How the Rank 0 Chef Survives 022 - "Ahh, I Told You It's Not"
"Up?"
The low murmur made Axe Man snap his head up.
Whoooosh—
Something sliced through the air at terrifying speed, ripping apart the thick fog as it plummeted down.
"Dodge!"
BOOM!!
Hiiing—!
"Guh! Stay still!"
Axe Man fought to calm the panicking horses amid the deafening crash and the shards of shattered stone flying their way. His eyes never left the source of the impact.
Whoosh!
The dust cleared in an instant, revealing a man standing casually with his fist raised.
He'd simply punched the air, scattering the swirling dirt like it was nothing.
"Ooh, not bad. You nailed the outfit pretty well."
He looked up at the fake Molrangkau with innocent admiration.
Dangerous.
That level of pressure...
"A ranker!"
"A r-ranker?"
"Why's a ranker here?"
Axe Man's shout threw his crew into panic.
Rankers were the top 1,000 elite in Fantasy World, ranked by strength. Anyone cracking the top 100 became a high ranker.
Of all places, why here!
Axe Man gritted his teeth.
Facing a ranker meant their odds of victory plummeted to zero. That's just how monstrous they were—the top 0.00001% of players. No contest.
Still, Axe Man racked his brain for a way out.
A fist fighter?
No weapon, just that fist raised. High chance he was a fist master.
Which means he probably doesn't know much about magic.
Mage was a notoriously complex class. Tons of players flocked to magic academies dreaming of spells, only to wash out at the brutal aptitude tests. And that was just the starting line.
Most non-mages barely understood magic—like VR gamers who dove into virtual worlds without grasping the tech behind them.
That they'd made it this far on the fake Molrangkau's shaky 2-circle fire spells proved it.
The guy seemed to suspect she was a phony, but no choice. Convincing him she was real was their only shot.
Against a mid-tier brute, they might bluff through with some crazy act. But a ranker? Zero chance.
"Hey, self-proclaimed Miss Molrangkau. Why don't you show off that fancy fire magic of yours?"
The ranker sauntered toward them with a cocky grin.
Dyed yellow hair with black roots. He looked like a third-rate thug who'd picked up some street fighting, but his skills were the real deal.
"Molrangkau!" Axe Man barked.
The fake Molrangkau hurled a small fireball at the ranker.
"Fireball!"
It streaked toward him like an arrow.
Please! Come on!
Axe Man prayed silently.
Fall for it! Fall for it!
But rankers weren't that easy.
Thwap—
"...Huh?"
The crew stared, dumbfounded.
The ranker had snatched the fireball barehanded, like catching a tennis ball.
He tossed it up and down lightly, smirking.
"Warm. See? Told ya it's fake."
Then he lobbed it casually toward the cliff—like a game of catch.
But the result was anything but casual.
KABOOM!!
It exploded like a bomb.
Rumble...
The gorge groaned, shedding pebbles.
The crew froze solid.
We're done for.
Should've turned back. Played it safe.
Greed got us. If we die here, where do we respawn?
Please no weapon drops. This one's brand new.
Whatever. The ranker approached slowly, chuckling.
"Gotta say, you copied the look spot-on. That staff too. Must've hunted forever for a match."
Appraising them like livestock at auction, utterly relaxed.
"But it won't fool me. I've met the real Molrangkau."
Hura turned to the fake Molrangkau.
"You know him?"
"...No."
She just shook her head.
Reminded her of the school bullies who'd tormented her. The kind of face that made her want to kill on sight.
Ah, so that's why she doesn't remember. Probably squashed him flat first time.
Elephants don't recall every ant they step on.
Besides, this elephant had zero interest in the ant before him.
More pressingly, the fake Molrangkau wrestled with a nagging emotion.
Jealousy? No way.
She showed no fear, just feeble denial.
The thug ranker kept blabbing excitedly, oblivious.
"Real Molrangkau's fireballs aren't that puny. House-sized flames."
He scanned Hura's crew.
"And she'd never party with scrubs like you."
Game over. Busted.
Axe Man gave up completely.
"Kuhahaha! Our boss is Rank 931 ranker, FistBreakingRock!"
His goons perked up, slinking out smugly.
But amid the despair, one refused to yield.
"Stealth."
Hura.
He slipped off the wagon back, activated stealth, and crept toward Axe Man up front.
Then whispered in his ear.
"Boss."
"Wh-what? Chef?"
Axe Man startled but kept a straight face, whispering back minimally.
"Yeah. I'll stealth behind him, smack his head for a stun."
"What? No way."
"Then we all pile on."
"Too reckless. Abort."
"Can't just die. And rankers' necks aren't invincible, right?"
"Chef, no. Way too dangerous! Rankers live in another world."
"He's not that strong. The old guy from Genesis Village scared me way more."
Hura ignored the warning.
"Got it? Hit him when I smack the back of his head. One shot."
"Stop!"
No reply.
Damn. Doesn't he know what rankers are?
Still, Axe Man gripped his massive axe tight—for a throw if needed.
He signaled his crew behind him.
Get ready.
Hura approached the blabbing thug ranker, who was yapping at the distracted fake Molrangkau.
"Face is spot-on too. How many hours customizing? Props. First fake this good."
He didn't notice Hura circling behind.
"Oh, and."
Hura reached his back, rearing the frying pan.
"You really from Genesis Village?"
The ranker whipped his hand back lightning-fast, clamping Hura's throat.
"G-guhk—"
"Hura!"
Axe Man's yell snapped the fake Molrangkau's head up.
FistBreakingRock smirked at the stealth-revealed Hura.
"Hiding won't help when your presence screams. Too amateur—can't even pretend to buy it."
"...Hura?"
Why's he there?
The fake Molrangkau spun around.
The wagon was empty.
FistBreakingRock eyed the dangling Hura.
"Not even a thief, huh? Don't even know what a ranker is? Puhaha, think you can dick around with one?"
"...! Hura!"
She finally clocked it was Hura in his grip.
Too lost in thought to notice his disappearance.
"You idiot! Why'd you go there?!"
"Guh... Struggle... for life... Ngh— so strong..."
Hura thrashed stubbornly against the vise-like hand.
What kinda grip strength!
Couldn't budge a finger. Like solid rock.
"Let him go!"
"Gyu shwon yan no~"
FistBreakingRock mocked her, imitating.
"Whatcha gonna do, fake Molrangkau? Another fireball? Probably your strongest spell."
"Bullshit."
The fake Molrangkau thought fast.
That punk? Ash in one gesture.
But he held Hura. Slight squeeze, and Hura's done.
Same for her if she slipped up.
Hura was a noob—no resistances, fragile as glass.
Weak spell? No damage to ranker.
Strong spell? Hura dies in the splash.
Damned if you do, damned if you don't.
Couldn't attack.
What now?
Molrangkau was the Red Witch, fiery blaze mage. Destructive, flashy, explosive flames—her identity.
No subtle, controlled precision spells.
No need to learn them. Just incinerate everything.
Simple.
Only had to protect herself before.
"He's so weak. My knuckle-flick might kill him."
"What?"
Rank 931 FistBreakingRock raised his free hand, muttering.
"Wanna test?"
"You... you..."
Heat surged from her spine to skull.
Eyes bulged.
Head pounded with rage.
"You fucking bastard! Let him go!"
She loosed fire arrows, but he dodged laughing.
"Whoa, easy now."
"You right—"
"One."
WHAM!
Hammer-like impact echoed through the gorge.
"Hura!"
"Chef!"
"Nghk—"
Hura's forehead blazed red, nose gushing blood—but alive.
"Oho, tanking it?"
"Uahaha! Bet two hits kills him—one silver says so."
"Ooh! Three for me. Looks tougher."
"No four?"
Watching them bet, the fake Molrangkau cooled her fury, forcing calm.
Anger useless. Think.
What do I do?
This quest means zilch to me. Fail or not, whatever.
Crew? Never seeing them again. Die, fine.
Reward? Don't need.
Infamy? Maxed already.
Innocents caught? Pay bounty later.
Burn the lot—quest, thugs, whatever.
Just save my friend Hura.
But for Hura?
She eyed him wriggling in the grip.
What does this quest mean to him?
Important? These people?
Fail, and he'll grieve?
"..."
She shook her head.
Screw it. Just save Hura first.
She glared at Hura in the nameless ranker's clutch.
He was distracted betting—perfect opening.
Do something! Anything!
As if hearing, Hura twitched, trying something.
"Guhk... Summon... release..."
Pop—
The frying pan on the ground vanished.
Confirming it gone, Hura eyed the ranker's head.
"Guh... Summon."
Pop—
A frying pan engraved with a silver moon materialized above the ranker's skull.
Gravity yanked it down, smashing his head.
Clang!
Moonlight Frying Pan: 100% chance to inflict Stun.
"...Huh?"
FistBreakingRock clutched his head with his free hand, staggering.
His grip on Hura loosened but didn't release.
Then.
Faster than anyone.
Geum Taeyang burst from beside the wagon like a bullet, hurling his shield.
Whoooosh—Thud—
It nailed the ranker's indented elbow perfectly.
Hura tumbled free, coughing.
Geum Taeyang scooped him mid-fall and retreated.
Blink-of-an-eye speed.
Axe Man snapped out of it, hurling his axe.
"Now!"
The crew charged the ranker as one.
"Raaah! Die trying—let's smack a ranker!"
"Not my problem!"
"Eat this, thug bastard!"
"No! Don't go!"
The fake Molrangkau yelled, but too late.
"Wh-whoa! Block 'em!"
"Protect the boss!"
Bandits intercepted, sparking a melee.
Then.
Thud!
FistBreakingRock, stun recovered, stomped.
"...Huh?"
That single stomp launched everyone airborne—like the ground itself flung them.
"Hup—"
Indiscriminate violence rained down, friend or foe.
Pow-pow-pow!!
"Gahk!"
"Heuk!"
"Aaaagh!"
"Guk! Boss!"
"Khek! Why us?!"
They scattered as gray ash.
Beyond, Rank 931 FistBreakingRock cracked his neck, advancing.
"Cute trick. You're fucked."
-Step.
The fake Molrangkau—no, Rank 5 high ranker Molrangkau—landed gracefully before the wagon.
"No."
Her red eyes blazed crimson flame.
"You're the one who's fucked."
Now rage was useful.
"You goddamn piece of shit."