It’s not that kind of malicious broadcast

The snowflakes quietly settled on the armor of the knight, who stood firmly on the snowy plain. The layers of snow covering him were evidence of his prolonged stillness. No one approached the spire he guarded.

The battlefield was at the front lines, deep within enemy territory. Ever since they had recaptured this stronghold from the enemy’s grasp, it had been that way. The enemy forces continuously crumbled, retreating to regroup.

They dared not even think of approaching the heart of the allied forces. Despite this, the knight standing alone on the silent plain did not let his guard down.

It was a battlefield he fervently wished to share with his comrades. A position he desired so much that he dared not even speak of it, fearing he might jinx it.

The glorious first victory was in sight but not yet within his grasp. The beleaguered enemies would surely try to reclaim this stronghold in a desperate bid for a counterattack.

They would likely rally a small force to retake the stronghold quickly and then engage in a final decisive battle, relying on their numerical superiority.

But the knight had no intention of allowing such a variable to manifest.

He shook off the snow from his body and began to move. Considering the battlefield’s size, the last known enemy positions, the weight of the armor they wore, and the time they would take to move—it was time to advance a bit further.

If the enemy abandoned their stronghold assault, he could quickly rejoin the main force. He moved to a position from where he could swiftly retreat if necessary and once again crouched slightly, observing his surroundings.

‘The fact that there’s no movement till now… No, if they are coming, it must be now.’

It would be good to have a splendid duel with the approaching enemies, but even if they didn’t come, it would be fine. He didn’t mind if people called him a passive knight or a mere guard dog that only protected the house.

As long as they could win. As long as he could hold the victory cup in his hand, none of that mattered. It had been a grueling year.

A year of suffering under coaches and managers who knew nothing about the game, self-proclaimed fans who constantly compared them to superior European teams and criticized them non-stop, immense practice loads that made one question if this was even a human life…

Despite the torment of those three hardships, he couldn’t complain about the difficulty, as there was a veteran by his side who silently endured twice as much.

‘When was it again?’

One night when everyone was asleep, he had quietly risen from bed, thinking of having a can of beer before sleeping.

As he retrieved a beer from the fridge and headed back to his room, he heard a creaking sound coming from the practice room. There, he saw Orthodox, drenched in sweat, hurling his body around.

He had wondered. How could someone’s proficiency in a rogue character, something they hadn’t even tried properly, be that high? Moreover, wasn’t it the coach who didn’t allow him to pick the rogue during team practice?

The answer to that mystery, one that had even puzzled his teammates, lay right in front of him. Someone had casually laughed it off, saying it was just a difference in talent, but the answer was there.

He had tried to speak, but then he flinched and froze. The beer in his hand suddenly felt shameful.

He put the beer back in the fridge, carefully took out two cans of sports drinks, and finally, with some hesitation, called out the name.

It was only then that Orthodox, who belatedly noticed him, smiled somewhat bashfully.

“Please don’t tell the coach; I don’t want to hear any more about overworking or anything like that.”

“I’ve been competing for half my life with the title of pro gamer, always feeling like each time might be the last chance. But this time, it really feels like the last opportunity. So, I’m asking as a favor.”

Orthodox said this while patting him on the shoulder a couple of times. He then resumed his gear and began practicing his dual-wield dagger movements once more.

Tedious, endlessly tedious, like that time-wasting fungo hitting session with no partner to catch the ball.

One might wonder if monks performing 3,000 prostrations were like this. That night, as he watched Orthodox repeat the same movements with precision, Bio made a decision.

I absolutely must see those calloused hands lifting the championship trophy up close.

《The Mage’s out. Can’t spot the Warrior. Watch the base.》

The familiar voice rang in Bio’s ears just as he noticed a slight rustling in the bushes.

‘Here it comes.’

Adjusting his grip on the sword, he slightly shifted his stance. Did the enemy realize he was spotted purely from that motion?

The Warrior abandoned stealth and sprang out powerfully, dashing forth with such force that his footsteps echoed, thump, thump. His angled weapon glinted menacingly.

Jansen, the Warrior, wielding his signature giant axe. Even among the V7 team that dominated Europe, he was regarded as the ace, having come to turn the tides of a losing game.

Bio’s heartbeat began to thunder in his ears, even louder than the approaching footsteps. The first exchange would determine the course of the battle. He saw Jansen’s right shoulder flinch in slow motion.

Could it be a feint?

Despite focusing on his target’s upper body, left-right deception with one’s gaze was his opponent’s specialty. Just before the clash.

This was the moment to make a decision. Defense. Evasion. Counter. Preemptive attack. Countless options whirled in Bio’s mind.

‘If I dodge the first attack by a hair’s breadth and land a counter… This could become a legendary move replayable for ages. They’ll probably loop it at my funeral.’

This once monotonous rear area had now transformed into the epicenter where the battle’s outcome would be decided. All the cameras, and the tens or even hundreds of millions of spectators behind them, were undoubtedly focused here.

Barely 20 years old. He had trained to the brink of death to reach this skill level, yearning to showcase it in front of everyone. Eyes fixated on the elusive, yet seemingly assured opportunity for a counter—

Bio raised his shield, solidifying his defensive stance.

**-Boom!**

The axe that aimed at the center-right collided with the shield, releasing a deafening roar as if a bomb had exploded.

It was an attack accurately read at the very last moment. In other words, if he had aimed for a counter after dodging, he certainly would have succeeded, inflicting critical damage on the opponent instead of using up a lot of stamina like now.

But he could have also failed. And Bio did not want that kind of variable.

The knight, who had perfectly blocked the first attack, extended his sword briefly. As expected, Jensen retreated naturally as he retrieved his axe. The warrior’s eyes, barely out of the sword’s reach, fixed on the knight’s right shoulder.

Thus, the warrior prepared to counter the knight’s follow-up move that would surely come—

Bio took two steps back.

“Warrior, central stronghold. I’ll just buy time.”

V7’s magician was dead. The warrior had separated from the main group. So… no matter how disgraceful it was, if they could just keep the warrior here. If they could create a stalemate and endure—

Having outnumbered the enemy, the main group would, in five minutes… no, within three minutes, definitely break through the fortress.

‘Turtle, coward… let them call me whatever they want.’

It didn’t matter who took the glory.

‘As long as victory remains in my hands.’

Everything, solely for victory. Thinking this, Bio raised his shield and solidified his defensive stance.

* * * *

《We endure! We hold on! Bio is holding on magnificently against Jensen’s axe! Already into their 15th bout! He is completely blocking any approach to the stronghold!》

『Victorious Move』

『Tighten that seatbelt, lOLOLOL』

『This commentator is working his butt off, lOLOLOL』

『Just standing there with a shield, getting all this praise, lMAO. The commentator’s job is seriously tough.』

『Announcing my intent to take the bus.』

『Throw away the sword and pick up a huge shield, lMAO.』

『Hey, forget it, you brat.』

The commentary’s fuss didn’t seem enough. The chat window was relentlessly pouring criticism towards Bio.

It was likely because Bio played a supportive role throughout the game while running as a farmer on the underground scene. Without a discerning eye, the achievements wouldn’t have been obvious. It was the farmer’s fate.

However, objectively speaking, Bio’s skill was worthy of admiration.

Despite not being familiar with the farmer role yet, Bio perfectly maintained his pace and accurately grasped the pivotal moments of the game.

If one remembered the time when Revan and Bio did a 2v2 together, the progress Bio made seemed almost unbelievable.

Professional players truly were on a different level.

“”Orthodox has broken through! He has broken through! Why is this player so good at being a rogue! How did they keep such a secret weapon hidden until the finals!””

Of course, it was the rogue who was truly carrying the team.

Yet…

It felt wrong for the farmer, who played so well, to be getting criticized.

“Bio… right? Well done. That was impressive.”

“…Put some soul into it. Just because the rogue is doing great doesn’t mean you should lose your focus.”

… I tried to put as much soul into the compliment as I could. Maybe the Warrior was sulking because they got overshadowed.

I held back the annoyance that boiled up inside, adjusted my posture, and spoke with more conviction.

“I mean it. How impressive was that. Good sense, knowing when to sacrifice… You need to meet someone like that. Once you do, you shouldn’t ever let go. That’s what I would do.”

Capturing such a farmer made it so much easier to climb the ranks.

Although I wasn’t fond of duos myself, most rogues would’ve added that person as a friend as soon as the game ended. They’d probably send messages like, “Duo?” straight away whenever they saw them online.

Yet—whether it was because they didn’t fully understand the concept of the underground scene or didn’t see the rarity of a good farmer, neither Revan, Ark, nor StarPork seemed to agree, while the excited commentary voice just echoed emptily in the studio.

《GP is advancing simultaneously! This is an outright declaration! Your formation is broken, how are you going to block the wedge rush?》

《The knight should block the rush, but—they can’t! No, they mustn’t! Without the priest’s heal, they can’t hold on for three seconds alone!》

《Ah—Kruger down! The last knight of V7 has fallen! This is a situation anyone can sympathize with. Where’s the priest! Give us the heal! But the rogue has a knife at their throat, demanding no heals! How can the priest heal! Orthodox’s rogue! Shaking V7 by the collar!》

《Jansen has rushed back, but it’s too late! What good is returning when the house is burning down! GP, pounding at the castle gate!》

《Victory—! The GP Hustlers, who came up as the third seed, has taken the first set against the European powerhouse and dominant force, V7, in the World Series finals!》

TL’s Corner:
Rogue Revival Movement!!! Go!!! GP Hustlers for the championship!!!