I Have Returned, but I Cannot Lay down My Gun

Chapter 449

"Again."

The CQC lecture continued.

"You remember what I said about predicting what comes next and preloading your inputs, right? That’s how you end up getting hit. Let’s try again. Unless you improve your reflexes and reaction speed, none of this will matter."

Glory and Honor—Melee Combat Training.

"…Since we’ve had a day or two off, let’s climb the ranks again. As always, with only two daggers."

Even though I spent most of my day working, a true workaholic, lately, I had been feeling the limits of my body. It wasn’t a matter of physical stamina. It was more like my brain, fully recharged after sleep, was being completely drained every day.

The only silver lining was that the mental exhaustion was less intense during the first and second segments of the day. That was because I wasn’t pouring my all into teaching like I had last year. Looking back, maybe I had been overdoing it back then—both managing countless matches and training teammates.

Still, there had been a certain joy in it. Watching others grow under my guidance gave me a sense of subtle accomplishment. But as circumstances changed, so did my motivation. It was unfortunate, really.

"Ugh."

Cold water slid down my throat.

Returning to my room, I activated the console. As the AFK mode disengaged, a sea of users waiting for their turn appeared before me. Just a few days ago, these players had looked hesitant and awkward, but now, they carried themselves with a sharpness. Each held their preferred weapon—a push dagger, axe, ice pick, tactical knife, machete, or kukri knife. Some weapons, like karambits or automatic knives, remained unchosen.

This lineup reflected the limited opportunities for melee combat in AP. Even lugging around a heavy blade wasn’t much of an issue—you could discard it after surviving the first skirmish.

Of course, I had taught them this.

"Alright, who’s up next?"

"Me."

"Judging by your expression, you’ve been waiting a while."

Dice.

She stood up, and the terrain changed. In her hand was a tactical…knife. For someone who liked me enough to keep a snake at home just because it reminded her of my tail, this was a surprisingly practical choice. She claimed that knives allowed for more versatile attacks, and she wasn’t wrong. Unlike axes, knives couldn’t be swung in reverse grip efficiently.

Having made her wait long enough, it was time to meet her expectations.

Both Dice and I readied our daggers.

In the game, thick ballistic plates protected areas like the torso, limiting viable attack zones. Dice started with cautious hammer-grip maneuvers, which I either dodged or parried, offering feedback on her form.

Knife fighting wasn’t something most people learned in real life. Dice’s attacks, even with the game’s behavior correction system, were decent—perhaps even impressive.

"Hup…!"

"Hmm."

Swish. A faint sound of air being sliced.

Dice covered her neck and the back of her head with her left arm, switched to a reverse grip with her right, and lowered her stance to thrust at my side. It wasn’t a bad move. Her ballistic plate made her back impervious, and protecting her neck minimized vulnerability.

But lowering her head increased the risk of a knee strike. Before her blade could pierce my side, Dice staggered as if she’d been punched in the face. Naturally, she didn’t look hurt—it was just the simulation’s response.

"Not bad. But targeting the thigh to disable mobility would’ve been a better choice. Using the ballistic plate to block attacks was a smart move."

"…Ugh, I’m dizzy."

"Axes can’t stab like knives, so their attack speed is slower. If you’re up against another player instead of me, they won’t react as quickly. Even if the damage is minimal, consistent attacks can wear them down."

In a panic, people instinctively use their hands and arms to block. In reality, this often results in defensive wounds—proof of this instinct. Dice’s tactical knife, being light, allowed for rapid consecutive strikes, easily overwhelming psychological barriers.

Repeated hits forced the opponent backward. Losing balance, they might trip over their own feet or find themselves with nowhere else to retreat.

The key to countering this was simple:

"Be cautious of situations where the opponent charges in reverse. With ballistic vests, they might ignore a few stabs to their arms and push through."

"What do I do in that case?"

"It’s simple."

With a flick of my finger, Dice became the attacker, swiftly closing the distance with her dagger. The game’s balance adjustments had equalized our physical abilities, but by reading her center of gravity, countering was easy.

Dodging her horizontal slash to the side, I kicked her unsteady leg with my left foot and shoved her backward. Dice toppled to the ground as easily as if I were a matador tripping a bull.

At this point, there were multiple options. I could retreat to find another weapon or draw a second dagger for a counterattack. Every player started with at least one dagger upon deployment, after all.

"Ugh…."

"Don’t rush. Maintain your distance and only attack when your opponent has no escape. Remember, opportunities aren’t something you wait for—they’re something you create."

"But tripping people… I feel like I’ll need more practice."

"Then practice."

"Ah…."

Everyone here served as a sparring partner for one another.

Dice hesitated briefly before resigning herself to call up another user—Blooming. Like that legendary movie assassin who killed everyone over a dog, grappling techniques were essential in close combat.

In Glory and Honor, I had to adapt my own combat style due to the existence of heavy armor. Nevertheless, I continued to passionately teach these players.

Those unfamiliar with judo or jiu-jitsu struggled at first, even with behavior corrections. I hammered the basics into them, repeating lessons until they stuck. Fortunately, these were all pro gamers—it didn’t take too long.

Becoming an operator required learning a lot.

"Speaking of which…"

I suddenly recalled a message from a few days ago.

Not from Dark Zone but from Icarus International, the team behind Glory and Honor. They had asked if they could develop a new class based on my playstyle.

As Dice and Blooming sparred behind me, I opened the message window, stared at it for a moment, and muttered to myself as I closed it again.

"My workload just keeps piling up."

What could I do? It was my lot in life.

Resolving to hit Challenger rank tonight, I called up the next batch of players.

There was still a long way to go.

"Hey, did you hear the rumor about Eugene’s dual-dagger class being officially released?"

"…That? What does Eugene himself have to say about it?"

"Nothing. Like I said, it’s just a rumor."

"Then how is it a rumor, idiot? That’s just baseless gossip…."

Meanwhile, as Eugene was drowning in his endless workload…

The Glory and Honor community was abuzz, stumbling upon yet another unintentional sensation.

"Ugh, guys… why do you have to drag every bit of community gossip all the way here?"

A shining Master emblem gleamed on his shoulder. Along with the Glory and Honor Partner Streamer badge, it was a testament to his in-game accomplishments. He was unmistakably someone who stood out—a streamer who even casually placed down a claymore sword as large as himself.

Loki, sporting an avatar with sleek silver hair and shimmering silver eyes, scrolled through his chat with a mix of irritation and resignation. Several troublemakers had already been banned, their comments excised by a sharp-eyed moderator. While dominating his rank matches, Loki’s mod had been diligently swinging the ban hammer to maintain order in the broadcast.

After reviewing the banned messages, Loki concluded that the offenders deserved their punishment. Addressing his remaining viewers, who now seemed to cower in silence, he let out a sigh.

"Guys, how many times do I have to say this? If it doesn’t come from me, it’s not legitimate gossip. I have to be the one to confirm these things. Otherwise, when some nonsense gets tied to me later, how am I supposed to defend you by saying, ‘Oh yeah, my viewers brought this up first’? Why do you keep jumping the gun?"

"Gasp."
"Sorry, I didn’t know ??."
"Even when angry, your avatar is gorgeous LOL."
"This guy roasts like a pro."
"All the gossip-starters already got banned LOL."
Sometimes, these viewers—no, these little trolls—needed a firm hand to stay in line. Loki wore a mildly exasperated expression, more from being distracted from his rank games than from dealing with the rumors.

Reluctantly, he moved from the ranked lobby to a private area, scrolling through the chat logs to see what the fuss was about. If the topic wasn’t too absurd, he might even use it as a talking point.

The topic in question? Speculation about what a Eugene-inspired dual-dagger class might look like.

"…Can I even talk about this?"

It wasn’t impossible. Eugene had become a hot topic in the Glory and Honor community—not just as a streamer but across every aspect of the game. Moreover, this wasn’t just casual gossip but tied to potential promotional content.

Still, Loki knew better than to allow unverified chatter to spiral out of control.

Leaning back in his chair, he decided to weigh in.

"It’s not impossible. Honestly, you can slap together enough mechanics to make a class based on anyone. Hell, you could even make a class inspired by some Bronze-tier player who’s just messing around. The point is that they just don’t."

With the topic now opened, Loki’s thoughts shifted to what it actually took to release a new class. In his experience, it boiled down to one key element: uniqueness. A new class had to bring something distinct to the table, giving the balance team a reason to break out the spreadsheets.

Not that the Glory and Honor balance team had the best track record, given the jokes about its questionable mechanics circulating everywhere.

One thing was certain.

"Here’s the deal—you guys aren’t allowed to use it. Not unless you’re Platinum or higher. Actually, scratch that—Platinum players shouldn’t touch it either. Only those who’ve memorized the exact hitboxes for every melee weapon in the game should even consider trying it."

"??????"
"This guy hasn’t even ranked into Grandmaster yet but trashes lower tiers LOL."
"Fact: still better than you."
"Last season, he hit Challenger with 1102 LP. Cope harder, Silver scrubs."
"Why do you roast us so hard? My bones hurt!!!"
Using his audience as comedic fodder, Loki reinforced his stance. And to be fair, he wasn’t entirely wrong—most of his viewers were stuck in the middle tiers, hovering between Silver, Gold, and Platinum. As someone who’d reached the highest ranks, his perspective on these lower-tiered players was… dismissive, to say the least.

Still, the idea of a Eugene-inspired class continued to take shape in Loki’s mind.

"…It’d probably lean toward evasion mechanics, like a ninja. But since it wouldn’t have ranged attacks like a chain scythe, the health pool would likely be around 125. It’d focus on deflecting and counterattacks, with a mechanic that lets you dive in for a burst of damage under specific conditions."

"Hot take: Eugene’s class should be restricted to Platinum and above."
"Imagine a Bronze-tier player picking it up. Total troll pick."
"Walking kill-point dispenser."
"Difficulty: ‘Extremely Hard,’ guaranteed."
"The real Eugene doesn’t even use specials LOL."
"Strong attacks, weak attacks, maybe some AoE options. There’d probably be a parry mechanic, obviously. If they don’t want it to be a kill-point dispenser, they’d need several execution moves. Maybe even a separate execution gauge on the UI."

The concept slowly solidified.

One thing was certain: the class would be extremely challenging to master. But for those who could, it’d likely become an instant favorite among both players and viewers. If it were poorly implemented, however, the backlash would be massive—especially given Eugene’s widespread popularity and the scale of his promotional reach.

Loki didn’t want to see such a disaster unfold.

"That said, the specials are key. Remember when Eugene kicked someone’s dagger out of their hand? Maybe they could include a move like the Guardian’s Crossbow that lets you kick weapons away."

By now, the concept had become a hodgepodge of flashy, over-the-top abilities, but what could he do? The person inspiring it was already pulling off those feats in real-time at higher tiers.

Just as Loki prepared to continue, a loud, ominous noise disrupted his thoughts.

Boom!

"…Wait, did I forget to leave matchmaking? No way…."

"What a clown wwww."
"LMFAO, rookie mistake!"
"So much for trash-talking your viewers LOL."
"Loki, just focus on your games LOL."
"Hah, get wrecked!"
His misfortune didn’t end there.

Scrambling back into the ranked lobby, Loki scanned his team, exchanging greetings—only to realize that on the opposing team was none other than the subject of all the rumors: Eugene himself.

Of all times, why now?

Before he could think further, his instincts took over, and he roared:

"Goddamn it! Hey, you bastards! Your stupid gossip got me matched against the Grim Reaper himself! AAAAAAH—!"

"How is that our fault? LOL."
"We’re in Silver, dude. We don’t even queue against Eugene LOL."
"Phew… glad I’m still in Platinum."
"Trash player alert ?."
What else could he do? It was already too late.

The Grim Reaper was coming.