Sun Tournament (3)
Aegis's wide-area channel spread.
—Urgent! Yahweh2 and the Operator in a standoff! Geumhwaryun First Detachment, request support?
Members of Geumhwaryun checked the satellite feed.
Wild West, smoke curling from his .44 Magnum, gaped like an idiot.
"Huh? It's real?"
Around them, Western users lay scattered, faces pierced, fallen.
—Shall we move in? If we finish it here, it's over. Since they took the bait, we can call off the Sun Tournament.
Yolga's son transmitted.
—Hold. The match won't be decided this early.
Fermi, who had given the order, thought.
'Win rates in the Sun Tournament between East and West are nearly fifty-fifty. But the ways they win are different.'
Aside from the invincible user called the Operator, the East was assessed the stronger side.
Ascension's guildmates were skilled, but Geumhwaryun was a company of professionals.
Yet they still split the wins.
That showed how much the Operator meant to Western morale.
Aegis opened a private channel.
—Boss, what do you think? If they really lured the Operator out, this is an opportunity.
There was no need for the East to make sacrifices.
—Even so, the promise was a duel. Winner or loser has to accept it, right?
—But a straight-on fight looks hopeless. Even Yahweh2 admits that.
—An unbeaten record.
In a Sun Tournament where thousands clash, never dying even once is virtually impossible.
'So it's safe to assume the record is managed.'
If she wanted, Fermi could have built an unbeaten record too.
'But there's no reason to.'
In a system where death brings revival, fussing over honor is inefficient.
'In High Gear, even death can be tactical. But the Operator can't afford that anymore.'
This had long since gone beyond personal honor—it affected the morale of the entire West.
—Watch. As long as Yahweh2 is focused on the Sun Tournament, the Operator won't be struck down.
Shirone was right.
—Understood.
Aegis cut the private channel and relayed Fermi's orders over the broadcast.
Meanwhile, Yahweh2 and the Operator were locked in a fierce probe-and-feint.
The satellites broadcasting live to every continent in High Gear zoomed in on the two.
"Whoa…?"
Users gathered in front of the giant screens were transfixed by the duel.
"Four Legend ranks."
Collecting all of them was unprecedented, and the Operator's skill with parts reached superhuman levels.
A sphere of light trembled above Yahweh2's palm.
"Mikellan Gun."
The Operator, dodging a barrage of flashes in a zigzag, slammed a foot down to brake.
At the same time, her back opened and a mechanical iron frame with muzzles rolled over her shoulder.
"Black Blade."
Each time those muzzles fired ion cannons, the frame rocked.
It matched the speed of a Mikellan Gun, and Shirone's sense of time slowed.
'O O O...I'
■― ?I ■? ?
It was chilling.
That the Operator stood between two rows of ion cannons clawing at the ground.
'How can she be that fast?'
Her slight fist skimmed past Yahweh2's cheek like an awl.
"Whoo!"
Another fist immediately struck Shirone's ribs with bone-crunching force.
Kwaaaang!
Even with the heavy-armor Raphael activated, the chassis was swept away.
'The frame itself is a weapon.'
Top-ranked users were strong, but the Operator seemed to rely more on the frame's performance than on small arms.
When Yahweh2 dragged himself to the ground, East and West forces crossed and blocked sightlines.
"Ha! I'll take Yahweh2!"
Above the crowd, a frame over eight meters tall vented rotary cannons.
Codename: Bisamuncheon.
Huge rounds swept side to side, shredding Eastern users into grisly tatters.
'A malformed thing.'
In reality, a human with two arms adding two more would have trouble piloting a frame.
'Yet she handles it like her own body. The avatar itself must be enormous. A demon? We can't confirm—any dreaming life can enter the Under Core.'
Bisamuncheon kicked boosters and charged.
"Is that all?"
Plasma beams fanned from twin shoulder lenses.
With a roar it swept forward; the armor of dozens of Eastern soldiers melted.
"Arghhh!"
As the pleasing screams made Bisamuncheon curl its lip, a chill came from behind.
Shirone twisted her neck 180 degrees and conjured a massive sphere of light.
'Damn! A punch?'
Bisamuncheon crossed its chest in an X; forearms opened into thick armor plates.
A flash struck that armor dead center.
"Ugh…"
The frame shuddered, then the eighty-ton machine slid along the ground.
"Arghhh!"
Bisamuncheon toppled, its armor dreadfully dented, and Eastern rankers swarmed in.
"You bastard! We'll see about you!" In the instant a death rattle burst, the Operator spread her legs wide and slid forward.
A Black Blade was clenched in her hand.
"Checkmate."
The strike opened, and Shirone bypassed the code and slipped behind the Operator.
What she saw in that instant—
'Oh no.'
—the Black Blade's edge aimed straight for Yahweh2's throat.
'Foolish, Yahweh2. I know all your positions.'
Even if she jumped the code, she couldn't escape the designer's intent.
High Gear pushed to full output and the sword whipped forward at a terrifying speed.
Sparks flew off the Black Blade.
Klang!
Just the fact that the Operator's arm rose told how powerful the shot had been.
"Heh heh heh. Don't forget me."
When Shirone turned, Wild West was spinning a .44 Magnum.
Called a .44 Magnum, but in High Gear it was the single-shot weapon with the highest per-shot power.
The Operator lowered the raised arm.
'This is the Sun Tournament.'
Watching Eastern users sprinting in from afar, she bent her knees.
A rear arm swung over her head; sword leveled, she said,
"…Come at me."
Wild West loaded rounds into the .44 Magnum with his bony hands.
"If you push too hard, you might crack that unbeaten record. Lady, wouldn't you rather stay in the palace?"
The Operator checked the satellite image.
'We're losing ground.'
It was only the start, but Eastern users were converging here.
If the unbeaten Operator was Western morale embodied, the East was betting its morale on taking her down.
'Maybe not intervening would help.'
That thought crossed her mind, but the Operator's will only dug its roots deeper.
"Then break me."
She considered it her reward to Yahweh2, who treated the Sun Tournament seriously.
"It might be your only chance. And maybe… Yahweh2 is unbeaten too?" The viewers watching the feed murmured.
"What are you talking about? Yahweh2 isn't even a ranker. Why would the Operator care?"
"Right, she's just famous, isn't she?"
Meanwhile, the rankers actually fighting in the Sun Tournament felt it in their bones.
'This Sun Tournament is different.'
All of Geumhwaryun's members were moving to support Yahweh2.
Wild West opened his mouth and fell into thought.
'Do they mean Yahweh2's death would affect morale? Then again, the risk is bigger for our side—only level 307.'
Aegis transmitted.
—The boss says proceed as is.
"Okay."
Wild West trained the barrel.
"Let's go."
Powerful rounds fired; the Operator left afterimages and shifted stance.
The sparks from the blade were the flare that signaled the clash, and East and West figures collided.
That scene spread across the broadcast.
Even users fighting the Sun Tournament kept the feed open; it was the hottest topic.
Rankers poured in, and even second-line fighters joined, turning the ground around Yahweh2 into the sudden core of the Sun Tournament.
Destruction Demon 707, spraying fire, shouted through a friend channel.
—Hey! Look at the broadcast! Isn't that me on screen? That's me!
Death Gongju's voice trembled.
—Yeah. We're on the main Sun Tournament screen. We might become famous! Hohoho!
Code: Strongest said.
—We already are. Users across the continent are watching us.
"All right! I am Destruction Demon!" As 707 ramped output and charged, augmented reality flicked off.
'Huh?'
Moments later the frame exploded, and Death Gongju and Code: Strongest fell like mirror images.
"Destruction Demon!"
A Western ranker, Little Witch, stood atop the shattered chassis.
"Hello."
It was just a simulation, but the instant they heard her voice both felt their souls freeze.
Two successive detonations followed.
"W-what the—?"
Shirone confirmed her friends' deaths but had no time to spare.
Aegis joined the battlefield.
—Yahweh2. I'll cover you.
Even in an even fight, the power gap from level difference mattered.
'Auxiliary charging device…' Just before Shirone pulled back, Little Witch rained down every grenade she had.
"Grab Yahweh2!"
Western rankers, alerted by her shout, concentrated fire and a blast erupted.
"Whoo!"
Shirone slipped out with a palm move, staggered to her feet, and a shadow loomed in the smoke.
It was Wild West.
"Heh heh heh."
Isolated by bombardment, he kept pulling the trigger and flipping empty mags.
"Bad luck to get caught."
Like a ghost, the Operator appeared and hurled the Black Blade at his frame.
There was a sound of metal being pierced.
"…Excellent judgment."
Shirone, having jumped the code with a palm escape, took the sword in front of Wild West.
'I'd rather die.'
Wild West met Yahweh2's eyes.
"A debt, huh."
Even as electricity ran through the entire frame, his hand kept loading the magazine.
The Black Blade slipped free.
As Yahweh2 went down, the .44 Magnum's muzzle spat fire.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The Operator rolled aside.
'That was dangerous.'
When the smoke from the grenades cleared and the feed showed the scene, every user in the Sun Tournament flinched.
'What the—?'
Yahweh2 lay fallen.
'One win, for now.'
The Operator counted coldly, then launched herself at another target.
'Sacrificing for a power gain paid off. But what about Eastern morale?' Aegis transmitted to Fermi.
—Yahweh2 is down! She's returned to the start point! Should we abandon the combat zone and retreat?
—Hold your position. She'll come back anyway.
—But Eastern morale right now is…
—It'll rise.
—Huh?
As Aegis narrowed her eyes to ask, Fermi couldn't hold back a laugh.
—Kukukuku. Kukukukuku.
If you truly commit to being a High Gear user—
—Boss?
—Hold.
Fermi's fierce tempo crackled through the comms.
—That'll be the most interesting place to be.