Chapter 86: A Video, an Email, and a Mortifying Realization

– A Lesson from the Past

[Mute Swordsman]

[Legendary Newbie Video] [00:19:12]

[One-Clear Blood Tunneler] [00:33:01]

[Great Forest Hidden Route] [01:12:56]

[64-Hour Continuous Stream] [64:02:25]

[Mute Swordsman Full Broadcast Compilation] [66:07:32]

Hae Eung Eung opened the folder, her eyes twitching slightly.

Her fingers tapped nervously on the mouse pad.

Her once-relaxed expression tightened with tension.

The way her hair was tied up, exposing the nape of her neck.

The few strands of hair loosely falling at the sides.

The atmosphere around her became so intense that Jeong Yohan and So Kyungseok felt uneasy, as if they had done something wrong.

Click.

The video started playing.

It began with the creation of her character and her first steps into Banryo Valley.

Back then, she had never imagined that anyone was watching her.

She wandered the game world, completely unguarded.

She hunted down blood fiends hidden in ceilings and floors.

She longed for stronger foes, leading her to face the Executioner her first true battle where she finally drew her sword with a smile.

Unlike in the past, this time, the video included something she hadn’t seen before

The chat messages from viewers.

[Strongest Tutorial Boss vs. Strongest First-Timer ]

[Big match ]

[Open a betting pool! I need to gamble on this legendary moment!]

[You seriously need therapy for your gambling addiction.]

[Nah, wanna bet on that? I’ll put 1000 points on me not being addicted.]

[You’re literally a lost cause at this point.]

The Executioner radiated profound determination his raw spirit sharp as a blade.

Though different in nature, the viewers’ excitement mirrored his intensity, their chat flooding the screen.

[Wow.]

[Did she just…?]

In a world where a single misplaced sword swing meant death.

Where death led to screams, rage, and terror.

Where bodies piled upon bodies in endless battles.

In the world of Murim, such things were unthinkable.

Yet, here they were, unfolding in a chat window.

[Is Mute Swordsman a god? Is she a god? IS SHE A GOD?]

[That straw hat looks cool. I threw mine away because it blocked my vision.]

[Of course it did. It’s a pro-player item rookies like you can’t handle it ]

[Go pick it back up!  You need it to get stronger!]

[No need, a wandering merchant popped up and sold it for 10 Souls]

[Wandering merchant dundun appears! ]

They chatted excitedly about her.

They reminisced about her past battles.

They shared their emotions, reliving their experiences through her.

‘I… I think I remember now.’

In modern society, where martial arts in games were viewed as mere mechanics rather than real-life skills

Back when she was still “him.”

When she still had a name that no longer even came to mind.

Back when he had been obsessed with gaming.

‘I don’t recall ever watching game streams myself… but I’ve heard people talk about them before.’

She recalled a conversation analyzing why people watched gaming streamers.

First, the rise of skill-based gaming.

As games became too easy, players no longer sought simplicity.

Game developers responded by releasing increasingly difficult games.

By 2030, every genre had become more skill-demanding.

Next, trends changed.

Roguelikes and retro-style 2D games surged in popularity.

Once all the nostalgia-driven content had been exhausted, and past memories could no longer be monetized—

A new era of entertainment began.

People wanted new games.

Games that surpassed all previous stimulation

More entertaining, richer, and more advanced.

Massive playtime.

Expansive world-building.

Competitive elements.

As these features piled up, games became increasingly high-spec.

Such extreme, resource-heavy games could no longer be just one of hundreds installed at will.

Thus, a new era emerged

“One game per computer.”

That slogan became the norm.

Then came the era of games turning into cinematic experiences.

As a famous game developer had predicted in the late 2010s,

“The future of the gaming industry is in its cinematic evolution.”

Games became increasingly visually rich.

Even without purchasing and playing them,

Simply watching someone else play provided the same thrill as watching a movie.

On top of that, streamers showcased incredible skill

Both physical reflexes and mental acuity.

Their expertise made gameplay exhilarating to watch.

Even in the hardest games, they pushed forward without hesitation,

Uncovering hidden routes and secrets.

The frustrating trial-and-error process that consumed countless hours for regular players?

Viewers could bypass it instantly just by watching a stream.

This phenomenon took root right before the rise of virtual reality games.

A transition period that solidified the reasons why people watched game streams.

‘But that had nothing to do with me.’

Hae Eung Eung, who had lost her entire family in an accident, had lived alone.

She chose games to ease her loneliness.

She played them herself,

Interacted with NPCs,

And fully immersed herself in the experience.

There was no room for streaming in that world.

She was skilled compared to others,

But not to the level of being exceptional.

And she never had the desire to stream.

Then one day

She found a game she had never installed, Murim Memoirs.

And after surviving in the Murim world for 20 years, she returned.

‘My priorities have changed now.’

Back then, games were her reason to live.

Now, martial arts had taken that place.

That was why she felt anger.

Her martial arts

The small world that belonged only to her

Was being observed and shared by countless strangers.

There was nothing pleasant about such an experience.

She had felt discomfort.

She had even harbored the thought of eliminating those who had glimpsed her techniques.

And yet, at some point

Her emotions settled.

Before she knew it, she was silently watching the chat unfold.

In Murim, people were divided by factions, affiliations, residences, and status.

Every man was an enemy to another.

Martial artists were swayed by the wills of corrupt elders and hypocrites.

There was no unity among the people.

No one could truly be called a friend.

But the viewers in the chatroom

They were different.

[Wait, beating the Executioner on the first attempt was even possible?!]

[I’ve gone through the Banryo Valley ending seven times, the Half-Demon ending five times, and I still haven’t managed to beat the Executioner in twelve playthroughs.]

[This isn’t just skill this is pure talent.]

Factions, affiliations, residences, and status didn’t matter here.

[A literal god-tier moment. At this rate, a full clear in one session is totally possible.]

[New story path unlocked ]

[Wait, if the Executioner dies here, what happens to his late-game field appearance?!]

They united before the screen, completely immersed.

[So, when’s the next area?]

[A true swordsman paying respects even to his fallen enemy.]

[Forget paying respects why is she just standing there? This is bad.]

They shared the same thoughts.

[Open the door already!!!]

[No way, is this the stream ending?]

[This is straight-up evil.]

A unity that even the Murim world had failed to achieve.

The video ended, and the screen froze.

Yet, in her eyes, everything remained vividly clear.

The leaders of the great sects who once dreamed of a unified Murim.

The emperor of the imperial court who sought to impose an even greater Murim.

The countless martial artists who perished between them.

The common folk who were treated as mere property, not as people.

The Haenam Sect, which had fallen into ruin, unable to keep up with the tides of history.

‘Who would have thought that the aspirations of Murim masters, who wielded unparalleled power yet failed to realize their ideals, would be fulfilled so close at hand?’

Jeong Yohan cautiously glanced at her and asked,

“Uh… Silent Swordsman? The video is over. Should I play the second broadcast?”

Hae Eung Eung nodded.

She watched the second broadcast in its entirety.

Then the third.

She was about to move on to the fourth, which was a staggering 64 hours long, when So Kyungseok intervened.

“I’m sorry, but watching that would take far too much time. If it’s necessary, why not just get a copy of the video instead?”

Hae Eung Eung turned to Jeong Yohan, silently asking if that was possible. He nodded enthusiastically.

“If it’s a request from Silent Swordsman, of course! Just give me your email address, and I’ll send it right away!”

[Email?]

“Oh, right. You’re new to VR, aren’t you? This is your first time using it. Here, press this, then this, and go here your VR-linked email will appear.”

Following his instructions, Hae Eung Eung accessed the email linked to her VR account.

Both So Kyungseok and Jeong Yohan chuckled in disbelief.

“This must be her first time checking her email.”

“Wow… No wonder no one ever got hired as her manager or editor…”

Her inbox was overflowing +999 unread messages, spilling beyond the system’s count limit.

For the first time, her dust-covered mailbox was opened.

“Now, just press ‘Compose Mail,’ and your address will show up… Let me copy it real quick. I’ll send the file now.”

Jeong Yohan attached the video to an email.

Just as he was about to hit send

Hae Eung Eung lightly tugged at his training robe.

Without much thought, he turned his head toward her.

And suddenly, he found himself staring directly into her eyes.

He jolted in shock, his face turning red.

Both in the broadcasts and in real life,

She had always seemed indifferent, carrying a quiet solitude in her expression.

Yet now, those mysterious violet eyes met his, framed by her breathtakingly beautiful face.

Not just as a fan, but as a man, he found it hard to withstand.

“Wh-what is it?”

[Send me Namubalbal’s video too.]

“No way!”

[Why not?]

“Wh-why do you even have to ask?! This is different!”

[Is it another streamer’s broadcast?]

“It’s different, but it’s even more different than that. I mean, it’s still a stream, but the focus is completely different ah, anyway, you just can’t!”

[?]

“Silent Swordsman, you’re like a baby! You need to be protected!”

…What the hell was he talking about?

While Hae Eung Eung was left speechless, So Kyungseok chuckled knowingly.

“Why not just let her watch it once? There might be something in there that even the Guild Master shouldn’t see. Like, say… a baseball video.”

Baseball video? …Adult videos?

Oh.

The realization hit her.

She had spent 20 years in Murim, relearning language from scratch.

In a world without computers, such things had naturally faded from her mind.

That was something only her past male self had been familiar with.

And now, she had just asked for one of those videos, right in front of him.

No wonder Jeong Yohan looked like he wanted to die of shame.

‘Is he afraid I’ll look down on him? That I’ll think he’s disgusting? That I’ll despise him?’

His expression was full of despair.

Instead of blaming him, Hae Eung Eung quietly opened her notebook,

taking on the demeanor of a parent trying to act natural after catching their child watching something they shouldn’t.

[Try training harder. If you focus on martial arts, you won’t have such impure thoughts.]

She even offered advice with a wise and magnanimous air.

Her attempt at kindness only made Jeong Yohan bow his head even lower, completely defeated.

So Kyungseok, unable to bear witnessing such a tragic sight, covered his eyes with his hand.

‘Poor guy… He must want to crawl into a hole and die. I should probably delete my Orioles folder when I get home too.’