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-