Chapter 679
Chapter 679
----------------------------------------------------------------- Translator: Ebonarch Chapter: 679 Chapter Title: Turning Point (4) ----------------------------------------------------------------- 1. A public society brimming with opportunists no better than starving hyenas. The half-baked can't survive. By any measure of shallowness, Rozhi Alu—who appeared as thin as oiled paper—was a fixture of that world, having lived over 170 years amid its cutthroat gaps. From Si-woo's sudden visit alone, she'd already deduced numerous truths and formed hypotheses. He wants to compete at Posiboard? It was so transparently obvious that it only fueled suspicions of some hidden ploy. Inferring the true aim behind such shallow deception was child's play. It has to be Manya and Marisha. Circumstantially, the most likely bet. He'd taken Alice to serve as his handmaid, and Alice was the woman who'd positioned herself as the big sister figure to Manya and Marisha. Once a yawning chasm of power opens between a man and a woman, sexual favors flowing between them is as natural as moss clinging to valley rocks. How many could resist impure thoughts when gifted free rein over a witch born with such beauty? A few bare-skinned trysts, and inevitably, both pure affections and carnal urges ripen. If Alice had properly tenderized Si-woo, there was no guarantee she hadn't whispered at his pillowside—leveraging her status as Linne's unofficial "disciple"—to beg rescue for her old flames. Aaah, how pathetic. Rozhi's grasp of the situation leaned more on her razor-sharp intuition than pure logic, drawing wry chuckles on two fronts. One stemmed from Si-woo's pompous act, strutting about as if being Linne's disciple meant anything substantial. The other was simple scorn for the bluster he'd likely spouted to impress a woman. Well, she kept it under wraps. She was bored stiff anyway, and male witches piqued her interest. If she could slyly extract what she wanted over some fun Posiboard, that sufficed. The instant he revealed his peculiar fixation on Posiboard, Rozhi clocked the very tool he'd prepped to snag his goal. A wager via Posiboard. The opener was mere amusement, but once it wrapped, he'd segue smoothly: This is getting dull—let's up the stakes. The ante? Undoubtedly rental rights to Manya and Marisha. To Rozhi, it was a delightful turn. Posiboard as the wager sport? Another chuckle-worthy detail. Si-woo had clearly shown up assuming she was just some Posiboard-obsessed witch... Dead wrong—and his worst blunder yet. Rozhi had never lost a game she set her mind to win. Her near-autistic immersion drove her to攻略 Posiboard to its limits—mere pastime for other witches. She knew every rune placement pattern inside out, even those folks dismissed as random algorithms. No prey was easier to hook than an opponent mistaking himself for the hunter. She'd throw the no-stakes warm-up to lure him into the bet with just the right confidence. If I win the wager, what should I demand? She was pondering it already. Lately, to perk up Mama—listless at everything—she'd gift something special. Forcing him to confess he'd ravaged Pina, then gauging Mama's reaction? Bound to amuse. What face would Mama make upon learning the apprentice witch she'd shielded through devotion and sacrifice had been defiled by a man mere days from liberation? Teasing the rage-blind Mama that it never happened, watching her flip to simpering grovels? Prime viewing. Steeped in that heated, happy fantasy—her loins tingling—Rozhi faced a reckoning thirty minutes post-first match. This bastard... Si-woo backed his confidence with real skill. Sure, she'd barely unleashed half her prowess, but any average witch would've tapped out by now. She'd geared up for a graceful concession... Yet the game dragged on. Despite flashing multiple endgame windows, he deftly deflected, never seizing momentum. Rozhi laughed. No player of his caliber misread this board. Si-woo harbored the exact same scheme: butter her up with one friendly game to bait the wager. Momentarily gobsmacked by his gall, but outcomes unchanged. Rozhi welcomed his bet with open arms. 2. "……." "……." The glowing tips of their cigarettes evoked bomb fuses clenched in teeth. Taut tension crackled between them. Second round underway, stakes: "Manya and Marisha" versus Rozhi's "favor." Roughly fifty moves traded. Si-woo drowned in dismay. He'd been had. Her opening skill was stellar; he'd overlooked her holding back. Full Demon Eye cheat unleashed? Next game a cakewalk, he'd figured. Wrong. Last round, she'd mirrored his restraint—no full throttle. Evidence: second game's kickoff flipped her style from scattershot kid-at-play to perfectionist parsing every variable. Relentless rune-rush offense like a torrent, yet counterplay prompts instant lockdown into local fortification. Ironclad—no quarter given, not an inch. She anticpated his minefield dispel pins from near-completion, sidestepping with finesse. One lapse, and she swarmed like piranhas scenting blood. Facing an offense-defense AI uber-unit. Zero feints. Each of her turns a lone move, yet weighed as if all vars and odds pre-crunching. Her gaze pierced not midgame, but endgame sprawl. "Hoo..." Yet parity held. Her hidden reserves a curveball, but Si-woo no slouch. Demon Eye hummed at peak; rote-memorized game anthologies lingered crisp in mind. Versus comma-second calc marathons of spell-slinging duels, summoning hundred-volume records was cold rice porridge. Memory database cross-checked edges. Projected flows, inferred her unborn ploys. Si-woo exhaled smoke, eyeing the central fray for dominance. Like all wars, Posiboard's core hinged on center control. Mana cannons entrenched? Blitz enemy sources up close. Solid bulwark? Foe detours, saddled with chronic waste. Thus: early game grabs peripheral runes, stockpiles for yield; midgame? Key chokepoint scrum. "……." He pondered. Early phase unresolved—mutual too-soon vibes for center plunge. Yet also: Styles swap like masks. But bedrock go-temperament? Immutable. Temperament fuses not just tactics, but victory ethos. First bout pegged Rozhi's as textbook snowball. No overreach. Steadfast own-tasking, foe-harrying, pocketing micro-gains. Even 0.001% whole-game dent? Fine. Roll half-move edge to half-move lead. Roll that to full-move gap. Errorless to finale. The crux. Trap-weaver or grand schemer? Gambler spark? Demon Eye fodder. Hide ever so tight—golden gaze stripped bare. But micro-profit maven sans fireworks? Demon Eye halved. Smooth early handover, prepped center clash? Win odds? Slim. First-player micro-edge already notched. Smooth sail? Hairline to abyss. Thus: disrupt the smooth. Posiboard forbids foe's whims—not chasing yours. Si-woo's victory axiom. -Tak! Rozhi craved steady grind. Thus judged, Si-woo dumped center—three breaths ahead of schedule. Imminent clash: savage dogpile. Bases thin, mana sources milked dry; lifelines on clash-recovery efficiency. Her temperament shine amid grenade-fragment melees? Test time. "...
Tsk." Her early wrap-up cue. His advance—three breaths premature—lit her eyes afire. Game-long vibe distilled to one line. What the hell is this guy? Rozhi lit a fresh smoke. Bitter haze spun her skull, easing fevered thoughts. Per move exchange, Rozhi mapped every branch. Baseline: fifty deep. Even Posiboard's toy-magic tussles barred casuals. Archwitch dead-serious, her go-power eclipsed hobby tier. By early close, victory assured for most. Foe shrugs "Slightly behind? Flip later"—but unclosable till end. Si-woo? Anomaly. First-move perk banked, yet no roll despite reps. He clocked, braced the gap. Ant-antenna fine. Here, Rozhi's every "best move." No widen? Foe mirrors "bests." Masters spot masters. Spine-chill hit Rozhi. Si-woo: her first true adversary.
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