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Aug 25, 2026 01:51 pm

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Episode 6 — Whis-Kiss 1

The one who appeared was someone she actually knew from real life — a member of the mafia who'd helped run her orphanage.

"...That's enough out of you."

"Kuh—!"

"You know as well as I do what happens if you keep struggling."

Calmly, he pulled a cigar from his pocket and put it to his lips, just as he was lighting it—

A crisp gunshot rang out, and his body collapsed, disintegrating.

"Wha—? H-hey?!"

Startled, she looked up to find the Professor calmly aiming his sniper rifle.

"Whatever's between you two isn't my concern. The clock's ticking, Sister Grave."

"That man was—!"

"I said it isn't my concern. What matters to me is that I have about twenty-five minutes left to get you out of here."

"...!"

There was no turning back now. She bit down on her lower lip, steeling herself.

To protect the orphanage — the home she treasured more than anything — she was prepared to do whatever it took.

"Damn it... fine then, all or nothing! Everyone dies!"

"D-damn it! Someone do something about that woman!"

"Aaaaaaargh!"

The deafening roar of machine-gun fire shook the surroundings, and security NPCs and Father Masquerade users alike vanished, riddled with holes, in every direction.

As they scrambled to take cover behind walls and inside buildings to escape her merciless hail of fire, she — as if she'd been waiting for exactly this — reached down with the fingers of her gun hand and stroked the side of her nun's habit.

A soft click sounded, and something came tumbling out from inside, clattering onto the ground.

One user glanced up curiously from a window to check—

"G-grenades?!"

A cluster of five or six grenades, pins already pulled, was rolling across the floor!

Naturally, a device that dangerous, set to detonate in three to five seconds — and she'd casually dropped them out from under her habit like it was nothing.

"Here!"

"?!"

With reckless nerve, she kicked each one individually, sending them flying toward the buildings and walls the users had taken cover in!

"Y-yikes?!"

"Sh-shields! Activate shields, now—!"

A horrific explosion tore through the air, and one entire wall of the building shattered and peeled away, while a whole cluster of users caught in the blast were wiped out.

"D-damn... this damn woman—!"

A user who'd survived, pinned under debris, managed to draw his pistol and aim it at her — only to find the muzzle of a heavy machine gun already pointed back at him.

"Sleep tight."

"Y-you! You think our boss is just going to let this—"

"...I'm prepared for that."

Her gunfire cut him off too, and after leveling a few more buildings with grenades, she finally let out a long sigh and stood before the Professor, notably calmer now.

"...Let's go."

"Feeling better, I take it?"

"...Yeah."

While the prisoners continued their riot, the two made their way to a clearing on the outskirts of the city, where they found a heavily modified A3-brand Humvee-type combat vehicle — the "Hammered."

"Hey. It's a job."

He knocked on the driver's-side window to announce their arrival. The window slid down to reveal a girl, dozing off, who — by any reasonable judgment — was unmistakably a minor. She waved.

"...You're the driver?"

"...Yeeah... zzz..."

"...It's a job. Wake up."

"...Mmnh..."

"Hey."

A vague sense of foreboding crossed the Professor's mind and he hesitated to get in, but Sister Grave, with no such reservations, simply climbed into the back seat without a second thought.

"Wake up. It's a job, I said."

"Don't worry... the job's... covered... zzznh..."

"Ngh..."

Why did jobs like this always seem to attract strange women?

Grumbling internally, the Professor opened the passenger door and took a seat.

"I assume you know — you're supposed to get us to the city of Mary's Children."

"........."

Watching the driver, who'd fallen asleep hugging a steering wheel roughly the size of her own torso, the Professor was debating whether he'd have to physically shake her awake, when—

In the rearview mirror, Father Masquerade's users came into view, closing in.

"Over here! She must've fled this way!"

"Find her! Don't let her get away! We need to stall for time!"

They were apparently trying to hold Sister Grave down until at least some of the official-match forces could return, and were charging in with the grim determination of people ready to die for it.

"This is getting troublesome. Hey! Driver! Wake up, now!"

"Mmm... are we going?"

"Yes, right now! Get up, quickly!"

"Okay... okay, I heard you..."

Only then did she slowly sit upright — but instead of looking at the wheel, she reached into the gearbox between the front seats and pulled out a suspicious-looking metal canteen, popping the cap off.

Catching the scent wafting from it, the Professor tried to stop her—

"H-hey. That better not be alcohol—"

"Mmnnh."

She threw it back in one confident gulp. As the liquor hit her system, her eyes changed entirely, and her grip on the wheel tightened. In the same motion, she yanked the gearshift into reverse and slammed her foot down on the gas.

VROOOOM!

"There! That's got to be their vehicle—!"

"Aaaaagh?!"

"It's coming right at us?! M-move!"

She plowed straight through the charging Masquerade users without mercy!

"Ha-ha-ha-ha! You idiots! You think you can shoot up my baby and just walk away? Come back after ten more years of practice!"

The half-asleep girl from moments ago was nowhere to be found — in her place, a punked-out attitude straight out of a post-apocalyptic wasteland, flipping the finger out the window at everyone behind them.

"Hey..."

"Ahh, fine, I heard you! I'll get you two to Mary's Children safe and sound, all right?"

"...'Safe and sound' while driving drunk, huh..."

"...Better buckle up. Unless you want to bite your tongue off."

Reading the provocative grin on her face, the Professor understood with total certainty that this was no joke. He silently found his seatbelt and buckled it — a six-point harness that would've looked more at home in a racing car.

The moment he did, as if she'd been waiting for exactly that, she stomped the gas like she was trying to kick through the floor and launched them forward.

"Kuh—!"

He wanted to complain but didn't dare open his mouth for fear of biting his tongue off. Behind him, Sister was apparently enjoying every second of it, letting out a whoop.

"Yeehaw!"

"...!"

The girl's driving was genuinely astonishing.

Despite being roaring drunk, she tore through a road that was anything but easy — full of curves — with rough but unmistakably precise control. The one downside was that she was pushing 120 km/h and drifting through turns on top of it, which had the Professor feeling something he rarely experienced: motion sickness.

"Damn it... could you drive a little—!"

He barely got the complaint half-out before another burst of acceleration forced him to clamp his mouth shut again.

A trip that would normally take three hours, she cut down to about an hour and forty minutes. Before he knew it, they'd arrived — she barreled the vehicle into Mary's Children's city hall parking lot as if she intended to ram it, then parked with perfect precision.

"Thanks for riding with us, customer?"

Once they'd arrived, she shed a bit of that end-of-the-world attitude and even tried to act cutely charming, in her own scheming way. The Professor just shook his head. Unlike the delighted Sister Grave, the Professor found himself stumbling as he got out.

Once the driver had finished her conversation with a Mary's Children officer and sped off like the wind, the Professor escorted Sister Grave in to stand before the officer.

"You really pulled it off. And bringing back all her gear intact, no less..."

"A 100% success rate isn't a boast. It's 100% because I handle every job — no matter what it is — without a single flaw."

"...Father."

Even having finally arrived at the place she'd wished for so long, her expression wasn't bright. She immediately ran to the officer — who held the title of Father in real life — grabbed the hem of his robe, and collapsed into it.

Uninterested in the scene, the Professor simply left, with no idea what this particular contract would ultimately bring him down the line.

He was walking toward the bus stop when a loud, horn-blast-like honk sounded from a familiar-looking Hammered parked along the roadside.

"Hey! You there!"

"........."

He tried to just walk past, but she reached out the window and actually tried to grab him!

"Cut it out. The job's over."

"Aw, come on— just come talk to me for a second!"

Unable to shake her persistence, he ended up in the passenger seat again. She grinned brightly and immediately held something out to him.

"...?"

"A business card."

What she'd handed him was a card that doubled as a business card and payment device — a common item among mercenaries. When you swiped it during payment, the fee went straight into that mercenary's account. The Professor himself handed these out to regulars from time to time.

"...Why are you giving this to me?"

"Heh, I mean, Codename Professor's one of the most famous mercenaries on this whole server, right? Figured if you ever need a driver, feel free to use me."

Networking, in other words.

The Professor shook his head. He'd never taken on jobs big enough to need a driver.

The way he maintained a 100% success rate was by never accepting a job he wasn't 100% certain of from the start.

"I have no use for it."

"Then why'd you use me on this one?"

"Mary's Children hired you, not me. I simply made use of what was available."

He tried to hand the card back, but she shook her head and refused to take it.

"It's fate that we crossed paths like this, so keep it."

"........."

"And — want me to escort you the rest of the way?"

"........."

A bad feeling crept over him, and the Professor moved quickly to throw open the door and flee — but she grabbed the hem of his coat and yanked him back, puffing out her cheeks.

"Where do you think you're going?! A cute girl like me is offering you a ride, and this is what I get?!"

"You're drunk driving! I decline!"

"Grrr! Just sit down and behave!"

After a brief struggle, the Professor ended up back in the passenger seat, guiding her toward his territory. Given the nature of his work, drawing attention was something the Professor loathed above all else — and bickering with a pretty girl in the driver's seat was, for him, sheer agony.

"So this really is a neutral zone. Guess that's how you managed to avoid being wiped out this whole time?"

"Hmph. I haven't run this operation carelessly enough to let that happen."

Freelance mercenaries like the Professor were a rare breed. Operating as a mercenary in this particular server — a conflict zone — without the backing of a major faction was extraordinarily dangerous. The nature of the work meant you inevitably made enemies of some faction or another, and hostile factions would routinely go hunting for mercenaries as targets. It was standard practice, then, to align yourself with a suitable faction and take on most of your jobs from within their sphere.

But the Professor had made his nest in a neutral zone and had maintained his stable status as a freelancer for several years now.

"Stop here. We can't go any further by car."

"Huh? Why not?"

"...If you want to go up in a fireball along with the car courtesy of an anti-tank mine, be my guest."

"...?!"

They'd arrived at a small forest backed by a low, thickly wooded hill. Between the woods and the hill was a clearing, and standing there was a roughly three-story house built to look like log cabin construction. Electrified barbed-wire fencing ringed the surrounding forest, and the only path to the house was a winding trail about three meters wide.

Stepping out of the car, the driver known by the codename Whis-Kiss caught sight of a large stone tablet.

"What's this slab about?"

"...The rules."

"Rules?"

"Yeah. Rules for anyone requesting a job from the Professor."

[The following must be observed:]

— The client must come alone.

— The only permitted approach is the footpath.

— No weapons of any kind permitted.

— Violators will be shot on sight.

"Wow, you've been running your business like this the whole time?"

"Of course. You know my franchise."

"Whoa..."

Shaking her head, unable to comprehend him, she watched as the Professor began walking up the footpath. She tried to follow, taking a step forward—

"That's as far as you go."

The Professor suddenly turned and stopped her.

Whis-Kiss pouted.

"Wait, why? I gave you a ride and everything — not even one cup of tea?"

"...I assume you read the tablet just now."

"What about it?"

"If more than one person is moving along that path—"

Ignoring the Professor's warning, she took one more step forward — and immediately, from somewhere in the forest, a warning beep sounded, followed by a bullet screaming toward her!

—To be continued—

[EN] Ascension Field - Season1

Dystopian LitRpg MilitarySciFi AntiHero Harem Mercenary

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BigFS's Dimension Gate

Aug 22, 2026 08:44 am

Public post

Episode 5 — Sister Heavy Arms 2

"By the way, don't think I've seen your face before. Where'd you transfer in from?"

An NPC who looked like he'd been around a while stopped the Professor just as he was settling into the guard post.

For a split second, he genuinely considered just shooting them both — but instead scratched his head and grinned sheepishly.

"Ah, right, forgot to mention it — got orders from the Druid Union branch last night to transfer over here. Hope we get along."

"Oh, that's all? Poor guy."

Apparently this was a company known for arbitrary reassignments and near-tyrannical treatment from higher-ups, because the two NPCs just gave him a pitying look and stepped into the elevator.

The moment the doors closed, the Professor drew his pistol and shot out the surveillance cameras he'd already scoped out in advance.

"Smooth sailing so far."

He was about to shoot out the lock to break into the holding block when he noticed a drawer built into the table where the guards had been sitting, and holstered his gun instead.

"Now, where would it be..."

After opening a few drawers and rifling through them, he found a guard-issue keycard rolling around in the bottommost one. He swiped it across the door to the holding block, and with a soft beep, the door slid smoothly open.

"Open sesame... heh."

Walking slowly into the block, he scanned the cells out of the corner of his eye. Each cell held the same layout — a respawn unit, a bed, a toilet and sink.

"No connected users, huh..."

Getting locked up in an NPC security company's holding cell typically meant a certain amount of level loss for the duration of the sentence. Small mercy that time kept ticking even while logged out, he supposed.

He noticed a human silhouette in the cell furthest in and approached.

Sitting on the bed, grumbling to herself, was a woman whose surprisingly voluptuous figure couldn't quite be hidden even by the prison uniform, with striking long, curly red hair spilling down.

He rapped his baton lightly against the cell bars, and she lifted her head to look over.

"What?"

At her irritable, hostile tone, he let out a short laugh and silently swiped the keycard to open the cell door.

"?"

"I'm here to rescue you."

At the unfamiliar guard's flat, toneless voice, she eyed him suspiciously. Seeing this, the Professor sighed and revealed his identity.

"I'm the mercenary known as the Professor. I've been hired by Mary's Children to get you out."

"Ah."

Finally grasping the situation, she got to her feet, still wary, and shuffled out of the cell.

"You're the Professor?"

She looked him over, unable to quite match him to the reputation she'd heard, but followed his lead out of the holding block anyway.

"The evidence storage is on B2. We'll grab your gear there and get out."

"Wait a second."

She grabbed his shoulder, gritting her teeth as if she had something to say.

"I've got a proposal for you."

"?"

"Mind if we trash this whole city on the way out?"

"...What?"

Her eyes burned with fierce hatred. Apparently just fleeing quietly wasn't something her personality could tolerate.

"Refused."

"Come on!"

"Even with the low numbers here during official-match season, there's no guarantee there aren't reserve forces. We're extracting immediately."

"...!"

Puffing her cheeks out in irritation, she nonetheless followed his lead, reluctantly climbing into the elevator behind him as he walked ahead without another word.

Down on B2, the Professor dropped the NPCs guarding the storage vault with a few pistol shots, opened the door with a card he'd taken off one of them, and beckoned her in.

"There. Grab your gear and get out. We're leaving the moment you're done."

"........."

A moment later, she emerged fully geared up — and shoved past the Professor as he moved to guide her, walking off on her own.

"...? Where are you going?"

"Whatever you say, I'm going to wreck this city as much as I possibly can before I leave."

"........."

He caught her by the wrist, but — unfortunately — her raw physical strength in-game apparently exceeded his, and he ended up being the one dragged along instead.

"Hey, wait. Stop."

"Hmph! Make me!"

"Ngh..."

After a moment's thought, the Professor concluded that the fastest way to get this stubborn woman moving was simply to indulge her.

"...Fine. I'll cooperate. But some preparation is required first."

"Huh? You're more reasonable than I expected."

"Not particularly. It's just that you're my rescue target, so I have no choice."

"Still. From what I heard, I figured you'd just grab me by the collar and drag me off."

She eyed him with visible curiosity. The Professor let out a small sigh.

"Unfortunately, I do fancy myself something of a gentleman."

"Huh."

"Anyway, we need to make a stop on B3 first."

"Why? Can't we just go tear things up now?"

Grave brandished her machine gun proudly, but the Professor just gave a short laugh and shook his head.

"B3 has the NPC holding block."

"So?"

"Unlike users, who need to be logged in to be extracted, NPCs stay put once they're locked in there."

"Sure, obviously."

She looked bored, as if he were stating the obvious, but he raised a finger.

"If we free all of them, then seize the armory on the second floor above ground and arm them—"

"Oh!"

The two of them headed back to the elevator, this time bound for B3. The moment the doors opened, the Professor moved to shoot the guards on watch — but once again, she shoved him aside first.

"Out of my way!"

"?!"

The NPCs on guard duty flinched, apparently recognizing her, and drew their weapons—

"You bastards are in for it now, you no-good scum!"

The satisfying roar of her machine gun echoed through the underground space, and the guards crumpled to the ground, riddled with bullets in an instant.

"Aah, that felt good. Yeah, I really can't go without this thing..."

She hugged her machine gun close, savoring some strange sense of catharsis, then tilted her head toward the Professor.

"What are you standing around for! Hurry up and free those NPCs!"

"........."

Ten minutes later, once the guards had managed to more or less stabilize the suspected terror-bombing of the city hall with the help of some worker NPCs and returned to headquarters, what awaited them was—

"Freedom at last!"

"We're taking this city! Chaaarge!"

The prisoners had armed themselves with batons, shotguns, and pistols from the security armory and burst out, gunning down the returning guards as they went.

As Grave moved to charge out and join the surge of prisoners, the Professor stepped in front of her and shook his head.

"What now? Weren't we supposed to be tearing this place up together?"

"There's one thing I need to make clear first."

"?"

Against the backdrop of the prisoners' roaring shouts, the Professor calmly pulled out a device and brought up the screen. On it was displayed the deposit and total fee for the contract to rescue Sister Grave.

"...Nice markup you've got there."

"You know my franchise, I assume?"

"...!"

"There's just one small issue with this figure."

She tilted her head, not quite following.

"The job I accepted was, strictly speaking, a 'rescue operation.' What you're currently requesting is a separate job entirely — 'sabotage of a city.'"

"...!"

"Which means fulfilling your request will incur an additional fee. Is that all right with you?"

Her expression twisted, visibly. The Professor was exactly the type of person she despised most — someone with not a shred of human warmth, a filthy opportunist who calculated everything in terms of gain and loss.

"...And you call yourself a man?"

"Gender is irrelevant. I'm strictly discussing the terms of a contract."

"Ugh—!"

"If you insist on this to the very end, I'll have no choice but to abandon this contract entirely. Though if that's what you'd prefer..."

He tucked the device away and pulled out his communication device instead.

"...What are you doing?"

"Notifying Mary's Children that I'm withdrawing from the contract. Right after that, I'll inform Father Masquerade that you've escaped custody."

"You— you're seriously doing this?!"

"That's what it means for me to abandon a contract, Sister Grave. Everything reverts to its original state, and I withdraw as well. That's all there is to it."

She glared at him, grinding her teeth for a moment, before apparently making up her mind and releasing her grip on his collar, setting him down.

"...ne."

"...?"

"Fine, I said! You cheapskate bastard. I'll just pay the damn money, all right—!"

"Thank you for your business."

"So, how much do you want?"

The moment she saw the figure displayed on his device, her fist swung and clocked him right in the helmet.

"You— you— you damn thief!"

"...Ngh. That hurt."

"Do you even call yourself human?! How can you do this?!"

"Not particularly. Unlike attacking a single target or building, attacking an entire city inevitably carries corresponding risk and resource consumption. Naturally, that has to be billed accordingly."

Grinding her teeth, she thought it over for a moment, let out a small sigh, and nodded.

"Fine. Fine, damn it... but! I want one thing made clear."

"...?"

"I really, truly hate you."

Delivering that declaration with a cold, dismissive expression, she looked down at him. The Professor dusted himself off and stood up.

"That's a shame to hear."

"What?"

"...Because I happen to like people like you."

"?!"

At what sounded almost like a confession, her face flushed red for a moment, and she swung a fist at him again — which he carefully dodged this time.

"You— you— quit saying weird things!"

"...Nothing particularly weird about it."

"Th-then what did you mean by it?!"

"...I'll leave that as no comment."

"?!" "Seems more interesting that way, for now."

"Are you serious?!"

Just as she went to grab his collar again, a bullet whizzed past her face.

Both of them flinched and turned to look — the security NPCs had managed to cobble together a defensive line to hold back the surging prisoners. And from the direction the shot had come, a group of what were probably Father Masquerade's reserve users were closing in.

"Damn it! Sister Grave's broken out?!"

"That's him! That's the Professor! Mary's Children's doing?!"

"Shoot! We're taking him down now!"

Watching the users charging toward them, Sister's grin only deepened.

The Professor sighed quietly and murmured to her, low.

"Thirty minutes. Better assume the driver won't wait a second longer than that."

"...Got it."

Just as she took her firing stance and pulled the trigger, the Professor leapt lightly up onto the ledge behind the security headquarters' signboard and drew his sniper rifle.

"Masquerade boys! I'm heading over to Mary's Children as of today! Rub your heads on the ground and stay quiet if you don't want to end up full of holes!"

"........." "You damn traitor! You're a goddamn orphan — after everything we raised you up to be, this is how you repay us?!"

"You were just planning to use me!"

"As if! I'd love to see how far Mary's Children trusts a traitor like you! Not that you'll ever make it there anyway!"

Gritting her teeth, she raked her machine gun across the Masquerade user leading the charge who'd been berating her, and his shield rang out like a drum being struck before finally melting away.

Startled, he frantically pounded the activation button on his shield module — but was riddled with bullets and gone in an instant.

"All right, next!"

"D-damn it! We can't handle these two!"

Users too weak to even participate in official matches stood no chance against a named official-match veteran like her — and behind her stood a sniper even official-match named users were reluctant to face.

Just as the situation seemed like it might wrap up easily, one of the Masquerade users stepped forward from the group.

"Sister Grave..."

"...You're—?!"

—To be continued—

[EN] Ascension Field - Season1

Dystopian LitRpg MilitarySciFi AntiHero Harem Mercenary

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BigFS's Dimension Gate

Aug 20, 2026 01:32 pm

Public post

Episode 4 — Sister Heavy Arms 1

"Ho."

"That's Whaleoka, from the Roaring Dragon Society. One of the top three artisan users in the whole faction."

"I see."

"But building gear this refined that doesn't even exist in the game normally..."

"?"

"This must've cost a fortune."

At Cuticle's remark, the Professor let out a short laugh. Now he understood why she'd come at him so relentlessly.

At a glance, it was clear — a user running a class and equipment that didn't exist in the game. Which meant, naturally, all her gear was handmade. And handmade meant expensive, every last piece of it.

"Next time I run into her, I'll have to kill her and see what drops."

"Wha— Professor?"

"What?"

"Isn't that a bit much?"

"She's going to pay for what she did to my favorite helmet."

Ten days passed.

As expected, once official-match season kicked off, the fighting between the Black Tiger Alliance and the Roaring Dragon Society tipped in the Alliance's favor. It wasn't that the Roaring Dragon Society was weak — they simply couldn't rack up meaningful results against the Alliance's flexible tactics.

Rattling the Roaring Dragon Society's regular server right before the season started, using outside contractors, had clearly done its job. Unlike the Black Tiger Alliance, whose dark-gamer core made them comfortable using mercenaries, the Roaring Dragon Society had a more insular streak, strongly preferring to handle everything with their own people. In the end, they'd had to pull some of their official-match forces to deal with the Alliance's outsourced raids, and that had cost them the war of attrition.

The Professor, watching the official-match broadcast with mild disinterest, had just switched the channel when the doorbell rang.

A client, it seemed.

The visitor this time was a mid-level officer from Mary's Children, a faction made up mostly of Catholic believers centered around what used to be Italy. They occasionally brought him small jobs, so they were on familiar terms.

Having Cuticle bring out tea, the Professor sat down across from him to discuss the job.

"Surprising, seeing you here in the middle of official-match season."

Most factions, presumably, were fully absorbed in official matches right now. For the Professor, who made it a policy never to participate in official matches, this season was usually a slow one for business. And yet this season, jobs kept coming to him for some reason.

"Something troublesome came up."

The job was a rescue.

Being a faction centered on religious devotees, Mary's Children generally maintained friendly relations with the factions around them — but there were a rare few they were hostile with. One of them was Crimson Hood, a mafia clan coalition formed by descendants of old-world crime organizations. A named user from one of Crimson Hood's mid-tier factions, Father Masquerade, had been trying to defect to Mary's Children for reasons of her own — but Father Masquerade had caught wind of it and taken her into custody.

They'd wanted to rescue her, but Mary's Children had also mobilized most of its people for the official matches, leaving no spare team to send. In the end, they'd come to hire the Professor, whose selling point was a 100% success rate.

"Don't worry about the money — I've already accounted for it. Hired a getaway driver too, just in case."

"That's not what concerns me."

The Professor didn't particularly care for religious types as a rule, but he knew well enough that Mary's Children weren't people who took trust relationships lightly. The only thing that gave him pause was that the opposing side belonged to Crimson Hood, one of Worst Field's largest superfactions.

100% success rate or not, he was still just a lone freelance mercenary. If a major faction ever decided to mobilize its full force to hunt him down, there'd be little he could do. It was exactly why he never got involved in official matches.

"A rescue's going to run a bit expensive. Is that all right with you?"

"...As long as it's not too expensive..."

His eyes shifted uncomfortably, but there was an honest look to him — clearly not someone plotting anything. The Professor didn't mind clients like that.

"For now, I'll go over the details."

"Here you are."

He handed over a device loaded with the data he'd compiled. The Professor tapped it, scanning through the holographic readout that came up.

Sister Grave.

A rowdy, powerfully built woman who wore a specially made bulletproof nun's habit, her body wrapped almost entirely in ammo belts underneath, wielding a heavy machine gun in each hand. Up until recently, she'd been a named user on Father Masquerade's side, with a solid combat record from official matches — a fairly well-known figure.

"I see. Someone of that caliber — makes sense Father Masquerade would want to hold onto her."

"Exactly. We'd just barely managed to talk her into coming over to our side, and she'd sat out this official-match season for it, but..."

"And that's exactly what tipped off Masquerade."

"........."

After a moment's thought, the Professor nodded, wrote a figure on the device, and showed it to him. The officer had to steady himself, swallowing hard.

It was a bit steeper than he'd expected. As advertised — a man who charged his own rates and never haggled.

"...Ah. That figure's for if she manages to escape under her own power."

"Huh?"

Remembering the getaway driver, the Professor apparently reconsidered and lowered the number slightly. Relieved, the officer took the hand the Professor offered.

"I'm counting on you!"

"Don't worry."

The moment he left, the Professor immediately began packing his gear. The client had asked for a swift rescue, so he intended to go scout the area right away. Slinging a light bag over his shoulder, he made his way to the city where she was being held, under Father Masquerade's control.

Since every city was connected by rail and bus lines, travel itself was no trouble.

"So this is it."

Stepping off the bus and taking in the scene, the Professor confirmed his suspicion. This city was Father Masquerade's logistics hub — a place for users heading to official matches to stay and resupply. If this hadn't been official-match season, this rescue would have been impossible for the Professor to pull off alone.

The only users visible were a handful of production-class NPCs shuffling through paperwork in what looked like a warehouse building, managing supplies bound for official-match participants. Everyone else was just NPC security patrolling the streets and worker NPCs at the resource depots.

This much, the Professor judged, made a solo rescue perfectly feasible. Though, just in case, he'd need to strike during the early morning hours, when most users would be logged out.

He headed straight for the security company holding her.

Since the game's setting lacked any real government, and everything was run by corporations, city security was handled by one of three NPC security companies. None of them had particularly distinct characteristics, but their uniforms differed, and so did the equipment they used.

The one Father Masquerade had hired was—

"Fitting, I suppose."

The sign that came into the Professor's view belonged to Brawler Blues — in-universe lore had them pegged as a ruthless mercenary company from the early days of space colonization. Of the three companies, they had the most high-handed NPCs and were known for not hesitating to open fire. At the same time, they were also the easiest to bribe.

"Hey! You there! What are you here for? Turning yourself in?"

Conflict-zone territories operated under a number of unwritten rules distinct from regular servers. Ordinary users unfamiliar with them often ran into trouble with whatever faction controlled the area. The usual outcome was getting caught by that faction's users, robbed, and killed — but if you managed to turn yourself in to the local security company first, you'd simply get locked up by the NPCs. And if even that was too much, you could pay a fine to the NPC guards and have the whole thing wiped clean.

"No, just passing through — sightseeing, more or less."

"Hmph. If you're not here to surrender, don't loiter around a place like this. Before I throw you in myself."

The guard — wearing Brawler Blues' signature torn sleeveless uniform that showed off his thick forearms — shook a fist at him threateningly.

The Professor waved him off in apparent agreement, backing away slowly while scanning as much of the station facilities as he could with his eyes.

"No helping it... I'll have to work on that place separately."

If it were any building besides Brawler Blues', it wouldn't have mattered much — a floor plan of the security headquarters was bound to be floating around somewhere on the black market. The real problem was finding a way to draw out the swarm of NPC guards inside.

"Let's see..."

After several days of reconnaissance, the Professor put his plan into motion. He logged in during the early morning hours in real time, when most users would be resting, and made his way into the city.

His first stop was the largest building in the city — the city hall.

Slipping past the NPCs' notice, he planted the explosives he'd brought, packed into his bag, at several points throughout the building. Then, walking out with an ordinary, unhurried gait, he took up a position in front of the security headquarters.

"Let's get started."

The moment he clicked the switch clutched in his right hand, a tremendous explosion rang out, and the city hall building began to collapse spectacularly. Not quite enough to level it entirely — but the foundation had been targeted precisely enough to make the whole structure tilt, which would be more than enough to draw the NPCs' attention.

"Wh-what's happening?!" "Th-the city hall exploded!"

"Damn it! Terrorists?! Seal off the city gates immediately! Move, move!"

Sure enough, the security NPCs stationed at headquarters spilled out with grim expressions, scattering in every direction to stabilize the city and manage the damage.

The Professor slipped into a restroom inside the headquarters building amid the chaos. Inside, he changed into a security uniform he'd prepared beforehand and removed his helmet.

"Phew..."

After pulling on a synthetic-skin disguise over his face, he neatly stowed his gear and stepped back out.

Spotting a relatively junior-looking NPC hurrying by with a barricade in hand, he calmly raised a hand to flag him down.

"Wh-what's going on, sir? Kind of in a hurry here, make it quick!"

"Nothing much — just got assigned to guard the prisoner holding block, and this being my first time here, I'm not sure where..."

Playing the part of a transfer just arrived from elsewhere, he watched the rookie nod and give him quick directions.

"I'll be off then! Good luck on watch!"

"Ah. You too."

Watching him dash off with his barricade gear for a moment, the Professor set off at a brisk pace toward the basement — level B4.

The dedicated holding block for users was located on the lowest floor of headquarters. Taking the elevator down, he found two guards posted in front of the iron door leading to the holding block.

"Damn, what the hell's going on up there?"

"Some kind of uprising during official-match season, of all times... whoever's behind it..."

The explosion outside had apparently carried all the way down here — the two guards looked visibly uneasy.

"Yo."

The disguised Professor walked up casually, waving. The two flinched, reaching for their pistols, but lowered their hands once they registered the uniform.

"What, just you?"

"Yeah. There's a whole mess going on outside."

"What's happening out there?"

"Terrorism. Sounds like the city hall got hit."

Keeping up the pretense of casual small talk, as if this were a shift change, the two NPCs — still somewhat suspicious — began to drift, one step at a time, from their posts.

—To be continued—

[EN] Ascension Field - Season1

Dystopian LitRpg MilitarySciFi AntiHero Harem Mercenary

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BigFS's Dimension Gate

Aug 18, 2026 12:54 pm

Public post

Episode 3 — Ninja Reality Shock 2

The kind of mech unit normally used only in official matches — though smaller models occasionally showed up on regular servers too.

But whatever that thing was, its movement had a fluidity no machine should have been capable of.

"...Whatever it is, it's a player. This just got annoying."

The Professor's expression hardened as he watched the black shape sweep past, slitting the throats of two Black Tiger Alliance users in an instant. Determined to deal with it before things got any worse, he swung his scope toward the figure.

Thoom—

Just as he was certain the heavy report of his large-caliber round had found its mark on the fast-moving figure—

Clang—!

A sharp metallic ring rang out as the bullet was sliced clean in two by a razor-edged wakizashi, and the stealthily moving figure faltered — only for a moment.

"A... ninja?"

"...?!"

What his scope revealed was, unmistakably, a female user in ninja garb, wielding a wakizashi in each hand.

Worst Field was, without question, an SF-based military shooter VR game. Naturally, no such class or equipment existed within the game. Even if someone had tried to build one, producing that kind of movement and performance should have been impossible.

He suddenly felt her gaze — the one who'd just sliced his bullet in half — lock onto exactly where he was.

"Damn it."

Realizing his position had been given away by that alone, the Professor grabbed his rifle and moved to relocate immediately, unaware that the female ninja, having spotted him from a distance, was already melting into her own shadow.

Just as he was packing away his gun and starting to rise, he felt something sharp prick the back of his neck.

"...Don't move."

"...!"

The distance between the mine facility where she'd been and this spot was a full 300 meters. That she'd closed that gap in an instant—

"You look like you took a wrong turn into the wrong game."

"Not something I want to hear from a pervert hiding behind a helmet."

Confident in her victory, she moved to strip off his helmet the moment she finished speaking. Having subdued the renowned freelance mercenary herself, this would finally get the Roaring Dragon Society's higher-ups to notice her.

"Stay still. I'm taking the helmet off now—"

Just then, a faint, dull sound of something dropping reached her ears. She flinched, glancing down toward the Professor's feet—

Flash!

"Kuh—?!"

Using the split second she'd been blinded by the flashbang, he swept her legs out from under her.

"Ugh!"

Since her footing had been on an unstable branch to begin with, she nearly toppled off, catching herself at the last second with her arm and swinging her wakizashi in a desperate arc toward where his leg should have been. But there was no sensation of cutting through anything — only the faint sound of someone landing on the ground reaching her ears.

He'd already fled to the ground below.

"Not letting you go!"

Shaking her head hard to clear the flashbang's effects, her eyes tracked his trail as he fled across the ground—

"What?!" "Heh."

The Professor had already drawn his pistol and was pulling the trigger, aimed straight at her!

"Tch!"

"—!"

The instant the shot rang out, she kicked off a tree trunk, launching herself through the air like a feather — and landed with pinpoint precision right behind the Professor.

"Guh—?!"

"Don't move!"

She seized his gun-holding arm from behind, wrenching it down, and pressed her wakizashi to the back of his neck. Only then did the Professor finally settle down.

"Never expected the Roaring Dragon Society to have such a strange kind of user."

"You're one to talk, being strange yourself... anyway, take off that weird helmet."

"...That's a problem."

"Then I'll just cut it off along with your head."

This wasn't a warning this time. She pressed steadily into the back of his neck until blood beaded up.

"Ngh."

"Now, off with it! Quickly!"

Crack!

"Argh—?!"

"Close-quarters combat isn't really my thing, but I don't have much choice!"

He stomped his heel down onto the top of her foot, catching her off guard and buying himself an opening. He broke free and immediately spun to fire behind him.

"Hm?!"

He was fairly confident in his quick-draw speed — but she sank into her own shadow, disappearing as if swallowed by it. Sensing instinctively that this was the technique that let her close hundreds of meters in an instant, the Professor swung a punch behind him.

"Kuh!"

"So that's how it is."

Just as he'd expected, she'd been about to swing her blade and had to snap her guard up to block instead.

A technique that could close considerable distance in an instant — but only through shadow-to-shadow movement, it seemed. That was the principle behind it.

"Tch! You figured out my technique already?!"

"Anyone who thinks the same trick will work twice on a pro like me is an amateur."

"How insolent!"

She sheathed the wakizashi in her hand behind her waist, formed some kind of hand seal with her fingers, and pulled out a bundle of throwing stars from her chest.

"Hey now. Don't tell me you're planning on not using a gun at all—"

"That's right. No firearms for me. Got a problem with that?"

"........."

Sensing a hint of mockery from him, her eyes sharpened.

"Laugh all you want — after you've survived this!"

"What?"

She flung the six throwing stars in her hand outward, and in an instant they multiplied into twelve, converging on him like buckshot!

"?!"

"Cloud Mist Shuriken!"

There was no trajectory in that spread that looked survivable. No time to distinguish real from decoy.

"Damn it!"

All he could do was twist his body to minimize the hits. Fortunately, just as he'd guessed, the original six visible ones turned out to be the real ones — one buried itself in his thigh, another lodged in his helmet, and the rest merely grazed him.

"Kuh—!"

"Tch! Not bad!"

Staggering, the Professor gritted his teeth and raised his pistol again. She, in turn, drew twelve more throwing stars, six in each hand, and squared off against him again.

Right at that moment—

[Professor. We're done on our end. Loading up the cargo and pulling out now — wrap it up and pull out yourself.]

"...!"

Her eyebrows furrowed too, apparently having received the same kind of message from her side.

"Tch!"

Should she have avoided getting too fixated on the Professor in front of her and helped the other members instead? Swallowing the bitter taste in her mouth, she turned and started running.

The message meant her opponent's side had likely just finished loading their cargo and set off too. If she could just get their vehicle in sight, her teleportation skill would let her latch onto it in an instant.

Bang!

"Ah—!"

The pain flaring in her thigh forced her to a stop.

A throwing star lodged deep in one thigh, cuts from throwing stars across both arms, and even her prized visor now had a throwing star embedded in it — the flickering light of her eye display made it obvious it was broken.

Whatever else he was, he was hired muscle who'd still bother interfering with her even at this point?

Unable to comprehend it, her expression twisted, and she flung another throwing star at him.

"Foolish! Why do you keep coming at me?!"

She flinched, watching the Professor shoot down a single throwing star — one not accompanied by any ninjutsu — with his gun.

It became clear that using the Cloud Mist Shuriken from the very start had been the right call. If she'd conserved and thrown them one at a time to save resources, he would have intercepted every single one like that.

"Call it after-sales service, ninja girl."

"Hmph! Ridiculous!"

She threw another star, but this time he triggered a device at his belt, deploying a shield that deflected it away.

"Ngh!" "Heh... now then, what will you do? Turn your back on me again and—"

"If you're that eager to die, I'll gladly oblige."

He had no way of knowing that her wakizashi was plated with a special material designed specifically to cut through that very shield. And the Professor was still within her sight — meaning she could ambush him from behind through his shadow whenever she wanted.

Just as she was forming the seal for her surprise attack, the Professor suddenly dropped his gun to the ground and raised both hands.

"What?"

"...Sorry. Figured I'd stalled about as long as I could."

"...!"

"And..."

He spread his legs slightly apart, and something dropped with a soft thud. She glanced down instinctively to see what it was—

Another blinding flash went off, along with a sharp pain lancing through the top of her foot. By the time she'd gritted her teeth and shaken off the effect, he was already gone without a trace.

And—

"Persistent bastard, isn't he..."

Apparently meant to hinder her pursuit, the throwing star that had been lodged in his thigh was now buried in the top of her foot. He must have pulled it out and thrown it back in that split second.

"........."

Head down, gritting her teeth, she had to limp her way back to the mine facility. She lamented having to stand guard at some backwater outpost despite having this much skill — and the fact that she'd even failed to properly do that much left her thoroughly depressed.

"Ngh..."

The Professor's mood wasn't much better.

He'd barely made it back to his residence, but a grinding fury simmered in him — this kind of thing rarely happened to him after all his years in the business.

"Of all things, my helmet..."

In three years of activity in Worst Field, this was only the third time the Professor's helmet had taken damage. Two of those had come from the same person, which meant, effectively, this was only the second time overall.

"Professor...? What happened?!"

Cuticle, who'd just stepped into the parlor, startled badly and hurried over with a first-aid kit from the shelf.

"Damn it... there's a user with ninja skills on the Roaring Dragon Society's side."

"Huh? What are you even talking about?"

"I'm saying, ninja. Ninja. The kind that shows up in old movies."

"No way. This is Worst Field, remember? Military sci-fi genre."

Without a word, the Professor yanked the throwing star still lodged in his helmet free and handed it over.

"Look at this."

"No way... seriously?"

"Yeah."

After treating the wounds scattered across his body with the first-aid kit, the Professor accepted a new helmet from Cuticle and turned away. Fortunately, the voice changer was still functional, but the visual-assist feature was busted.

"Hah..."

Once he'd swapped helmets, he turned the damaged one over in his hands, examining it.

"I liked that design."

"Don't worry. I'll get it repaired."

"That costs money."

"Ha ha. Well, that's true."

Though they worked as a team, the relationship between the Professor and Cuticle was extremely dry — but that was because the Professor wanted it that way. Whenever he requested repairs or crafting from Cuticle, he always paid the proper rate.

"Think you could look into who made that throwing star?"

"Easy enough."

Despite his fondness for magical-girl cosplay, his skill placed him among the top five crafters in the game, and naturally, he was well-connected among the artisan community.

"Actually... I think I already know."

"That easy to tell?"

Cuticle set the throwing star down on the tea table and pointed to a small dolphin emblem etched into one side.

"I know this mark pretty well, actually."

—To be continued—

[EN] Ascension Field - Season1

Dystopian LitRpg MilitarySciFi AntiHero Harem Mercenary

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BigFS's Dimension Gate

Aug 15, 2026 11:43 am

Public post

Chapter 2 — Ninja Reality Shock (1)

A day had passed in game time.

The Professor was conducting reconnaissance of the mine, the target of the upcoming raid, using the zoom function built into his visor.

"Security's pretty tight for a mine out in the boondocks..."

If the intel was accurate, this mine occasionally yielded minerals used as fuel components for high-end mechanized equipment, which explained why the Roaring Dragon Society treated it as important. Especially with official-match season looming, they'd brought in a large number of NPC miners and were extracting resources at a steady clip every day.

"Right, and the warehouse is over there..."

The infiltration of the facility and theft of the goods would be handled by the Black Tiger Alliance's raiding party. The Professor soon abandoned his tour of the interior facilities and shut off the zoom function.

"Anyway... eerie-looking forest."

As he surveyed the woods surrounding the mine where he stood, he suddenly went still.

Faint but unmistakable — a sharp sense of killing intent, pressing in on him.

For someone who prided himself as a professional at stealth sniping, the idea that someone could conceal themselves well enough to watch him unnoticed was startling. The Professor moved as inconspicuously as he could, letting his hand drift toward the pistol holster at the small of his back.

The most notorious freelance mercenary on this server — what business does he have in a place like this?

A woman's voice.

Beyond the fact that it came from somewhere up in the trees, it was impossible to pin down a precise direction — the voice echoed strangely from all sides, using some kind of unusual vocal technique.

"Well now. This is a surprise. Didn't know the Roaring Dragon Society had a user running such a peculiar skill set."

I'm the one asking the questions here. Depending on your answer, I won't be letting you leave — so be prepared.

The killing intent sharpened.

Getting into a fight in a place like this before the operation had even begun was decidedly not the Professor's style. He raised both hands compliantly, showing he had no intention to fight, and lifted his head.

"If you know anything about me, you'd know I'm not the type to just wander around a place like this for no reason."

Just as I thought. Then I'm sorry, but you'll have to die.

She pronounced the death sentence coldly, and the killing intent began pressing in earnest against the Professor's skin.

"Whoa, hold on. I'm not here for some assassination job or anything that extreme. See? No weapons besides this pistol."

.........

He caught the faintest hint of her presence — a sense of her moving through the branches above him, circling around to study him from every angle.

...Then what are you here for? Answer honestly.

"...Trade secret."

Who hired you?

"Same answer. Sorry about that."

The woman's voice paused for a moment.

She was probably conferring with the commanding officer inside the mine. Soon, her voice returned.

It really isn't some assassination or sabotage job?

At the suspicious, probing question, the Professor answered in his characteristic dry, machine-toned voice.

"It isn't. That much I can say with certainty."

...Very well. Just this once, I'll let you go unharmed.

"That's appreciated."

But! Leave right now. If you keep lurking around this area, I won't forgive it.

"...Understood."

The Professor immediately turned and put distance between himself and the mine.

The mysterious figure watching him waited until he'd vanished from sight before quietly dropping down from the branches.

The woman wore an outfit reminiscent of a Japanese female ninja — the kind that only showed up in fantasy-themed games these days — and lingered for a long while, gazing distrustfully in the direction the Professor had disappeared.

"Tch."

At her commander's summons, she reluctantly pushed off the ground and leapt back up into the branches, weaving nimbly through the treetops back toward the mine.

"Status of the raid team?"

[Formation's complete. Confirmed the arrangement with our Union friends again too. No problems.]

"...And countermeasures for that intel I sent you?"

He'd already relayed information to the Black Tiger Alliance about the female user with the strange skill set who'd threatened him during his earlier reconnaissance. Given how prepared they usually were, he'd assumed they'd have worked out some kind of contingency. Making sure every last variable, however small, had a plan to control it — that was his method for maintaining a 100% success rate.

[Unfortunately, we didn't have enough info to put together a specific countermeasure. We're leaving that part to you.]

"Tch... you people never stop working someone to the bone."

Generally speaking, the Professor preferred jobs from the Black Tiger Alliance. They understood his preferences well enough to only bring him jobs that suited him, and they never caused problems where money was concerned. But if he had to name one thing he disliked about them, it was exactly this. In exchange for paying generously and accommodating him as much as possible, they worked him correspondingly hard.

[We're leaving it to you because we trust your skill. Count on you.]

"I know."

When he finished the call and glanced to the side, he found a man already standing there, holding the Professor's bag.

"What's the costume today?"

"The latest season protagonist from Pretty Angela! What do you think, cute right?"

The gruff-voiced, nearly two-meter-tall mass of muscle was dressed in a magical-girl anime outfit — the kind that had young girls squealing in delight.

Mrs. Cuticle.

The Professor's one and only fixed partner, responsible for equipment crafting and maintenance.

His skill placed him among the top five crafters in the game, but his bizarre taste in fashion meant no one wanted to hire him — until the Professor, who judged people by skill alone, took him in.

"Doesn't matter either way. You set it up like I asked?"

"Of course! But what's this about? The great Professor using a one-handed axe of all things?"

"........."

The Professor fell into thought without answering.

Whoever that voice belonged to, she was, at the very least, not a user who primarily used firearms. If she had been, she would've simply shot at his feet rather than issuing that vague threat of "you'll have to die." That meant predicting how she'd actually come at him would be difficult.

"...Insurance."

"Insurance? For some backwater mine?"

"You know my franchise."

"Ah, well, that's true, but..."

A 100% mission success rate.

Expensive and notoriously picky about which jobs he accepted — but once he took a job, he saw it through by any means necessary. That was the Professor.

"Time to head out."

Cuticle watched with a grave expression as the Professor rose and left the house. It was genuinely rare for the Professor to bring up the word "insurance."

Soon, the Professor met up with the Black Tiger Alliance's raid team at the border between the Union's and the Roaring Dragon Society's territory.

"Hey. Long time no see."

"Yo. You're the famous Professor guy, right?"

A young user with an unusually casual way of talking looked over his visor with curiosity, then impulsively reached out to touch it. The Professor, clearly used to this, casually slapped the hand away.

"Aww, c'mon, at least show us your face? We're colleagues here."

"...Your name?"

"Wicked Jemi, sir! What's your real name, other than 'Professor'?"

"........."

Even accounting for how thinly stretched their manpower was with everyone funneled into official matches, it was hard to believe they'd put a rookie like this on the raid team. And he apparently didn't even know who the Professor was, despite the man's reputation on this server.

"You. How long have you been on this server?"

"Huh? About two months in game time."

"........."

The Professor seriously considered punching Baird Choi in the face once this job was over.

The server the Professor operated on wasn't a standard server. It was one of the PK-centric conflict-zone planets, distinct even from the server where official matches were held — a place designed for factions to fight over resources needed for those very matches. The environment and way of life here were completely different from the regular servers, where users from various factions lived in relative peace. You needed at least six months of in-game time here just to get your bearings.

"Jemi, was it."

"Yessir?"

"...If you don't want to die, I'd recommend pulling out of this job."

"What?! Did I do something wrong?!"

Flustered, he looked to the other Black Tiger Alliance users, who just shook their heads pityingly. The senior-most user among them soon walked over and offered the Professor a handshake.

"Sorry about that. We're short on people, couldn't be helped..."

"...Understood."

"Whaaat?! Boss, seriously?!"

Jemi got smacked upside the head by a senior member and grumbled his way to his position, while the Professor made his way toward a suitable old tree near his sniping position, climbing it with practiced ease using his spiked boots.

Watching him get into position, the raid team moved swiftly and stealthily through the trees, closing in on the mine.

Before long, a user in the mine's watchtower spotted them, flipped on a spotlight, and sounded the alarm — the battle had begun.

"Run! Once we're inside, it's our game! Don't stop for anything!"

"Turn on your shield modules!"

Being a faction largely composed of dark gamers, the Black Tiger Alliance handled the PK situation with practiced ease.

The Roaring Dragon Society users, on the other hand, were badly rattled. They'd tightened security after the Professor had been spotted lurking nearby a few days earlier, but the enemy's skill still exceeded their expectations.

"Damn it! Suppressing fire! Someone lay down suppressing fire!"

"What's the machine gunner doing?! Shoot! Shoot already!"

Urged on by the others, the Roaring Dragon Society's machine gunner, who'd been waiting in the rear, scrambled to grab his mounted gun and open fire.

Watching the Black Tiger Alliance users scatter as if they'd been expecting exactly this, the Roaring Dragon Society users swallowed hard.

"Don't let them get inside the facility! They're going for a chaotic close-quarters brawl!"

"Aaaargh!"

"Point the spotlight better! I can't see anything!"

With things heating up ahead of him, the Professor's hands got busy too. Pulling gun parts from his bag, he assembled his sniper rifle and settled into position, lying prone across a thick branch.

His first target was—

Crash!

"Aah! The spotlight!"

"Wha— who's shooting?!"

"It's a snip—gah?!"

The user operating the spotlight from the watchtower took a headshot and tumbled down, disintegrating into particles under the death judgment.

Witnessing that, the Roaring Dragon Society users tensed up hard.

A sniper, at this hour of the night.

"Everyone, heads down! These bastards brought a sniper!"

"Glow sticks! Throw the glow sticks! I can't see a damn thing to shoot at!"

"You idiot! Light things up now and you'll get sniped!"

Amid the chaos, the Black Tiger Alliance's raid team began systematically bringing down the barbed-wire fences and barriers ringing the mine with grenades, one by one, until they finally forced their way inside.

"No! They're inside!"

"Hold them off! Hold the line! Don't give an inch!"

The compound descended into instant chaos. Users from both factions collided in a tangle of gunfire and clashing bayonets, and here and there, users who'd lost their shields disintegrated into particles.

The Professor picked off Roaring Dragon Society users as they came into view, steadily dragging the tide of battle in the Black Tiger Alliance's favor.

"Almost wrapped up now, wait... hm?"

At first, he thought he'd seen wrong.

Something was moving fast and stealthily between the shadows cast by the Roaring Dragon Society users.

"What is that? Some kind of mech unit?"

—To be continued—

[EN] Ascension Field - Season1

Dystopian LitRpg MilitarySciFi AntiHero Harem Mercenary

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BigFS's Dimension Gate

Aug 13, 2026 09:13 am

Public post

Episode 1 — Crimson Shield, Blue Spear

Inside the building the Professor had been staring at.

In the depths of that building, in a vast conference room whose walls were packed floor to ceiling with three hundred screens, a light rose up from the center of the floor.

The light projected a hologram — a middle-aged man in an expensive suit appeared.

[Everyone. Please take your seats.]

At the hologram's declaration, the screens ringing the walls flicked on one by one, each lighting up with a different face.

About five minutes later, every monitor was lit. Only once the holographic man had turned in a slow circle to confirm everyone had joined did he finally speak.

[...Let us begin the meeting.]

The meeting he referred to was none other than one of the regularly scheduled sessions of the Crimson Shield Council.

Of course, today wasn't a scheduled date — an urgent matter had forced an emergency session.

[Is this about that business?]

A gruff, middle-aged man's voice opened the floor.

[Exactly — which is why I said it last time too. We should replace the president over there.]

A sharp-edged woman's voice immediately demanded that someone be held responsible.

That set off a chain reaction — all three hundred board members began voicing their own opinions at once. The holographic man let them go on for a while before clearing his throat to silence them.

[Ahem. Ahem. Now, as we discussed last time as well — let's set aside, for now, the idea of simply firing the development company's president or dev team, shall we?]

[Why? We all know that president is nothing but a figurehead who can't do a thing!]

The sharp-voiced woman snapped back, and murmurs rippled through the board again.

[This is exactly why I said it! That "AI Sphere" is dangerous! A game that lets people feel nostalgic for the era of war we worked so hard to bury!]

A somewhat glib-sounding man raised his voice in protest, and several other members echoed him, calling for the game's service to be shut down and the AI Sphere at its core scrapped.

But a gruff-voiced man, who had been listening quietly, cut them off.

[I understand your point. So tell me — do you have some means of replacing the massive revenue that game is currently generating for us worldwide?]

The game in question had, in truth, been causing all manner of unexplained incidents, large and small, ever since its early days of service.

What's more, the AI Sphere used in the game hadn't even been developed by the company running it. They had simply paid the Council a fortune to purchase the device — a device that already contained a fully developed game — and were now merely providing the service.

They knew full well they couldn't even access 100% of the Sphere's internal programming; realistically, they controlled about 30% of it.

And yet, they couldn't bring themselves to crack down on the game.

Five years into service, it had become a worldwide smash hit — a goose laying golden eggs, pouring vast sums of money into their coffers.

[T-that's still under consideration, but the game is dangerous regardless! You all know how many people have died!]

[Indeed. It's a problem when a game racks up a three-digit body count.]

Over five years of service, the number of users who had died because of the game had reached roughly six hundred.

And they weren't ordinary people, either — most of them had held some position, however minor, within the Council itself.

[And that damned Sphere's origins still haven't been properly investigated! It needs to be scrapped!]

[...As for its origins — I've already looked into that myself. Not completely, but—]

[Wait, you actually investigated it?]

The room fell into a collective, breath-held silence.

Over the past five years, the Council had investigated the Sphere's origins three separate times.

It made sense — with a game claiming roughly a hundred lives a year, they could hardly avoid looking into it. But every previous attempt had turned up nothing conclusive. This time, it seemed, the gruff-voiced board member had finally found something.

[...We confirmed that Dr. Kim Baekgeum was involved among its developers.]

At the name spoken in that gruff voice, a collective gasp of dry-swallowed breath rippled through the board.

A name none of them had ever expected — or wanted — to hear again.

Dr. Kim Baekgeum.

Better known as Dr. Platinum Kim.

A man who, in his mid-to-late twenties, had earned doctorates and master's degrees across a staggering range of disciplines, and who had carved his name into the advancement of human civilization in the years right after the Third World War.

And—

[As you're aware, he was one of the core members of the "Pickers" within Blue Spear.]

[Chairman! I ask you again! This proves beyond doubt just how dangerous that Sphere is! We must announce the termination of Worst Field's service immediately and begin decommissioning it!]

The glib-voiced member pressed his case with desperate urgency, and those who agreed with him raised their voices in a chorus of support.

[Hmm...]

The chairman — the holographic man, wearing an expression of reluctance — surveyed the other board members.

[So then — what became of this Dr. Platinum, exactly?]

[...He was killed along with his father, five and a half years ago.]

At the gruff man's flat declaration, the glib-voiced member visibly faltered on-screen.

[E-even so... if this is his legacy, or some kind of parting work, it's still right to treat it as dangerous.]

[Perhaps so now. But it's also a fact that Worst Field — and that Sphere — provide us with enormous benefits.]

Once again silencing the murmuring board members with a cough, the chairman spoke.

[Then how about this.]

[What do you propose?]

[We reprimand the development company's president for now, while also having the Council hire capable hackers of our own to embed within the development team — bringing the Sphere under proper control.]

Understanding dawned on the board members' faces, and their expressions brightened.

However renowned a genius the scholar from Blue Spear might have been, in the end it was nothing more than a machine.

Send in skilled hackers, breach its security, bring it under control — and everything would be settled.

[That sounds like the best approach. However dangerous it may be, Worst Field is currently a global phenomenon. Giving up the economic benefits it provides would be foolish.]

[Agreed. Once we hack that Sphere and get it into our own hands, Dr. Baekgeum will be weeping tears of blood from beyond the grave.]

Nodding in mutual agreement, wearing satisfied, faintly cruel smiles, they moved on to the next item on the agenda.

[Let's move to routine matters, then. First, the European branch.]

[Yes. Regarding the European branch's monitoring of all citizen communications over the past period...]

11 a.m.

At the Professor's base of operations and respawn point within the game — a secluded, three-story house built against a mountainside — a client who had made an appointment in advance was waiting.

Baird Choi.

An officer of the Black Tiger Alliance, a faction formed around Korean-descended dark gamer users who specialized in assault tactics using bayonet-fitted assault rifles.

"Sorry to trouble you like this, I know."

"It's fine. I make a point of accommodating clients wherever I can."

He gave a faint smile at the Professor's mechanically toned reply, delivered in that voice-modulated, machinelike cadence.

Codename Professor.

One of the top five most skilled freelance mercenaries in the business, and an arrogant man who proudly advertised his 100% mission success rate as his personal brand.

"This job's going to be a fairly big one, so let's make sure your schedule's clear first."

"...Duration?"

"Four days, starting next Tuesday."

"..........."

The Professor gave a nod of acknowledgment.

"Don't worry about the money — we've already accounted for your rates."

"With your people, I never worry about that."

The Black Tiger Alliance, a dark gamer faction, was known both internally and externally for being scrupulous about money matters. Naturally, that same rigor meant they were also famous for haggling relentlessly whenever a deal was negotiable, squeezing out the lowest possible price.

The Professor, however, was known among mercenaries for maintaining rates roughly 30% above the going rate — and never once negotiating.

The reason clients still sought him out despite that was, quite simply, his brand.

Once he accepted a contract, he completed it by whatever means necessary — that was his method.

"So, what's the job?"

"...A dispute with the Roaring Dragon Society."

"..........."

The Professor tilted his head briefly, then nodded.

It was currently official-match season.

Massive factions like the Black Tiger Alliance were scrambling to gather skilled users and funnel them into official-match servers.

"So the gist is you're short on skilled hands and need backup."

"That's about it."

Very much like the Black Tiger Alliance's style.

Being dark gamers, official matches were official matches — but they never let up on assaults in the regular server either.

"There's a prime mining site they're currently occupying."

"You want it raided."

"Yeah. Strip everything they just finished mining — ore, ingots, all of it — and bring it back."

"Bold."

The Black Tiger Alliance was a major faction, but the Roaring Dragon Society, whom they were currently hostile with, was no force to be dismissed either. If anything, it was considered more solidly built than the Black Tiger Alliance in terms of economic strength and supply lines.

To brazenly rob a faction like that, official-match season or not, was an audacious plan.

"On the day of the raid, all you need to do is snipe the guards at the mine to shake them up. After that, we'll have you ride our cargo truck back to our territory."

"...That's quite a distance."

The Professor's voice dropped a note lower as he studied the holographic map Baird Choi presented.

"Unfortunately, our territory doesn't directly border the Roaring Dragon Society's right now. But we've already bribed the Druid Union folks caught in between, so there shouldn't be any real problems."

"And the Union is willing to look the other way if the Roaring Dragon Society comes chasing after you and starts a fight on their turf?"

At the Professor's pointed remark, Choi's expression twisted slightly.

"Well, yeah. It's how these things always go. The Union boys pretty much never get involved in anyone else's disputes. Even letting us use their roads for this cost a pretty penny."

"And in a situation like that, you're hiring me on top of it."

However solid a major faction's finances might be, an investment like this was practically a gamble. Pouring massive funds and skilled users into official matches, on top of bribing the Druid Union, on top of hiring the Professor — who charged above standard mercenary rates — for four whole days.

"Ha-ha-ha! It's certainly a gamble, sure. But — if we manage to knock the Roaring Dragon Society's pride down a peg this time, it'll bring us a much bigger deal down the line."

Official matches.

They weren't merely battles fought within the game.

They functioned as a kind of virtual war — a means of resolving conflicts of interest in the real world. Government bodies and corporations from each regional division not only sponsored the game's major factions but also enlisted their own employees as dark gamers.

And by winning official matches, a division could secure real-world interests and win the support of its local population.

"I see. Then I can work with peace of mind."

"Appreciate it."

After exchanging a handshake, Choi hurried off — he too was a confirmed named user set to participate in the official match.

The Professor watched him leave from the window, then turned his gaze back to the point marked on the holographic map still floating in the air.

The location of the mine he was to raid.

-To be continued-

[EN] Ascension Field - Season1

Dystopian LitRpg MilitarySciFi AntiHero Harem Mercenary

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