Chapter 30

Chapter 30
Following the conclusion of the training simulation, a note arrived from the Commander. Written in clean and careful script, the message stated that Heydam Goodman’s participation in the subjugation campaign was officially authorized. The ink was quite dry, suggesting it had been written beforehand. This meant the Commander had anticipated my success all along. He had not truly doubted my statement about being a regressor; rather, he simply wished to test my capabilities firsthand.

Once the exercise concluded, the cadets avoided meeting my gaze, a stark contrast to their earlier attitude. Only Platon continued to stare at me with intense fervor. Platon’s tactical approach itself had not been poor. He had accurately guessed that I would infiltrate their formation, a trap that would have caught any ordinary ten-year-old. The complication was that I was a player. This training area was far more familiar to me than to any of the cadets. Back when I cleared the Cola Area during my gameplay, I had torn this location apart and reconstructed it multiple times. What else would cadets nearing graduation from the military academy do here besides engage in mock battles?

Consequently, our comprehension of the training ground existed on entirely different tiers. From the outset, I never intended to plant a flag in the enemy camp to secure victory, knowing they likely would have done the same to mine while I was away. Total annihilation was my only viable route. Due to that miscalculation, Platon had ended up thinning his own side’s combat strength, making them simpler to clear out. To be honest, I possessed superior stats, weaknesses knowledge, and combat patterns, ensuring I would not lose a fair fight against any of them—though Platon remained the one NPC I needed to monitor closely. As a soldier, the boy was a stubborn zealot devoted to his convictions, yet his talent was extraordinary. He was a walking potential coup waiting to detonate, making it impossible to predict his next move. Initially, with Meursault already acting as his superior upgrade, I intended to treat Platon as disposable. However, after watching him predict my movement and evade an ambush purely on instinct, I decided he was worth recruiting.

That was why I trusted the sandbags I usually wore for training and opted for a direct frontal clash with Platon, while executing the 3B operation on everyone else: Base, Beastly, and Brutal. Overall, it had been a genuinely entertaining experience. The military academy path was a strategy I only utilized during early loops—something no one bothered with anymore—meaning I had never encountered cadet-era Platon before. Reconnecting with these roots felt strangely rewarding. I hoped the cadets also managed to take away a valuable lesson.

When the training simulation ended with Heydam’s triumph, Meursault summoned the participating cadets individually and demanded an honest assessment of Heydam. Their opinions were sharply divided. One cadet, caught in Heydam’s ambush, spoke through gritted teeth while trembling with fury, stating he had never witnessed such an underhanded ten-year-old child. Meursault furrowed his brow slightly at this, asking if ambushes were not naturally underhanded. The cadet conceded that hiding and striking from cover was acceptable, noting he was initially impressed when the two rear cadets fell silently to paint rounds during the first trap. However, things escalated when Heydam approached claiming to have a secret message from the Commander. It was a ruse to drop their guard, and the moment they drew close, he opened fire. The cadet managed to survive until the end and attempted to flee, but Heydam chased him down before collapsing loudly to the ground. Panicking and believing Heydam was genuinely hurt, the cadet rushed over, only to be stabbed. He expressed deep fear for the future regarding a child capable of exploiting a cadet’s good nature in such a despicable manner. Meursault privately thought that eight graduating cadets ganging up on a single ten-year-old in a mock battle was far more open to criticism, though he kept the thought to himself.

Another cadet offered a completely different perspective, stating that Heydam felt like a seasoned soldier. Intrigued by the stark contrast, Meursault asked why he felt that way. The cadet explained that it was not merely about flanking from the rear upon seeing them approach, but rather how he utilized the fake message line to immobilize the enemy after the ambush. Since he attacked from behind, leaving them alone would have caused the front-line cadets to scatter and take cover, placing Heydam at a disadvantage with his position exposed. By tricking them into staying put, he prevented them from escaping—a line of reasoning that felt characteristic of a veteran soldier. The cadet hesitated briefly before adding that it felt as though Heydam had run mock battles here countless times, treating the training ground not just with familiarity, but with absolute comfort.

While some cadets carried lingering resentment and humiliation from being toyed with by a child, a significant number provided a cool and accurate appraisal of Heydam. In truth, Meursault understood the harsh reviews as well. Heydam naturally tended to look down on others and made no effort to be liked. Meursault deduced that while people might fear Heydam upon a first meeting, developing genuine fondness for him would prove difficult. Naturally, there was also one evaluation that went entirely off the charts. Anton’s son, Platon, declared that Lord Heydam was a god. Wondering what on earth was wrong with the boy, Meursault noted that Platon was the only one who had fought Heydam to the very bitter end.

Meursault compiled all the assessments, including Platon’s, into a detailed report and delivered it to the Commander. At that juncture, he still remained entirely unaware of any hidden agenda behind suddenly forcing Heydam through a training simulation and requesting evaluations. Meursault half-assumed the Commander merely wanted talking points to boast about his son, until the Commander dropped a staggering bombshell after reading the report: he was entrusting the operational command of the subjugation campaign to Heydam. Meursault exclaimed in disbelief, questioning if the Commander had lost his mind and whether crushing a few cadets in a simulation warranted handing over actual operational command. When Meursault voiced his frustration, he reminded himself that this was no way to speak of His Excellency, though he still looked at me with an expression of profound headache.

When I remarked that I would hardly turn down command if it was being handed to me, Meursault noted the political reality. Publicly announcing that a ten-year-old was in charge would spark backlash even among the pro-Heydam faction officers. Outwardly, Major General Meursault was designated as the operational officer for the campaign, which explained his presence alongside me. To everyone else, the narrative was that I had been sent along to learn under Meursault. Consequently, if my strategy completely failed, Meursault would be the one taking the blame.

After pressing his fingers to his brow in exhaustion, Meursault asked if I felt confident. When I questioned what he meant, he explained that mock training and real combat were entirely different realms—the former involved fighting people, while the latter meant a war against monsters. Although I had dropped a hippo-pig with a single shot, ordinary soldiers could not replicate that feat, which remained his chief concern. Realizing he worried I would formulate a plan assuming everyone else could perform at my tier, I assured him he had no need for anxiety. He expressed disbelief, wondering if I intended to scale the operation down to match everyone else’s abilities, prompting me to clarify that I would only select individuals capable of keeping pace with me.

Meursault muttered that the response was so predictable he had nothing left to say, though he soon looked down at my drafted subjugation route and noted that my familiarity with the terrain looked far too advanced to be explained merely by stepping outside the zone a few times for hunts. He questioned whether all of that could genuinely be read from a map alone. I had no intention of revealing my status as a regressor, as convincing more people would yield no benefits, and deceiving the Commander had already required a massive leap of faith. If another player eventually reported my identity to the Commander, the entire facade would collapse immediately.

At that moment, the ring grew hot, as if protesting the deception of the Commander. Telling myself inwardly to settle down because I was doing this to keep the Commander alive, the heat in the ring subsided instantly. Wondering what the strange ring actually was, I decided to brush Meursault off with a plausible excuse, speaking in a casual tone to discourage him from making a fuss. I pointed out that he had already overreacted when I memorized names instantly, asking if map-reading ability was truly so shocking. He pressed further, arguing that my father would not have entrusted the operation to me if I lacked capabilities, leaving him to ponder in silence.

The subjugation campaign dealt with the alien monsters living beyond the zone. Ideally, one would drive them as far away as possible in a single sweep, but doing so merely pushed displaced monsters toward other zones, causing residents from those areas to flee into ours or counterattack. Consequently, subjugations always pushed forward to a reasonable boundary before turning back, aided by barrier walls between zones that stopped players from crossing anyway. Regular subjugations ensured that alien monsters avoided approaching the zone carelessly. Medium and small monsters, such as antlered rabbits and hippo-pigs, were sometimes ignored when spotted, but large monsters were eliminated on sight to ensure they nested as far away as possible. Unlike smaller creatures that fed on nearby carcasses and zone byproducts, large monsters preyed on other creatures, eliminating their need to approach unless food grew scarce. This scarcity drove the periodic necessity of subjugations. Large monsters driven far away eventually faced hunting limitations, forcing them closer to the zone. Furthermore, during mountain peak snowfalls, alien monsters—which resisted cold but suffered in heat—minimized their activity and buried themselves in snow. This lowered the visible prey population, causing starving large monsters to drift closer. In short, subjugation campaigns were essentially battles against large monsters.

When I asked if the standard approach was to bring down the monster first and then find and destroy its jewel, Meursault corrected me, explaining that destroying solely the jewel was an ancient method, whereas taking down a large monster consumed vast resources while yielding less edible material. Furthermore, unlike medium and small monsters whose bodies allowed for predictable jewel locations, large monsters could harbor jewels in entirely different areas even within the same species. I let out a brief laugh, asking if he truly thought I remained unaware of that fact. When he questioned why I suggested targeting the jewel, I clarified that I genuinely knew the exact locations of the jewels.

The core of this operation relied entirely on maximum efficiency. Players managed to ignore Second Apocalypse monsters and focus on mutual survival contests precisely because they understood how to exploit monster jewel cores. Although jewel locations varied, specific patterns helped narrow down the possibilities—such as whether a core rested on the left or right, internally or externally. For instance, a bodily wound indicated the jewel resided on the opposite side, while a horn meant the core was embedded nearby, all following patterns designed to protect the vulnerable core. While basic rules could be shared with NPCs, pinpointing exact locations relied on an instinctual understanding born from multi-loop experience. By listening to a monster’s cry or observing its approach, an experienced player could intuitively recognize core placements—an ability exclusive to multi-loop veterans. As the player with the sharpest instincts, I utilized this capability alongside flying monsters in the Second Apocalypse, while veteran players in other zones survived using similar intuition.

The only exception was the dentist from the Candy Zone, a complete newcomer playing for the first time without multi-loop experience. Wondering if everyone else was even still alive, I recalled that Tibalom only answered when inclined, whereas the other players had gone unusually quiet. Opening the chat window in response, I flinched upon realizing I had missed incoming messages. Checking the settings, I discovered notification alerts had been disabled because constant pop-ups during gameplay were annoying. Reviewing the most recent message in the chat window, I read a puzzling statement asking if there were two Dopamine Addicts, leaving me completely baffled as to what it meant.