Chapter 152
“Shit. What should I do?”
My mind goes blank.
All I can think is “What should I do?” I’ve gone on autopilot.
Should I grab Zenon by the collar and drag him down? Or should I wait and see how the situation unfolds? I wish someone would tell me what to do in a situation like this.
“Challenger! This is your final warning! If you approach the arena any further, you will be detained!”
Suddenly, a yell comes from behind me.
I glance back and see numerous event staff members gathering to apprehend me after my unauthorized entry.
I take one look at the scene, then at Zenon flailing around in the air above the arena. I immediately click my tongue.
“If I get arrested now, it’ll be the end of me.”
Only now, after observing the surrounding situation, does my judgment finally come to me.
Truly, this is a pivotal situation, but I cannot personally intervene with Zenon at the moment.
This tournament does not promote killing, but unless it’s a situation where someone is killed after surrendering, it isn’t strictly prohibited either. From the audience’s perspective, Zenon simply obtained a legitimate victory.
Should I suddenly jump in and fight Zenon here? It’ll only make me look like the bad guy.
“…No.”
An especially loud roar of applause informs me that Zenon is being celebrated.
By pulling off a last-minute surprise move in a critical situation, he cleanly executed his opponent who had let his guard down. Even I would have cheered for Zenon if I hadn’t known the backstory. Shit.
“…I apologize.”
I quickly bowed to the event staff. Following their authoritative guidance, I returned to the waiting room without resistance.
After receiving a severe warning and being interrogated for quite a while, I was finally released. The tournament then continued as usual.
Of course, the game of cat-and-mouse between me and Cassas’ apostles also went on.
“Opening of Arena 13!”
In the second round, I encountered a masked man.
After scanning his status, I confirmed he was not one of Cassas’ apostles. He was just a random extra-level challenger with fairly ordinary specs.
“Rather lucky.”
I’ll use this guy to buy some time while I thoroughly scan the other arenas. Since he’s not that strong, he’s the perfect opponent for conducting my investigation.
“…Alright. One confirmed.”
While carefully observing my surroundings, I noticed a man in the arena next to me and immediately locked eyes on him.
[Title: Essent Grand]
[Nickname: Apostle of Cassas, Thenu Tannibal, Silent]
[Level: 234]
[HP: 310/890 MP: 1370/1750 Status: Bleeding, Fracture]
[Strength: 50 Agility: 204 Intelligence: 398]
I’ve found one of Cassas’ apostles.
His name is Essent Grand, a native—not a hero. The nickname “Thenu Tannibal” seems to be his tournament alias.
I firmly memorized both his real name and alias.
“What, what is this? What is it?”
Just as I finished confirming, my opponent began freaking out.
Tu-tu-tu-tu! He wildly sprayed bullets from the machine gun he was carrying. I chuckled from beneath my mask and easily dodged without much effort.
Ting! The bullets hit the arena floor and scattered sparks in all directions.
“This shit! Hit me already!!”
My masked opponent screamed. It seems he’s pretty annoyed by the way I’m dodging the bullets like a ghost. Watching his pathetic form, I slightly curled the corners of my mouth.
“Frustrated? Why don’t you level up, then?”
In this world, there are guns.
Not old flintlocks or muskets, but Earth-style automatic rifles and machine guns. There are even rocket launchers and multi-stage missiles.
All of these are products of Unterland. What they call ‘magic engineering’ seems more like science fiction or steampunk to me.
But I can confidently say this:
Guns are definitely useless against high-level users over 200.
Proof of that statement is what I’m showing my opponent right now.
“Where are you aiming at? That’s just my afterimage.”
Swish, swish.
With light footwork alone, I easily slipped away from his line of fire. The angrier he got, the louder his roars became.
“Argh! You damn rat!!”
That’s right. Once someone is at my level… no, at Carhalas’ level, hitting them with bullets becomes practically impossible. I can read the subtle muscle movements and dodge before they even fire.
A bullet travels in a straight line once it leaves the muzzle. Unlike the unpredictable movements of a cold weapon, once it misses its line of fire, it’s useless.
Moreover, the attack speed of a high-level swordsman over 200 is faster than that of a bullet. The bullets look downright slow.
“Also…”
I swiftly moved to my opponent’s face in a blink of an eye, seeing an expression of desperation pull the trigger continuously.
In an instant, I reached right in front of his nose. Staring up at me for a second in shock, he panicked and sprayed bullets.
“Ghh, ghh, you bastard!!”
Tu-tu-tu-tu! A barrage of close-range shots blasted toward my face. Tankang, tanggang! The casings bounced off the arena floor, creating a clear metallic sound.
As the concentrated gunfire ended after several seconds, I finally lowered my hand which I had raised to cover my face. The heat of the bullets warmed my palms, filling the air with a strong smell of gunpowder.
“Is this all you’ve got? Your firepower.”
I spat out a taunt and threw the blocked bullets onto the ground. Clatter! Dozens of flattened bullet tips rolled and reflected in the sunlight.
That’s right. Even though a direct hit from bullets would probably turn me into Swiss cheese, I’m absorbing the earth’s ether currently, so there’s not even a scratch on my body.
It does feel a bit tingly on my palm though. Must be a decent-grade gun.
“To beat me, you’ll need to bring at least an intercontinental ballistic missile.”
Thinking about it, I’m curious now. If I absorb the earth’s ether, would I still be fine after getting hit by a ballistic missile?
It’s probably irrelevant, but the physical damage aside, the surrounding air would likely ignite and suffocate me at the moment of explosion.
While pondering these random thoughts, I gradually pressured my opponent.
“Aaargh, ugh, huu…!”
The masked opponent flinched as I slowly approached. His hand gripping the gun trembled violently.
Suddenly, he collapsed where he was, throwing away his gun.
“Huff, I surrender! I give up!”
Oops. By matching my height to his level, I accidentally pushed him too hard despite my intention to avoid hassle.
I clicked my tongue in frustration. Meanwhile, the crowd who had no idea of our internal dynamics erupted in cheers. An intense atmosphere swept through.
“I could’ve prolonged this for another round…”
I glanced at the floating crystal mirror in the sky. The time taken for the match was about two minutes.
If I had dragged the remaining minute, I could’ve scanned more members from other arenas that had been rotated during that time. Regretfully, I smacked my lips.
“This is all? Boring.”
I ended the match with my usual closing line.
This one slipped out of my mouth reflexively. Habits are truly terrifying things.
When I returned to the waiting room, quite a few people had already left. With the second day’s third round beginning, the number of participants had dwindled to a few hundred.
“Now that I think about it… there was no need to panic.”
I let out a low sigh. My earlier flustered self back in the waiting room felt pretty foolish in hindsight.
There’s no point worrying about the rejects who are likely to fail the preliminaries. Regardless of Cassas or anything else, they’re not worth my attention. Eventually, only the best will remain, and it would’ve been easier and more convenient to identify them at this point.
“Really feeling like killing myself…”
I muttered bitterly.
My lifelong motto for 24 years was ‘If the body is weak, the brain suffers’. Lately, I’ve been encountering too many situations where my physical strength isn’t enough, causing doubts to creep into my belief.
I clicked my tongue repeatedly as I began scanning through the people.
“Challenger number 512! Is Challenger number 512 here?!”
At that moment, an urgent call from the event staff drew my attention.
“Challenger number 512! Please immediately come to Arena 6! Failure to attend within the time limit will result in automatic disqualification!”
Several staff members urgently dashed around the waiting room in search of the problematic number 512… Zenon.
It was then that I suddenly became alert. I began surveying the faces of those who remained in the waiting room.
He’s not here. There’s no sign of Zenon, the figure draped in a red scimitar, anywhere.
“Challenger 512 disqualified! Challenger 2669 of Arena 6 wins by default!”
In the end, Zenon never appeared. His match was declared a forfeit.
I continued scanning through the participants with a growing sense of unease and managed to finally fight the last match of the day as twilight approached.
“Opening of Arena 50, third round!”
The third round ended swiftly. It didn’t even take 10 seconds.
The opponent was a female warrior in her late 100s level, wearing what appeared to be heavy armor tailored for wielding a large hammer.
“Mist.”
Whatever her attire or appearance, who cares? I’m not some damned scouting department head to bother with that.
She couldn’t withstand my covert infiltration, followed by a powerful surprise attack and finishing blow.
“Aaaahhh!”
A single strike from behind cleanly pierced her back. The opponent collapsed with a scream, blood spurting out.
I briefly looked at her convulsing while bleeding, then shrugged and turned to the referee.
The referee, momentarily dazed, suddenly raised his voice.
“Winner! Challenger 112, Blood-drenched Moonlit Shadow!”
As soon as the referee’s announcement ended, I swirled my cloak and promptly returned to the waiting room as always.
“Wow! He’s the best! Blood-drenched Moonlit Shadow!”
“Who the hell is this guy? This time, he completely annihilated his opponent in an instant blink!”
“Just 10 seconds! One hit! He’s the best dark horse of this year’s Divine Tournament!”
Every time my match ended, the entire audience stirred in excitement. Normally, I might’ve shown some showmanship, but I was now solely focused on preparing to return to Adrang’s mansion.
The reason I didn’t waste time and swiftly annihilated my opponent is straightforward.
“All rat bastards accounted for.”
By the time the third round ended, approximately 400 challengers remained. Among them, I had identified all the apostles of Cassas who had infiltrated.
A total of 15. The rough info and real names of these bastards are now ingrained in my head.
“But…”
Upon gathering all the information, a serious issue emerged.
None of the names of the guys who attacked Adrang’s mansion in my previous life—Greg Marent, Talik, Jack Pepper, etc.—were present. Except for Zenon, none of them showed up.
At first, I double-checked, thinking I might have missed something, but they truly weren’t there.
The answer was clear—my assumptions were wrong from the beginning.
“The bastards who raided the mansion and the ones who infiltrated this Divine Tournament are separate groups.”
The hypothesis that ‘they are aiming for the dragon-slaying sword, the main prize’ was now practically established as fact.
Thus, rather than wasting time, I needed to relay this information to Adrang as quickly as possible.
“Looking forward to your reaction, Mr. Adrang.”
In my previous life, Adrang was already so thrilled when I revealed Selphy Helman’s real name. Handing over this info now, wouldn’t it have him flipping around in joy? I’m really looking forward to it.
I hurried toward Adrang’s mansion.
“All that’s left….”
Is to prepare for the Apostles of Cassas’ raid tonight.
Recalling the inferno that engulfed the mansion, the smile on my face quickly vanished.
I picked up the pace of my steps.
