CHAPTER 144: 144. VICTORY!!

When the final screen tallied up the kill count, the numbers shone with beautiful clarity:

Me: 20 kills.

Kaelira: 19 kills.

Victory.

Glorious, petty, absolutely insignificant in the grand scale of things—but it was mine. And I wasn’t about to let it go to waste by being "humble" or "mature."

Screw that.

I turned toward Kaelira with a smug grin that could fertilize a field with how much ego it carried. "Now, now... no need to cry. With just 500 to 1000 years of intense daily practice, you might reach this enigma’s level. But worry not—I shall continue to look down on you. Fully. Respectfully. Condescendingly."

She didn’t miss a beat. Scoffed. Swatted away my jabbing finger like it was a fly. "Get lost, you overdramatic rodent. We had a one kill difference. One. Don’t act like you just became a goddamn warlord."

I turned away with an exaggerated flair, one hand clasped over my chest, voice a whispery lament, "You got 19 kills because that’s all you could get. I got 20 because that’s all there was to take."

She rolled her eyes so hard I heard a pop. "Oh seriously? Then why were there 100 people here, smartass? You didn’t kill 98. You killed 20. Twenty. You and your messiah complex need to shut the fuck up."

We glared at each other, standing in the aftermath of our glorious mutual rampage. Bantering like deranged kids in a playground but one built from corpses and victory points. And then—

BZZZT

A blue hologram shimmered between us again, interrupting our very necessary bullying session.

Congratulations, Winning Players!

You have been selected to participate in the 345th Battle Royale!!

The Battle Royale will start in—

3... 2...

"Wait, WHAT?!" I nearly screamed as the words scrolled up, uncaring. "Where’s my break time?! Hello?! This is rigged! Illegal! Unethical!"

I flailed at the sky like it owed me something.

Of course, the hologram ignored my tantrum like it had better things to do. Which, to be fair, it probably did.

1... START THE MAYHEM!!

...

When my vision cleared, the world around me had changed again.

No wreckage. No buildings. No convenient cover to hide under like a rat. Just a wide, open plain—the kind that would make a sports enthusiast cry tears of joy. Flat green fields stretching to the edge of a perfectly artificial blue sky.

[Participants: 100/100]

[Location: Death Plain]

[Condition: Eliminate All]

Across the expanse, players appeared in pulses of light, dazed and blinking, some even kneeling. The usual confusion. The human brain didn’t handle teleportation all that well.

Some were already reaching for their weapons. Some stared at the sky, probably questioning their life decisions. Others stood still, processing the sensory overload.

But me?

I moved.

Even before the system finished its countdown, I was already spreading my net.

Thin strands of amethyst lightning weaved into the grass like creeping shadows, unnoticed, too subtle to catch unless you knew what to look for.

My [Threaded Control] skill pulsed like a second heartbeat, stretching across the entire plain like a spider web spun by a spooder man.

Most people were too busy checking their surroundings and eyeing the other players. They weren’t looking at their feet. They never did.

3...

The threads curled, slithered.

2...

They paused beneath the feet of the unsuspecting.

1... FIGHT!!

The moment the system buzzed that final note—I unleashed hell.

Dozens of threads surged upward like serpents waking from a nightmare. Amethyst lightning coiled around limbs, armor, torsos—burning through defenses like hot wire through paper. Screams erupted before they could even move.

Some tried to draw weapons. Others tried to run.

Too late.

Their bodies convulsed. Amethyst light flooded their veins. Armor melted into skin. Weapons clattered from twitching hands. One by one, their avatars burst apart with sick, wet pops, like watermelons wrapped in too many rubber bands.

+40 Kills

The number popped up, innocent and sterile. Like it hadn’t just marked a massacre.

I stood still in the eye of it all, hands calmly by my side.

"...Now that felt good."

I didn’t even pretend to hide the grin spreading across my face. The battlefield was already reduced by almost half, and the round had barely even started.

Around me, the surviving players gawked. Some in horror. Some in admiration. A few with sheer panic written all over their wide, anime-glossed eyes.

Even Kaelira looked stunned, her body manifesting about twenty meters away. She gave me a long look, crossed her arms, and muttered, "Alright. I might have underestimated your rat brain."

I gave her a thumbs-up. "Welcome to the big leagues."

Another survivor nearby—a scrawny guy with two swords and exactly zero presence—made a run for it, possibly thinking I’d used up my skill and couldn’t act again.

Cute.

I turned my eyes toward him.

[Threaded Control – Split Shot]

A forked bolt of lightning zipped through the grass and split in two midair. One hit his ankle. The other struck his shoulder. He crumpled mid-sprint and detonated like someone pulled the wrong Jenga block.

+1 Kill

I dusted off my hands. "Forty-one."

Kaelira didn’t respond. She was already on the move, carving her own bloody path through the now much smaller group of survivors.

But the real battle hadn’t even begun.

From the far end of the field, a pulse of pressure rolled over the ground. A player—not an ordinary one—stepped forward. His armor shimmered black and crimson, a massive spear trailing sparks behind him.

The spear guy had already racked up 20 kills on his own. Solo. Efficient. Brutal. He was smart—attacking before his enemies could get their footing. Same as me. And now, his gaze was fixed on mine. Sharp. Measuring. He saw a potential threat, maybe even a rival.

Good. Because I was looking for a fight too.

Mana surged beneath my soles. I blasted forward, feet kicking off the earth with a sudden burst. One leg arced high into the air and came crashing down like a guillotine.

BAM!

My foot clashed against the length of his spear. The shockwave rippled through the air, scattering loose dirt and pushing back stray players who had been watching from a distance.

Not wasting the momentum, I twisted midair and fired off another kick with my other leg, this time aimed squarely at his gut.

THUD.

It landed clean. His body recoiled slightly, staggering two steps back. But he didn’t groan. Didn’t wince. He just smirked, rolling his neck like he’d just been warmed up by a massage.

"What’s your name, kid?" he asked, lowering the spear just slightly. His voice was rough, but not unkind. More curious than hostile. "You’re not from any of the guilds I know."

I adjusted my hoodie, brushing invisible dust off it with the back of my hand. "Yeah, not from here either. I’m from Alaris. On an academic trip."

He chuckled—a dry, nostalgic sound. "Great to see kids outside of Opalcrest taking interest in a game. Not many do. Most just chase clout and drama. People like me just get bored nowadays, because of the lack of skillful players."

I tilted my head and smirked. "Aww, poor baby. Haven’t had a good fight lately? Want me to help you with that?"

He grinned back, lips stretching thin. "I think you just might."

With a sudden click of his heel, he shifted into stance, the spear pointed directly at my face. A pulse of golden-orange energy radiated from the tip.

"[First Style – Burst]!"

A spear thrust faster than a lightning flash tore through the air toward me.

I twisted sideways, barely dodging—barely. The tip grazed my cheek, carving a clean line that fizzled with residual heat.

Yeah. This guy wasn’t normal. Same tier as me, that much was obvious—but his stats? Perfectly balanced. Not like my lopsided sheet where Dex had been juiced like a maniacal speed-run stat whore.

His strength, his defense, his technique... all polished.

It was irritating, sure. But I wasn’t the jealous type—at least not for people who weren’t close to me. What I was though, was competitive.

Dex was my edge. I’d sharpen it into a weapon he couldn’t match.

I stretched out my right hand and focused, pulling in ambient mana. Shaping it.

A long sword formed slowly. Not jagged. Not unstable. No, this time it came easily. Clean, sharp, defined—amethyst light pulsing along the blade’s edges like veins.

In my left hand, I conjured the usual: threads of mana. They slithered and danced, forming a wide net. Writhing. Almost sentient. The prey: the spear guy in front of me.

He saw it coming, and rather than dodge or deflect, he lifted his weapon high and chanted—

"[Third Style – Shield]!"

A golden dome exploded outward from the base of his spear, forming a perfect sphere around him.

My threads smashed into it, clinging, coiling, snarling like rabid wolves. They raged against the barrier. It didn’t break. But it didn’t nullify the pressure either.

Even I felt something... wrong. The way the threads howled. The way they moved. There was something unnerving in their intent, like they weren’t fully under my control. Like they had thoughts. Hunger.

Still, his shield—though tough—made him immobile.

And that? That was a mistake.

My sword gleamed in the artificial sun. My grip tightened.

"Let’s see you tank this one."

"[Thousand Slash]!"

In the span of a breath, my figure blurred. The long sword danced in my hands, and then—it vanished. Or at least, it looked like it did.

Because what followed wasn’t just one attack. It was thousands.

My form split into afterimages, zipping around the shield like a shadow stitched by strobe light. Each swing struck the golden dome with surgical violence.

Ting! Ting! Ting! Ting! Ting!

Every strike shaved off integrity. Each one took a little more of the structure, and with it, his footing. Inside the shield, he narrowed his eyes, trying to track me, trying to predict—but the tempo was too fast.

And the threads?

They were still there. Still latched on. Still pressing.

One of them pierced through a microscopic fracture, slipping in like a needle through a pinhole.

His eye twitched.

I didn’t stop.

Ting! Ting! Ting! Ting! Ting—BOOM!

The shield cracked. Shattered. And I was already mid-swing.

My blade arced straight toward him—

And he blocked it. Just barely. With the shaft of his spear.

But his arm? It trembled.

Blood dripped from a gash in his shoulder.

We both landed a few feet apart, panting. Still smirking. Still alive.

He wiped the blood with his thumb and chuckled. "You are a good fight."

I twirled my sword once and flicked it toward the ground, sending off sparks. "And we’re just getting started."