God-Tier Enhancement: My Upgrades Never Fail-Chapter 145: Episode 28_A Master of Self-Control (4)

5.

Even though everyone knows movies and dramas are based on ridiculous, embellished stories, there is one reason they still move and entertain people: vicarious satisfaction.

In real life, you’re stuck in a repetitive routine, unable to fight back against the tyranny of those in power, but in movies and dramas, all the things you imagine every day actually happen.

Or maybe it’s because your violent inner self, which you could never unleash in reality, can run wild. Punishing evil and taking revenge on those above you—that, too, is ultimately vicarious satisfaction.

In that sense, Kenji’s stream couldn’t help but blow up. It wasn’t a grand epic about crushing an oppressive boss or rewriting an unjust reality, but it was still a movie about challenge and achievement.

A hunting ground for the absolute top-tier players, where one wouldn’t dare set foot without a certain level and gear. The place where the main quest progressed and the future of the players was decided. And then, the appearance of a boss monster standing in their way.

How could that not be thrilling?

Those who defended their territory to keep it from being devoured, and those who raided it to leap forward. Strictly speaking, the players were the bad guys, but from the viewers’ perspective, of course they rooted for the players—you always root for your own side.

They themselves might just be taking small trips in 『Fantastic World』, or occasionally logging in to blow off steam after being crushed by reality, but watching others take that step forward and pioneer new ground on their behalf gave them vicarious satisfaction. Naturally, many players volunteered to help, and when the expedition started to falter, they didn’t hesitate to spend real cash to join the war.

’Let’s win.’

No one knew how much further there was to go, but at least until the day players conquered 『Fantastic World』, they could sometimes band together like this. The scale of the war grew larger and larger.

Of course, even with players joining to help after seeing Kenji’s expedition get utterly crushed by the otter, the situation didn’t change. There was still a level gap. How many players in the expedition could actually win a one-on-one fight against a monster from the Unknown Mountains? At best, a few dozen heavy-spending whales, including Kenji. When the number of cavalry and infantry is about the same, it is not a war.

So the expedition kept getting pushed back.

In truth, since the beginning and end of this war lay in the ore they were carrying, if they just threw it away, the army gathered under the otter would quickly disperse, and the Unknown Mountains would return to peace. But how could Kenji and the other players, who had no idea what was really going on and believed the ore was tied to the main quest boss—the final scenario to clear Act 2—possibly throw it away?

Impossible. They would rather keep trying until they all died and dropped the ore.

Their enthusiasm overheated, and time passed. Many players died, and their passion slowly began to fade. Even if you aren’t losing anything, you get tired of trying when there’s no chance of success. But here, they were losing levels and items on top of that.

The only reason the war continued was because of the variable named Kenji. He was pouring an insane amount of money into it, and his determination to win was genuine. Some players had dropped out, but most were moved by his resolve and endured their exhaustion to keep fighting.

There is a world of difference between playing for vague fun and playing with a steady income on the line. Now they had a reason to fight so hard that dying was acceptable—no, they couldn’t die, but they could fight as if they were willing to.

That small difference created a variable.

After a long time had passed—

—Huh? This is weird. Don’t the monsters feel a bit weaker?

—I don’t know about that, but today’s battle definitely feels a little easier.

—Our side actually won a small-scale skirmish.

—Same here. This wasn’t a fight we should’ve been able to contest with these numbers. What’s going on?

They were still outmatched, but reports of victories in some battles started coming in. Yes, they were winning by overwhelming numbers, but a win was a win. The idea that there was hope gave the players strength. Not everyone was focused solely on hope, but it was good news nonetheless.

—Something’s off. Before, there was this moment when the monsters suddenly got stronger, like they were getting buffed, but that seems to be gone.

—Yeah, people who came in recently won’t know, but I’m pretty sure this is how strong the monsters originally were. After the war started, I thought they’d gotten buffed or something. Did the otter die?

—No way. Maybe it ran out of mana?

—What kind of boss monster loses the buff on its army mid-war because it ran out of mana?

—And a main quest boss at that?

Players who believed the story Han Simin had spun out of his own head, and those who treated it as truth, poured out all kinds of speculation—but they all arrived at one conclusion.

—We can win!

What more did they need? There was no need to worry about why. They didn’t have the luxury to ponder such things. The players rallied and pushed forward again.

6.

“That’s impressive.”

Watching the stream, Han Simin couldn’t help but be impressed. He hadn’t expected much from someone who got smacked around by the Specialists and him every day—someone now firmly branded in his mind as an official sucker—but Kenji was leading the war absolutely perfectly. He truly had the qualities of a heavy user aiming for rank one on the guild leaderboards. At this rate, once he got his own territory, he would soar as if he’d grown wings.

And it seemed Simin wasn’t the only one who thought so.

“He really is amazing. The tide’s turned,” Seolah noted.

“But why did the monsters get weaker?” Hyeonsu wondered.

The Specialists were impressed as well. It had been almost a week since they had filled an entire wagon with magic pouches and, while on the move, watched the 24-hour war broadcast nonstop. Kenji’s face wasn’t exactly pleasant to look at, but the war itself was undeniably intense. Especially once things started to even out, as if cresting a turning point, the battle became such a hot topic that it even took up a segment on the nine o’clock news, not just on game streams.

“That’s all thanks to me.”

In the middle of their discussion, Han Simin lifted his chin. He acknowledged Kenji’s ability, but he had contributed to this. He was, so to speak, the hidden number-one contributor. Without his help, Kenji would never have been able to bring things to this point. Never.

“What did you even do, Simin?” Kang Yeseul asked.

He could proudly tell her his tale of valor.

“You know those mines we cleaned out?”

“Yeah.”

“Those were actually made by that otter bastard. I don’t know why he made them, but the important part is that he gets stronger when he eats the ore. The way he gathered monsters and they suddenly got stronger—I figured it was something like Squeakers’s buff. Obviously, in that situation, how are lower-level players supposed to win?”

“And?”

“So I came up with a plan: distract him and loot the mines. Now there’s no ore left in any of the mines marked on the map, so there’s nothing for him to eat. Naturally, there’s no buff, he can’t power up, and that’s why they can win.”

“...Does it really work like that?”

“Of course. It was all part of the plan.”

“Seolah, does that sound right to you? To me it just looks like he tossed the otter at the players to cover his own greed, and the ore he stole happened to help by accident.”

“Hey, now.”

’I thought she was just an airhead... but she’s surprisingly sharp,’ Simin thought.

He cut off any further commentary and gazed lovingly at the magic pouches stuffed full of ore. It didn’t really matter either way. The fact was, his actions had helped. And he felt no need whatsoever to claim the credit.

’As long as we sell all this, I don’t care if our VIP client hogs all the glory as the war hero or whatever.’

No, if Kenji did that for him, he would actually be grateful enough to send a thank-you note. He had thrown Kenji at the problem to shake off the otter’s uncanny, bloodhound-like nose, but he was still uneasy. It had been an unavoidable gamble. There was no way to know how far the otter’s ore-sensing ability extended.

The surest method was still to kill the otter. They had prepared as thoroughly as they could and were on their way to sell the ore, but that remained the best outcome.

So he prayed.

’Please, just hold out until we sell the ore.’

He pretended not to be asking for much, while in truth asking for everything. The wagon carrying the Specialists and Han Simin rolled steadily toward the exact opposite side of the Unknown Mountains.

* * *

The otter was dumbfounded. So dumbfounded, it felt like running away from home.

KKU-EONG?

’What? Where did it go?’

The mine was right where it was supposed to be. To take revenge on the humans who had not only dared to invade the Unknown Mountains but had even looted its mines, it had eaten the ore as if tearing off its own flesh. But it hadn’t planned to eat that much. Two pieces at most. Maybe three? Even with some loss, it was confident it could recover over time.

But it had been rattled by the humans’ fiercer-than-expected resistance. That was the problem. Caught off guard by their unexpected offensive, it had taken its eyes off things for a moment.

And when it came back to the mine, there was nothing.

Only then did it remember the human it had fought last time.

KKU-EOOONG!

’It was that one.’

’No wonder I haven’t seen him around lately.’

The vague suspicion solidified into certainty. Just as humans had trouble telling one orc’s face from another—or even telling people from other countries apart—the otter was no different. It had simply assumed that human was mixed in with the rest.

KKU-EONG!

Even so, it refused to accept reality. The other places would still be safe. After all, the only one who knew the locations of all the mines was the otter itself.

Even if the war had been raging for a month, considering the time it took to even locate the mines, surely not all of them could have been hit.

"..."

The otter knew this was just wishful thinking.

It possessed the ability to sense ore. While this sense was limited to the fog-shrouded expanse of the Unknown Mountains, that was more than enough.

This was worse than watching a sandcastle, built over a lifetime, collapse—it was as if the waves had erased it from existence.

There was nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

Wondering if its instincts had dulled, it had personally visited every single site, but the result was the same.

KKU-EOOONG!

Its roar of rage echoed through the mountain range.

More than the prospect of losing the war, the fact that every last one of its mines had been cleaned out was the greatest shock of all. The inability to raise its buffs or stats meant it might eventually lose to the humans, but that thought didn’t even cross its mind.

It cared only for revenge.

With a resolute gleam in its eyes, the otter headed toward the heart of the mining area, the location marked with a skull on its map.

Not long after, disaster struck the players who had been on a winning streak.

[The Curse of the Fog has been activated.]

[All stats are reduced by 10%.]

[You have been afflicted with the Curse of the Fog. Your HP will continuously decrease while you remain in the area.]

An endless fog descended.

The monsters had become twice as strong.

Han Simin’s machinations were finally coming to light.

* * *