GAVS18

Chapter 18] Lost Land (7)

“That’s not me running off with the money…”

How can a streamer not do a reaction?

Wow, that’s over the line~~

200,000 won scam? So easy to stream these days.

Stop bullying him. Phantom must be bored too; he’s just trying to do it right.

As Dojun stayed perfectly still and didn’t react, the viewers’ sentiment began to sour.

For Dojun, this was almost a professional habit from his previous life. Remaining perfectly calm and undetected until the target could be assassinated flawlessly. But he wasn’t staying still thoughtlessly while viewers were dropping off.

‘It should be about time…’

As he pondered, another donation alert popped up.

★★‘Zhonya’s Kangmin Clock’ donated 100,000 won.★★

[How about a mission? Go upstairs and slit the lord’s throat right now for 1 million won.]

1 million won mission fee has been prepaid.

‘Here it is.’

It was what Dojun had been waiting for—someone offering a mission to break the stalemate.

Woah, 1 million won mission?

The lord seems to be alone; might be doable?

Who knows how strong the lord is though…

He swallowed hard. 1 million won was at stake. He was confident he could win even in a straight fight. But that wasn’t Phantom’s style.

‘But I’m not the old Phantom. I’m Kim Dojun.’

He didn’t need to cling to his old methods. This wasn’t an assassination contract; it was just a game. And the risks were far lower than in his past life.

‘But just like before, failure is absolutely not an option.’

This was a crucial moment for his rising popularity. His old style would guarantee a safe clear but wouldn’t captivate the audience. He needed something to truly grab their attention.

‘But if I rush in now, it’ll make figuring out “that person’s” location harder. Still, there’s no need to be perfect here.’

The game wouldn’t end just by killing the lord. There was more to show. Most importantly, this entire situation had been orchestrated by Dojun himself.

He realized the true purpose of the donation.

‘This isn’t a genuine mission—it’s sabotage.’

He was sure the donor and some viewers stirring the chat were on the same team. They wanted him to make a mistake, fail, and waste time—so he’d fall behind in the race for the 100 million won prize. They wanted him to take a risky mission and die, resetting his progress.

‘And if I fight the lord, I’ll reveal his attack patterns, giving my competitors valuable information.’

Either way, the saboteurs would benefit: if he failed, he’d lose time; if he succeeded, they’d get key info to copy his strategy.

‘Normally, I shouldn’t take the bait…’

But Dojun sometimes liked to pretend to take the bait. He had no intention of dancing to their tune for real.

“I really appreciate the donation and mission offer… but honestly, 1 million isn’t worth the risk. I’m sorry. I’ll refund it.”

Dojun drew a firm line, and immediately some viewers started defending him.

Good call. They were just trying to screw him over.

Refreshing honesty.

I’ve never seen someone play like an assassin before. I love Phantom’s style.

Trying to manipulate a 2-day newbie—shameless.

★★‘Zhonya’s Kangmin Clock’ donated 100,000 won.★★

[The price too low? I’ll throw in another 1 million.]

“Hmm… even so…”

★★‘Zhonya’s Kangmin Clock’ donated 100,000 won.★★

[Newbie acting pricey? Fine, one more million. But that’s the final offer.]

Now the total mission reward was 3 million won. Even the viewers who had opposed the mission began changing their tune.

3 million… might be worth the try?

Yeah, even if he dies, he can restart anyway.

Honestly, seeing Phantom drop the assassin approach for a head-on clash would be exciting.

It was only natural: people watched streams like this precisely for moments like these—risky, high-stakes drama. Donations turned the situation into a legal form of gambling, with viewers as spectators.

Dojun couldn’t just walk away from a 3-million-won mission. That was more than a month’s worth of part-time wages.

“Zhonya’s Kangmin Clock, given your generosity, I can’t refuse. I’ll give it a try.”

He accepted the mission with a reluctant expression—but this was Dojun’s trap all along.

‘Let’s teach them what happens when you try to interfere with me.’

With everyone watching Lost Land, constant interference was inevitable. Dojun intended to milk these would-be saboteurs dry. This mission would be his declaration of war.

“Zhonya’s Kangmin Clock, the mission is just to go upstairs, right? The means of killing the lord doesn’t matter?”

★★‘Zhonya’s Kangmin Clock’ donated 100,000 won.★★

[Yup. Once you’re up there, however you kill him is up to you.]

“Understood. I’ll proceed.”

He checked the mission conditions once more, then pulled his robe low over his face. Hidden beneath the robe, a sly grin spread across his lips.

‘You won’t get a single thing you want from me.’

For a fleeting moment, his eyes seemed to glint red.

Meanwhile…

In a dark underground room dimly lit by the pale blue light of dozens of virtual capsules and a single flickering incandescent bulb, a grimy “farm” was operating. Around 20 capsules were in use. Many games were being played, but the hottest was Lost Land—everyone chasing the 100 million won prize.

A man sat at a table beneath the bulb, exhaling cigarette smoke.

“Hoo…”

This was “GuideMaster,” a streamer on SwitchTV. Around him, a few people nervously watched his mood. GuideMaster’s operation was well-organized—more a syndicate than a casual team.

It wasn’t just a classic gold-farm. They played trending games, finding hidden routes, gimmicks, and tips. GuideMaster monetized this knowledge through videos and streams, building his brand as a “game master.”

He had no talent for games himself, but he was a brilliant broadcaster, making it a symbiotic relationship. Recently, Lost Land was his biggest focus; he’d been dominating views with exclusive discoveries.

But then Phantom appeared—and his view counts plummeted overnight.

GuideMaster was watching Phantom’s stream live. It was his team who had just given Phantom the mission.

“He took the bait.”

“Boss, wasn’t that a lot of money?”

“No, it’s worth it. If we get info, our 20 players can catch up to him.”

The cost of the mission was high, but if they could clear the game first, it wasn’t just about the 100 million won. The prestige of being the first, video views, ad revenue, and channel growth could easily triple the prize’s value.

“All we need is the title of first to clear.”

“Right, boss. With the info, we’ll overtake him.”

“If he fails, that’s good. If he succeeds, we’ll just copy his route.”

“Either way, we win.”

“Boss, your scheming is brilliant—except at actually playing games.”

“That’s why I’m the one feeding you.”

GuideMaster blew out smoke, eyes locked on Phantom’s feed. Phantom was pulling up his robe—GuideMaster expected him to creep in, cause chaos, and try to win a fight.

But then—

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“…He’s knocking?”

“Is he trying to make them open the door for a stab?”

“Idiot. Would you open the door if your hideout had just been attacked?”

“…You’re right.”

GuideMaster couldn’t predict Phantom’s moves.

‘What is he planning?’

Then Phantom’s voice came through:

“It’s me.”

Just three words—but the impact was massive. The chat exploded.

That voice—is that Rahel?!

Goosebumps… he’s copying Rahel’s voice perfectly?

He only heard her say two sentences earlier!

This move was devastating—especially for GuideMaster.

‘If he pulls this off…’

The thought of Phantom’s success made him shudder.

‘Please fail!’

GuideMaster’s face turned desperate as Phantom’s plan unfolded.

“Rahel…? You’re alive?” Count Bdderen exclaimed in shock.

“Thanks to the others’ sacrifice, I escaped through the secret passage. Fortunately, the building’s collapse kept it hidden.”

“No one’s here. Come in. I was about to leave for the Master—come explain the situation.”

As the count gestured, Phantom slowly opened the door, stepping inside the expected office. Count Bdderen was hurriedly gathering items, preparing to leave.

Emerging from the shadows, Phantom glanced around suspiciously.

“Are you sure no one’s here?”

“Yes.”

Count Bdderen, rushing about, didn’t suspect the robed Phantom and barked, “Move. Let’s go.”

As Phantom stepped aside, the count passed him. Phantom asked,

“To the Master?”

“Yes.”

“Right now?”

The repeated questions made the count frown.

“Why are you talking like that?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why so formal? Since when did you use honorifics with me?”