Chapter 21
Chapter 21
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 21
Chapter Title: The Eight-Foot Widow
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1.
Why do herbivores form herds?
Because they're weak.
Truly strong, brave males don't form herds.
Up until now, I've relied too much on others.
To be cold about it, seeking out Akit and Arong from the start was proof of my frailty.
Even though we'd built decent relationships in the previous round, I still leaned on them when there was no need.
That bond—that weak urge to entrust myself to others—turned me into Sedric the spineless.
But things are different now!
"I won't... ever trust in friendship again!"
By severing that shaky tie with my own hands, I've grown stronger.
Just like a rogue ninja from the Leaf Village after wiping out his entire clan.
"Does Laplace's Eye not have the Comic Mirror Kaleidoscope?"
「Laplace's Eye」: Sorry.
"Yeah."
What a shame.
Anyway, thoughts sorted while digesting that chapagetti.
Now it's time to nail down the playstyle for Round 4.
First, let's recap Round 3.
Round 3 shattered the record for the fastest retirement.
I didn't even get to lay a hand on Arbel before my guts were pulped and my limbs hacked off in a single day.
But the gains?
Way better than Round 2, where I barely clung to life gnawing away.
I scored a whopping 92 points, rocketing my total to 104pt.
Snagged a free 'Hotel Abyss, Suite Room Stay Voucher' and even picked up the 'Poison Mushroom Identifier' title.
Sure, it felt a bit like exploiting a glitch, but no regrets.
'Then fuck, is it normal progression when a psycho Samurai Beach starts hunting me right at the spawn point?'
Anyway.
Even burning the same life, the outcomes can differ wildly like this.
Careful route picks.
Efficient point farming through varied playstyles—turns out it's that crucial.
So, what's the goal for Round 4?
Round 3 drilled it into my bones.
"I'm!!! Weak!!!!"
It felt right, so I dropped to my knees, clutched my face, and wailed.
I wasn't just weaker than that psycho Samurai Beach.
In this world, I'm straight-up absolute cannon fodder.
I'd drawn one lousy revolver and popped Bankai like Ikkaku, brimming with bravado.
How utterly humiliating.
I'd pinned everything on a single modern firearm, fretting like, 'What if the others want me as their bottom boss?'
This won't cut it.
In this city, the weak are sandbags, errand boys, onaholes for the strong.
Even if I dodge Samurai Beach's pursuit and heal Arbel, someone'll just snatch her away as-is.
"NTR? Hell no!!"
I'm going to get stronger.
I have to.
Stronger than this.
Even if crushing trials smash me to bits.
Even enduring bone-shattering effort and muscle-ripping agony.
"Shop ON."
First step: I opened the status screen.
Coat and Hero bought, Hero Meal refilled—95pt left.
Enough for three Joker pulls.
Part of me wants to hoard for whatever the status screen unlocks later...
But save now? Hell no.
Gotta test every option each round.
"Heh, hehe... hehe..."
Was kinda down a sec ago, but gacha thoughts already got me pumped!
This is why I grinded those points!
*Dududuk! Dududuk!*
[Points used: 95pt → 65pt]
"......"
That white draw animation doused my hype cold—C-grade.
"I'm filing a complaint with the financial authority! You bastard!!!! How could you do this to me!"
No joke.
How much blood and shit did I shed farming these points!
That's 30 poison mushrooms' worth!!!
I earned it bit by bit and handed it over—prime customer attitude!
「Trivial Pardon」
- Grade: C
- Description: Show this coupon with a pitiful look. As cute as possible. Smile.
- Effect: Get forgiven once for a mistake or wrongdoing against someone clearly stronger than you.
- Note: One-time use.
And the effect's this garbage.
"Whatever, spin the next one quick."
*Dun-tak! Dudun-tak! Duntak!*
Next gacha: blue animation, R-grade.
"Guess I gotta whine a little after all?"
From experience, blue always delivers solid value.
That ward talisman with real utility? Same R-grade.
A thin sheet of paper fluttered down onto my palm.
「Vanished Receipt」
- Grade: R
- Description: Huh? I'm sure I used it... or did I? Eh, it happens.
- Effect: Duplicate a one-time-use Joker you've already used.
- Note: Applies only to 'one-time' Jokers. Cannot duplicate this. One-time use.
"O!"
Not bad at all.
The Vanished Receipt massively expands my options right now—and in the future.
Take the 'Mysterious Insect Scripture copy' as an example.
It's a high SR-grade Joker, but useless so far because the risk doesn't match the reward—and it's one-time.
But what if I burn it at the end of a doomed round like a dying echo? Then duplicate it next round with this?
Round two, I could cash it in for way more value.
Maybe the thing it summons could even take down Samurai Beach?
But seriously, what the hell does it summon?
"Hopefully tentacles."
My anger's already fading.
Exactly R-grade level of pissed.
"Alright, that was solid. Keep the streak?"
[Points used: 35pt → 5pt]
*Dudun-tak! Dudun-tak! Duntak!*
My heartfelt pep talk wasted—green glow, UC-grade.
"Sigh..."
No energy left to rage.
Listen, status screen buddy.
I'm done dying in this shithole city.
Gotta flirt with reverse-bunny Arbel over apple mango bingsu, yeah?
"Least see what it is."
*Tok.* A monocle dropped into my palm.
Iconic British gentleman symbol—but a racist fashion item slotted between eye sockets that Easterners can't wear.
「Grave-Digging Monocle」
- Grade: UC
- Description: "No, judge—yep, that's me who killed the guy back then."
- Effect: Peek into up to 3 moments from the target's past month that they most want hidden.
- Note: Only actions they're aware of. 3 uses remaining.
"Hmm. Useless to me."
But how many others have lived staring at the heavens without a shred of shame, besides me, Sedric?
Feels useful somewhere.
Gotta try it on Arbel!
Her most embarrassing past month? No way I can resist.
I snapped out of escapism.
"Fuck..."
But anywhere else to use it besides Arbel? So what if I learn their dirty secrets—no evidence.
Am I capped out? Innate 1-star Sedric's growth limit?
"......"
Mid-head-clutch.
A Nietzsche-level genius spark hit me.
"...hold up."
This could work if I play it smart.
2.
Round 4, Day 4 elapsed.
If C Sector's Chinatown, D Sector hits like a massive factory district.
Not the clean, tidy kind—but Industrial Revolution hellholes where they tossed regulations and labor laws to the dogs.
Necropolis air quality smacking India levels? D Sector's the prime culprit.
Engine throbs like heartbeats everywhere, black smoke bubbling skyward like cola.
Seriously.
Eyes sting just standing here.
But nobody gripes outright.
Me too—I'm just inwardly whining 'hing ;ㅅ; Sedric Sting-Eye King,' no plans to yell 'Hey folks! Time to protect the environment!'
'Cause D Sector's true boss is Necropolis megacorp Twilight Resource Development.
Any eco-activist? Probably rotting in a dumpster by now.
Anyway.
Rounds 2 and 3 kept me pinned near C Sector, so D Sector's been ages.
Wonder if Uncle Ron's hanging in there.
"You still haven't learned. Guts."
I slapped my cheek.
Expecting anything from humans after that bitterness?
My destination: D-1 Block.
Twilight Resource Development HQ turf.
Slipping through grimy workers in their filthy jumpsuits.
Squeezing down cramped alleys where oil-mixed mud clings stickier than elsewhere,
One step into D-1 Block.
I forgot how to speak.
"Damn."
Evokes The Wizard of Oz (1939), infamous for child actor abuse.
One step flips the scenery's saturation.
No more canyon-moat haze of perpetual green smog.
Overhead: impossibly clear, crystal sky.
Lungs fill with forest-trail-fresh air. Pine-needle crisp.
Roads fitted seamless without a single jutting stone, roadside trees flaunting green leaves, chirping birds everywhere.
Climax of this manmade paradise.
A holy sunbeam spotlights Twilight Resource Development HQ—like a colossal altar of stacked bones.
Not another dimension hop in Necropolis.
This? A 'miracle' bartered from the world itself.
How many Universal Currency would it cost yearly to scam one like this?
"Ahem."
Quit the hick act.
D-1 Block—unknown outsider like me gets nabbed by guards? Beaten to death, recycled as 'resources.'
Checked my reflection in the glass.
Document bag on hip, monocle on eye, crisp suit under Armani long coat.
Dandy as a Savile Row gent.
Damn right—three days spinning mushroom factory roulette barely scored it.
No bespoke; scoured black markets for size-fit, decent shape.
"Arbel's gonna swoon."
Time for rehearsal?
Swept pomade-slicked hair back, muttering.
"Dirty hands off. You? Check my ID?"
Sedric may lack talents, but the face carries.
Dropped voice low and haughty—damn near noble vibes.
Oh right, Sedric is a noble.
Forgot; too much fodder vibes.
"Nice. Let's roll."
Pre-scouted the path—confident strides.
Few blocks: swanky restaurant, two guards at the entrance.
[Le Jardin]
Le Jardin.
Know some French—'The Garden.'
Fitting: red-brick walls blanketed in green ivy.
In this city, verdant plants outlux green marble sculptures.
"Halt."
Try strolling in natural; black-sunglasses guard shoves my shoulder.
Not restaurant muscle—bodyguard.
Suit, shades. Vaguely familiar.
"Inside's restricted. Pre-approved personnel only—"
"Dirty hands off. I have an appointment."
The sharp tone from my mouth made him flinch.
"Terribly sorry, sir. Procedure requires stating your purpose and ID for clearance."
"So?"
"If you present your—"
"You think you're somebody? Need my name reported one by one?"
Humans eat visuals.
Well-groomed Sedric screams noble from afar.
Not why I clowned in greasepaint for nothing.
"Even so—no scheduled briefings, so procedure dictat—"
"Name."
"Sir?"
"Want mine? Give yours."
Bathed, polished to a sheen in fresh threads—he hunches pitifully.
No mercy; I pressed.
"I ain't unreasonable. I'll carve your name on a tombstone."
Hand dips into coat—his face drains to dirt.
Actually prepping to yank 'Trivial Pardon' from inventory 'emergency pocket'...
But this? Necropolis.
Life-or-death threat to him, clear as day.
Cold sweat beads; he bows deep.
"Didn't recognize you, sir. Please, go ahead."
"Good man. Keep it up."
"Yessir!"
Tsk-tsk. Why men need grit.
Refuse guard post search?
I'd rubber-bullet 'em, snag reward leave.
*Tinkle-tinkle*
Door chimes; restaurant inside matches the luxe exterior.
Kinda like...
A 150-year-old British spot where racist waiters never seat Asians by the window, space or no.
Rented out—empty tables galore.
Two boldly claim the 'Asians-weep' window perch nobody crosses.
One: suit-clad secretary standing attendance.
Other: stunning woman seated, dining.
Pulled her chair and plopped before her stammering aide could sputter.
"Fire those two front guards first. Zero brains."
Across from Twilight Resource Development director Ceres Cassian.
"Sharp eyes. Crazy ones."
She set down her fork—from swirling the snail in its shell—and flashed a grin.