Chapter 25: Mindless Core Rush, let’s go!

The sound of metal crumpling was accompanied by a death wail.

Fragments of shattered armour pierced the heart, and the opposing warrior died instantly from a single strike.

There was no time to glance at the kill log.

The greatsword is a weapon unlike a mace or a longsword. First, there’s the difference in attack range, and second, the sheer destructive power.

A single strike of a massive sword, swung with both hands and full force from the proper distance, is something even the renowned durability of full plate armour cannot withstand.

That’s why the word “destructive power” is fitting.

In one-on-one combat, a greatsword is more specialized in crushing armour than in making precise, cutting attacks.

From the legs firmly planted on the ground, to the waist, torso, shoulders, arms, and hands, it requires every ounce of strength from the entire body to prepare a single attack.

While it takes a relatively long time to prepare each swing, the resulting strike is powerful enough to crush both weapons and solid plate armour in one blow.

The problem, however, lies elsewhere.

“Hah… Hah… Hah…”

After only a few swings, the character was already gasping for breath.

Even the bulky berserker, with all their muscles, starts panting and wheezing in extended battles due to a lack of stamina.

For the saintess—who receives penalties in strength and stamina due to her character customization—this was even more evident.

Frankly, the very idea of a petite human woman wielding a greatsword as tall as herself is something that could never happen in reality.

This feat is possible only due to the allowances of game mechanics.

But that wasn’t the only issue.

Despite having spent a decade observing and learning, and despite the natural talent of this body in handling the greatsword,

it was inevitable that my proficiency with this weapon would fall short compared to my skills as a healer build.

It was no surprise that the game situation had quickly turned against us.

Even aside from the build issues, the team itself was riddled with problems.

The Hold Medic, who had to rely on their own judgment to distribute healing and buffs without my guidance;

Stuck, who was unexpectedly put in charge of main orders;

Mohe, who had to abandon their well-practiced chat-based commands;

and Parfeccino, who was underperforming compared to before.

Arrows rained down in a barrage.

Sharp daggers slid through shadows, aiming for my neck.

Flames flickered and blazed, surging closer.

The overwhelming attacks were more than my exhausted character could handle, all directed at the saintess.

As I froze in shock, convinced the death count was about to rise, a massive figure suddenly stepped in front of the saintess.

It was the priest, blocking the attacks.

What the hell…

It took superhuman patience to swallow the curse that rose to my throat,

because the priest’s actions were utterly bizarre.

Sure, a priest’s essential duty includes blocking ranged attacks.

But that’s supposed to be done using holy spells!

Where in the world does a priest tank attacks with their own body like this?

What are they, a Holy Barrier (Physical)?

In the aftermath of the explosions, the berserker was left almost in tatters.

Though it seemed they weren’t dead…

The berserker clasped their hands together, murmured a brief prayer,

and began to heal themselves.

Under Gaia’s care, broken bones aligned, and new flesh grew.

The reason the “Follower of Gaia” trait is considered difficult is that all healing is executed as projectile launches.

In the ever-changing battlefield, accurately hitting our team members, even with the help of various sub-traits, was no easy task.

Mistakes were common, even for those who were fairly skilled.

However, when it came to point-blank self-healing like now, accuracy wasn’t an issue.

Excluding the unavoidable problem of accumulating pain levels even when fully recovering HP,

the berserker’s decision to use his body as a shield and restore lost health with self-healing was shocking but, arguably, not a bad choice.

The berserker, shortly after, grabbed the neck of the rogue attempting a shadowy ambush with one hand,

and with the mace dangling in his other hand, delivered a satisfying blow to the rogue’s skull.

“You blasphemous scum!”

Who’s really being blasphemous here?

There was no time to argue. I had to move.

Despite my efforts, the berserker’s, and the entire team’s,

it was hard to stop the game from tilting toward defeat.

Our team’s journey to the finals had been thanks to the berserker’s stellar performance,

and my precise commands utilizing the holy spells that illuminated the entire battlefield.

But due to a ridiculous mishap, those two strengths had disappeared in an instant.

Even though we were all doing our best to fulfill our roles, the looming defeat felt inevitable.

**”The second defensive line of the Red Team’s base has been breached.

As a result, the Empire’s strongest swordsman, Yan, has entered the fray!”**

In other words,

this was our last chance.

Though it went unspoken, everyone was thinking the same thing—not just us, but even the opposing team.

The characters that appeared varied by faction and battlefield, but NPCs that emerged when the second defensive line was breached shared the common purpose of preventing matches from ending with a single team fight.

They were the final bastion, so to speak.

While circumstances could differ, the usual pattern was for players, exhausted from prolonged battles and drained of resources,

to retreat temporarily upon encountering the powerful NPC that appeared after the second defensive line fell.

The disadvantaged team could then leverage the named NPC’s involvement to secure key objectives or launch a counterattack on the opposing team’s base.

The same applied to our team.

After the defensive line was breached, the swordsman wielding an awe-inspiring white sword aura broke through the enemy’s frontlines.

This momentum had allowed our team, previously suffering consecutive defeats in team fights,

to revive its spirits and finally reach the enemy’s first barricade.

A bombardment of spells rained down.

“So… this is the end.”

Faced with relentless bombardment that exclusively targeted him,

even the Sword Saint, known as the Star of the Empire, eventually had no choice but to kneel.

Unlike players, NPCs could not resurrect.

No matter how strong, they were consumable assets on the battlefield,

usable only once, provided they were defeated.

By that point, I had understood the situation.

The opposing team had crafted an excellent strategy.

The Red Team, advancing through the defensive line, was struck by the flame mage’s ultimate skill, “Hellfire.”

It was expected.

Spells that require a long preparation time deliver maximum impact when unleashed on a predictable enemy path.

But even knowing that, we had no choice but to walk into the trap.

Our team had decided to forgo objectives and charge straight toward the enemy base.

The skill gap was undeniable.

As expected of a team that made it to the finals, I instinctively knew that our unconventional approach was the only way to stand a chance.

If we didn’t achieve something decisive now, our hard-earned opportunity for a comeback would vanish forever.

The thought process was long,

but the decision was quick.

I opened my mouth for the first time in a while.

“Let’s go straight for the core.”

This was the so-called reckless core rush.

The victory condition of this game is simple:

Destroy the core located deep within the enemy’s base.

No matter who dies or how much damage is taken, victory belongs to the side that breaks the core first.

Not a single teammate objected to my order, even though someone could have reasonably protested.

Without hesitation, they followed my command.

The moment we stepped forward, a rain of arrows came flying.

Ignoring them, we charged ahead.

A soldier thrust his spear toward us.

A single attack could easily slice through us, but that, too, was ignored.

What is the fate of a rocket that loses its propulsion?

It crashes miserably.

And I didn’t want that.

There was no time to look out for those following behind.

This was a battle of timing.

The image of the saint sprinting ahead without engaging in combat flashed in my mind.

Even a moment’s hesitation would result in certain death.

With the second defensive line already breached, a team wipe now would mean utter defeat.

Ignoring the accumulating damage, I pushed forward,

and soon, the second defensive line came into view on my screen.

Finally, my character, leading the charge, leaped over the iron barricades of the defensive line.

“Leave it to you guys!”

The core only becomes visible after the second defensive line is captured and the named NPC emerges.

So, even if I was in the vicinity of the core now, it didn’t mean anything.

But this was all about timing.

There was still some distance between the second defensive line and the core.

And once the defensive line was breached, it was certain that a powerful named NPC, as formidable as Swordsman Yan, would appear to block our advance.

It was all part of the plan.

I trusted my teammates to handle the defensive line, while I pushed ahead, timing my arrival to coincide with the core’s appearance so I could destroy it immediately.

My strategy was mostly working.

Realizing my intentions, my teammates began giving it their all to break through the second defensive line.

The problem was that my plan wasn’t only apparent to my team.

The opposing team had figured it out as well.

Of course, if I were in their shoes, I’d prioritize taking out a warrior charging toward the core.

And so, the Golden Sun, along with their forces, began to surround the saint.

It would still take time for my teammates to expose the core.

There was no reason to advance further, nor could I retreat.

As I said, this was our last chance.

For the enemy, bringing Golden Sun himself, along with two other players and their most mobile soldiers, to deal with me was undoubtedly a wise decision.

Even if the second defensive line was breached, they could just wipe us out with the named NPC that would appear afterward.

Taking me out, the immediate threat, was the perfect move for the opposing team.

Even so, I refused to give up.

Call it stubbornness if you will.

I focused intently on the screen, tracking every movement.

It felt as though time had slowed, as though I could sense each moment stretched out, breaking down every second into sixty distinct parts.

I evaluated which attacks would be fatal to my character and which I could afford to let pass for now.

I willingly accepted the one-against-many battle.

Suddenly, I remembered something I’d said while training Mohe before.

This game does have a defence system that minimizes health and stamina consumption—a perfect defence.

But it’s so difficult to execute that it’s hardly used as a primary defensive method.

It requires frame-perfect inputs to activate—a skill that nullifies incoming attacks.

Ping—
Ping—
Ting ting—
Ting ting ting—

The sound of crystal-clear clashes, like different glass cups ringing against one another, resounded endlessly through the speakers.

Parry.

Parry again.

And once more, parry.

A chain of parries unfolded.

The screen blurred slightly as the intensity heightened.

For a moment, a stunned silence fell over the scene.

Seizing the opportunity, the saint slipped through the ranks of soldiers.