confirming visual cortex (V1 ā V4) response… 58%]
[Matching proprioception… 72%]
[Stabilizing brain-computer interface… 89%]
[Neural synchronization complete… 92%]
[Loading avatar appearance… 96%]
[Streaming environmental data… 100%]
[Nova Arena connection complete.]
[Your battlefield is opening.]
And thenā
My vision plunged into total blackness.
.
.
.
When I regained awareness, a brand-new world was spread before my eyes.
A massive circular structure.
The floor was coated in sand, and the walls rose in tiered tiers of spectator seating.
Sunlight cascaded from a cerulean sky.
A warmth so vivid it was hard to believe it was virtual.
I scooped up a handful of sand.
The texture running between my fingers felt astonishingly real.
Dusting off the grains, I slowly took stock of my body.
The movement of my muscles, the flexion of my joints, the sensation of exerting force…
Every bit of it was natural.
Realistic enough to make me forget this was a virtual world.
Even my gear matched what I had worn entering the capsule.
A thin suit of leather armor prepared by my senior.
A longsword hung at my hip, with a dagger tucked against my chest.
Over my face sat the unmistakable presence of an akwi mask.
Touching the surface of the mask, I let out a dry chuckle.
It felt less like entering virtual reality and more like being teleported to an entirely different dimension.
Just then, blue characters materialized in the corner of my vision.
[Your assigned participant number is 2,749.]
[Searching for an opponent…]
[Matchmaking complete!]
[Participant 1,701 is entering the arena.]
[Record: 3,862 matches, 2,287 wins, 1,575 losses (Win Rate: 59.25%)]
The sand across the arena shimmered, and a man gradually materialized.
Dressed in traditional Japanese attire.
Two scabbards hung at his waist.
He looked as though a samurai had walked straight out of a period film.
I smirked faintly.
Well, with a grotesque akwi mask strapped to my face, I was hardly in a position to talk.
[Match Format: 1-on-1 Solo Match]
[Match Type: Japan Amateur League Match]
[Victory Condition: Eliminate opponent]
[Map: Circular Arena (Small)]
[Matchup: 2,749 vs 1,701]
[Current Spectators: 13]
[The match will begin in 3 seconds.]
The samurai drew his blade and glared at me.
I reached down and wrapped my fingers around my hilt.
A tactical short sword roughly fifty centimeters in length ā shorter than a standard blade, yet slightly longer than a dagger.
The blade was finished in a non-reflective matte coating to absorb light, devoid of ornate decoration, featuring only a textured grip that molded securely against every knuckle.
A cool metallic sensation traveled up into my palm.
[The match will begin in 2 seconds.]
The combative instinct that had shadowed me like a specter for the past decade stirred awake.
The wind brushing against my neck, the gritty texture of sand beneath my soles…
I lowered my posture, crouching like a predator locking eyes on prey.
[The match will begin in 1 second.]
Hand placement, footing, line of sight.
All my senses converged into a single focal point.
The familiar sensation of my body locking into combat mode.
The opponent’s center of gravity shifted ever so slightly to the left.
A tell that he was about to launch forward.
And thenā
[Match Start!]
The samurai charged like a lightning bolt.
The moment his sword traced a sweeping arc toward meā
A thin red line traced across my field of vision.
As if traveling along a preordained track, his sword swept cleanly along that line without deviating by even a single millimeter.
Indeed.
The reason I had survived all those years as a special forces operative and a mercenary was precisely this innate gift of perceiving trajectories.
