Master Swordsman’s Stream - Chapter 82

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Episode 82

“I’ll explain that. Seo Jun. Nice to meet you. This is our first encounter in the game. I’m Sam Jangro, the Brain of Demons of the Demonic Sect.”
A man with an incongruous young face and a pasted-on beard spoke to Seo Jun from behind the others.
It would have been better to actually edit the avatar, but compared to the other unfamiliar people standing behind him, he was perfectly normal, so Seo Jun said nothing more.
That half-naked person with orange skin was uglier than a monster—almost unbearable to look at with open eyes.
He wondered what item they’d rubbed on their skin to make it gleam like that.
But they all looked like usernames he’d seen in the chat room?
They seemed perfectly normal there.
“Hello. You’re the person who types the most in the Demonic Sect chat room, right?”
Seo Jun gave a shallow bow in greeting.
“Haha, yes.”
“Ha. The Brain, that’s me!”
“You’re loud.”
Dangso came over from the Heterodox Faction, yet he’s adapted to the Demonic Sect pretty well.
Impressive.
“Setting aside Dangso for a moment—anyway, Seo Jun, are you aware of the current situation of our Demonic Sect?”
Fortunately, when they got down to business, Dangso fell silent and listened.
“No.”
“Originally, our Demonic Sect has lacked the number of Rankers. The Battlefield is content heavily influenced by the number of users. And the game company has no intention of compensating for this—damn Movie Soft.”
The Demonic Sect is generally evaluated as having mediocre performance across the board.
If that were all, they might have won once or twice.
But poor performance leading to a shortage of users was hard to overcome.
Regular users are fine.
The real problem was that we had about ten fewer Rankers collecting Fame Points like Origin Qi Orbs compared to other factions.
But you filled that gap today, Seo Jun.
In a remarkable way, displaying skill beyond imagination.
“The number of regular users is still somewhat lacking, but we can say the Ranker count is now on equal footing.”
Sam Jangro regarded Seo Jun with fresh eyes.
For the first time, the Demonic Sect had a real chance at victory.
Not long after the game began.
All because of that streamer who chose the Demonic Sect thanks to a joking nickname.
When he first heard about the streamer Seo Jun, he never imagined a situation like this would unfold.
“So we can win?”
“Yes. The number of Rankers is that crucial.”
Regular users are incapable of coordinating in detail unless a decisive moment unfolds at the very end or unless they’ve set a simple, clear objective.
This is why the number of regular users participating in the Battlefield every single day is proportionally tiny compared to those who’ve participated at least once.
It’s much easier and more fun to watch while eating popcorn, then all jump in at the critical moment.
Play a bit now and then when bored.
“So you gathered here to map out strategy?”
“Not really. We were just trying to finish the fourth round quickly and watch your broadcast, but he kept calling us over…”
Sam Jangro gestured with his eyes toward Dangso.
Ah.
He’s quite something.
“The broad strokes are handled by me and someone called the Brain of Demons—the two of us work it out, but most of it happens in the chat room anyway.”
“A manager?”
“The Brain of Demons.”
He’d heard of the Brain of Demons before.
In martial arts stories, those who handle administration and strategy for the Demonic Sect are called the Brain of Demons.
The Orthodox Faction has the Brain of Gods, I think.
But what about the character itself?
Is it the character 者 meaning “person”?
No idea.
“Haha. I see.”
Seo Jun just let it pass.
There were too many things to nitpick about “For the Sect.”
“The detailed strategies change with each Battlefield based on the circumstances, but we do set a broad framework. For years, we just watched them fight and aimed for the Fisher’s Profit—trying for second place if anything—but…”
“Then I came along and things changed.”
Dangso chimed in again.
“You’re loud.”
Seo Jun spoke once, but Sam Jangro ignored him and continued.
He’s already gotten used to it, it seems.
“Because you swept everything today, the situation has shifted. Dramatically. So our greatest strength right now is your skill.”
“My skill?”
“Yes. As the Abbot mentioned, you possess the highest caliber of skill—you rarely lose. Having fourteen Rankers deployed to a single region isn’t that burdensome. But if those fourteen are guaranteed to win? That’s quite burdensome.”
Conversely, if he loses even once, their advantage weakens proportionally.
‘I have no intention of losing.’
The enemy will likely have to make a Choice.
Either leave him alone and find another path, or try to stop him somehow.
“Hehehehe.”
“So what’s your basic strategy?”
“Mm, I’m still debating whether to reveal it to you.”
“Why?”
“Because I suspect you’d openly declare the strategy on your broadcast and then say, ‘Try to stop me if you can.'”
Then why did you call me here?
“…”
“Just kidding.”
Lee Dong-su and the Heavenly First Swordmaster behind them laughed.
“For now, we’re thinking of going with a Strength-based Strategy, trusting in you.”
“Strength-based Strategy?”
“Yes.”
“You mean a direct breakthrough?”
“Exactly. You know what happens if we push forward and capture the region where the enemy’s Headquarters is?”
The Headquarters regions for each faction are located in the far northeast, far northwest, and the southern tip respectively.
If we manage to push through and occupy that region…
“That faction is Eliminated from the Battlefield.”
He knew that too.
It’s a rare occurrence that doesn’t happen outside very special circumstances, but it has happened.
“Yes. They’re completely Eliminated from the Battlefield. Hehehehe.”
Sam Jangro finished speaking, laughed heartily, and his whole body trembled slightly.
There was a hint of madness to it, but he understood.
There was only one faction that had ever been Eliminated.
Right. It was the Demonic Sect.
“I see.”
“What do you think? Honestly, any strategy we bring requires your cooperation. That’s why I asked Dangso to bring you here.”
Fair enough.
This is better than messaging—talking face to face like this.
Seo Jun shrugged as he spoke.
“Well, I’ll do my best to follow whatever you ask. I’m not under any pressure now.”
“Ah…!”
Literally no pressure.
Whether he lost, whether the attack-defense position failed and he missed bonuses, or even if he skipped a round.
It truly didn’t matter.
Because he’d accumulated so many Fame Points that first place was already guaranteed.
“A Strength-based Strategy—that sounds fun.”
The basic strategy appealed to him.
The details would be adjusted daily as needed.
By them.
“Hehehehe. Thank you so much.”
Sam Jangro clenched both fists and cheered.
He’s really that pleased.

* * *

The clock hands pointed to 12:30.
Five and a half hours had passed since Seo Jun’s broadcast started at 7 o’clock.
And during those five and a half hours, Lee Geon-yeong, who’d been glued to his chair staring at the computer, briefly removed his hands from the keyboard and stretched his back straight.
He arched and closed his eyes.
“Uuuhhh.”
After doing all manner of stretches—rolling his neck and more—he refocused on his work.
What had he been doing for those five and a half hours?
Between watching the broadcast, he’d pop into the community to downvote posts he didn’t like and even send links to his colleague editor Han Ji-min asking her to click too, but the bulk of his time went to editing.
Specifically, editing today’s broadcast.
“Hhh.”
A raspy breath escaped his lips naturally.
Glug-glug.
He drained the water bottle he’d grabbed from the fridge in one go, rehydrating his parched mouth, then returned to work.
There was no need to rewatch the footage.
He’d already marked all the edit points while watching the broadcast, and he and Han Ji-min had discussed exactly how to handle it beforehand.
His goal was to finish editing as quickly as possible and upload the video.
Why?
“I have to get it up fast. Before the momentum dies.”
The live broadcast had reached 160,000 viewers.
If even 10% of them stayed up to watch the AiTube video when it dropped in the early morning, that alone would be 16,000 views.
16,000 itself isn’t high.
But those 16,000 views in the immediate hours after upload carry different weight.
“Wasn’t it said that a video’s fate is half-decided within the first few hours of upload?”
If many people watch in those initial hours, the algorithm judges the video worth recommending and distributes more recommendations.
That’s why.
Lee Geon-yeong wanted to maintain this momentum and capitalize on it.
He’d been properly editing for four hours.
This wasn’t nearly enough.
“I had the edit points and direction mapped out, but it’s still hard to finish in four hours.”
About half the material was done.
If he finished three hours from now, it might actually be better not to upload at all.
It would be during sleep hours when few people would be watching, making high view counts unlikely.
But.
He wasn’t the only one editing.
Ding.

[Han Ji-min: I’m done. How about you?]

A laugh escaped him.
“We did it.”
They could get the video up before 1 AM.

[Lee Geon-yeong: I’m done too. Let’s combine them and upload right away if they look good.]

The secret to editing today’s broadcast and uploading it within hours? Splitting the material and editing simultaneously!
A hidden technique.

[Han Ji-min: Hard work. And so we’re ground down by the heartless boss again today……]
[Lee Geon-yeong: ㅋㅋㅋㅋ Why are you talking like the boss forced you? You were the one who said let’s do it right away in the first place.]

Han Ji-min handled the front half, he handled the back.
It was an efficient way to save time.
Assuming their editing styles were similar, that is.
And remarkably, their styles were similar.
“All thanks to learning so much.”
He’d received direct instruction, and indirectly, he’d been influenced watching her videos.

[Han Ji-min: I’m checking the combined version and it’s smooth with no jarring transitions. I’ll polish it a bit more and get it up by 1 AM.]
[Lee Geon-yeong: Got it. Thanks for the hard work.]
[Han Ji-min: You too.]

“Ah.”
He burned through completely.
Lee Geon-yeong reflected.
Had he ever thrown himself into something this hard?
Certainly not in recent years, when he’d only avoided things and run away.
His body was exhausted, but his heart felt the opposite—at ease.
And he much preferred himself in this state.
‘It feels like I caught a glimpse of how people who live fiercely spend their days, even if my absolute time is limited.’
It’s all thanks to the boss.
With a cheerful laugh, he washed up humming.
After preparing for bed, he lay down.
Then he picked up his phone and waited.
“I want to see it go live before I sleep.”
How effective would it be?
Even the veteran Han Ji-min said she wasn’t sure.
Was there anyone who regularly dealt with major stories like this?
He was curious and wanted to see the upload before sleep.
Gradually, his movements slowed.
Was it physical fatigue?
Though the work time wasn’t that long, the intense short-term concentration had taken a significant mental toll.
‘I hope it goes well…’
Softly.
His eyes closed.
Ding.
At 1 AM, the dark phone screen briefly lit up with a notification—a subscription alert.
A new video had been uploaded to Seo Jun’s channel.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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