Chapter 37
Chapter 37
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 37
Chapter Title: If You Can't See a Sucker, You're the Sucker
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Hunter Association, Basement Level 3.
White lights illuminated the vast training arena.
According to Association Chairman Song Jin-woo, this was the only place in Korea where S-Rank Hunters could test their powers without restraint.
The floor material was definitely special.
Just standing there drained mana in chunks.
"Hoo..."
Japanese Hunter Association Chairman Kin Nakayama slowly regulated his breathing.
His gaze was fixed on the tall man standing five meters ahead.
Blue Vest.
The enigmatic top Hunter who had recently turned Korea upside down.
'His stance is sloppy.'
Blue Vest stood there with his hands in the pockets of his dress pants, wearing a relaxed expression.
It was like he was just popping into the neighborhood convenience store for a pack of smokes.
In a way, it made sense.
No matter how this match went, he was guaranteed to come out ahead.
Win, and he'd pocket 200 million yen.
Lose, and he'd still offload the Flame Mana Stone at above-market price.
"No weapons?"
Blue Vest shrugged.
"If that's fine with you. I prefer bare hands anyway."
"Haha. Of course it's fine by me. Handing a sword to a swordsman and facing him unarmed—that confidence alone deserves respect."
Nakayama's eyebrow twitched.
Suppressing the rising anger, he sneered inwardly.
'Arrogant fool.'
It was the classic mistake of the young who grasped too much power too soon.
The delusion that they were the center of the world.
But so what if his pride took a scratch?
If his opponent was handing him this much slack, it was nothing but good news for Nakayama.
'You'll regret this. Deeply.'
Nakayama slowly bent at the waist, lowering his center of gravity.
Battōjutsu.
The technique of turning the very act of drawing the sword into an attack.
Back when Nakayama ranked in Japan's top 10, his draw speed had already shattered the sound barrier, reaching Mach 3.
And what had propelled him to Japan's number two spot—and eventually the chairman's seat—was his ego sword.
Muramasa of the Shining Dawn.
Disguised now as a wooden bokken, it was a living blade with a will of its own.
Muramasa intercepted any foe entering its draw range automatically, independent of its master's intent.
Nakayama wasn't just a swordsman with blinding draw speed.
His reaction time transcended human limits.
'Don't think me unfair. I'm here for my country, with no room for the complacency you're showing.'
This wasn't a sport.
His opponent might think it a fair bokken duel and step up barehanded, but to Nakayama, this match was a war between nations—one he had to win.
Nakayama glanced at Association Chairman Song Jin-woo, who would officiate.
"I'll leave the start signal to you."
Song Jin-woo looked troubled as he alternated glances between the two.
He swallowed dryly, making one last plea to Blue Vest.
"Why not call it off even now? The Flame Mana Stone belongs in the hands of Korean Hunters, doesn't it?"
Nakayama clicked his tongue inwardly.
That old fool butting in like this.
It was a nail-biting moment, lest Blue Vest change his mind.
"I agree with the Chairman."
Blue Vest said with a yawn.
His cocky attitude suggested he already knew the outcome.
'That arrogant...!'
Nakayama ground his teeth and ramped his focus to the max.
Muramasa began to vibrate in response to its master's killing intent.
All preparations complete.
Song Jin-woo sighed helplessly and raised one arm into the air.
"You both know the rules? First valid hit loses. Try not to get hurt. Match... begin...!"
The instant the chairman's hand dropped.
Boom!
The floor where Blue Vest had stood cratered, kicking up dust.
Shattering the arena floor laced with void stone with a mere leap.
Indeed, his physical prowess was top-tier S-Rank.
But.
'I see it...!'
Nakayama pushed his dynamic vision to its limit.
Blue Vest's afterimage charging straight on burned into his eyes frame by frame.
The bastard was aiming a punch at his left side.
"Got you!!"
Nakayama's roar echoed through the arena.
Muramasa was about to tag Blue Vest's gut.
Splat!!
Nakayama's vision flipped upside down.
"Guhack?!"
Thud! Crash!
Nakayama's body bounced and tumbled across the arena floor.
Just before hitting the wall, he jammed his bokken into the ground to halt.
Screeech!
A long sword gouge scarred the floor.
"Ugh... urk..."
Nakayama struggled to his feet on shaking legs.
It felt like his guts were being wrung out.
'What happened?'
He'd tracked every move.
Muramasa should've landed first, no question.
Yet here he was, rolling on the floor.
As confusion gripped him, Blue Vest's voice reached his ears.
"That means I win, right?"
Excited, like a kid.
Like he'd just checked a lottery win.
"Y-Yes. It was too fast to see clearly... but hmm. You're standing, he's rolling—anyone would call it your victory."
Only with the ruling did Nakayama snap to.
"Wait! Just wait a second!"
He shouted desperately.
No time for face or pride.
He staggered forward.
"G-Give me one more chance. I won't beg to call it off like some sore loser."
Blue Vest tilted his head.
"Isn't that exactly what you're doing?"
"...Kuh."
Hit right on the mark, Nakayama flushed and clutched his gut.
"I'll wire the 200 million yen right now. So just once—one more match against me."
"Hmm."
Blue Vest pulled out his smartphone to check his balance.
"...Transfer confirmed, anyway."
Blue Vest crossed his arms, gazing at the ceiling in thought.
That brief silence felt eternal to Nakayama.
'Blue Vest is fast, no doubt... faster than any assassin I've fought...!'
He had to admit it.
But.
'Not so fast I couldn't react at all.'
At the last instant, Muramasa had clearly caught the guy's move.
By a hair.
A real hair's breadth.
That's how it looked to Nakayama.
So one more shot—two at most.
If he threw everything he had, victory was possible.
'200 million yen's just tuition. Win this, and I'm Japan's hero.'
Classic gambler's logic.
Thoughts of breaking even clouded his judgment.
"Then... if I win this time, make it 400 million yen."
Blue Vest proposed lazily.
"400... million yen?"
Nakayama groaned.
400 million yen.
Over 3.8 billion won.
Insane.
The Flame Mana Stone funds came from association budgets and government subsidies.
But this bet was strictly personal.
Pure cash straight from Nakayama's account.
Even raiding A-Rank Gates for a year—splitting loot with guilds, taxes, party shares, expenses—netted him barely 100 million yen.
Burn 400 million on one match?
"Never mind if not. I've got kids' training camp to prep for, so..."
Blue Vest turned and started walking away.
That coolness, like a sign on his back saying "I'm going home."
Seeing that back snapped Nakayama's reason.
"Deal! We're on! Lose again, 400 million yen! I'll pay!"
While pretending to wipe sweat, Nakayama slipped a small pill from his sleeve into his mouth.
Gulp.
Not cheating.
No rule against drugs.
Elixir of Acceleration.
Doubled nerve transmission speed on ingestion—a banned substance even for A-Ranks due to side effects.
'Drugged up now. Can't lose.'
The world slowed.
Blue Vest's movements looked like a sluggish caterpillar.
Confidence surged.
"Ahem. Then let's restart the match."
Nakayama assumed his draw stance again.
Heart pounding like it might burst, senses razor-sharp.
'Come on. Won't miss this time.'
"Match begin!"
Blue Vest moved first again.
A bit faster than before.
But to Nakayama on elixir, every motion was crystal clear.
'Feinting front, coming from behind!!'
A smile crept onto Nakayama's lips.
His battōjutsu had no blind spots.
'Muramasa draw!!'
The blade arced, slicing space around him.
This time, victory was certain.
The tip grazed the guy's forearm.
"Guhack...!"
Nakayama kissed the floor harder than before, rolling wildly.
No chance to brake with the bokken this time.
Slammed straight into the wall.
Boom!
"Ugh... kuhk..."
Nakayama propped himself up with the bokken, a wretched sight.
His expensive suit back bore a clear shoe print, and elixir side effects had blood streaming from his nose.
"Please send the transfer. You have the account, right?"
From afar, Blue Vest waved his smartphone with an innocent grin.
That smile.
Like a casino boss eyeing a mark. Hallucination?
"...Fine. One more round."
Nakayama growled through bloodshot eyes.
"Lose again, 400 million yen."
"That was last time. Lose this one, 800 million."
"..."
"If not..."
"Aaaah, got it. Deal. 800 million."
Nakayama was desperate.
Stop now, and he was just a 600-million-yen loser.
But win here, and the Flame Mana Stone might forge an ego weapon.
For country and honor, 800 million was...
Nakayama dumped three or four elixirs openly into his mouth.
Gulp. Gulp.
Blue Vest watched without a care.
'Indeed... I was the arrogant one.'
Feeling the drugs course through him, Nakayama admitted his error.
Blue Vest wasn't ordinary.
Even in his lifetime-honed domain, crushed twice already.
'Won't rely on my senses this time.'
The two losses came from tracking Blue Vest's moves.
Seeing and swinging himself—that's why he lost.
'Leave it all to Muramasa.'
Nakayama closed his eyes.
Relaxed his shoulders, halted his thoughts.
The living blade Muramasa of the Shining Dawn reacted faster the greater the threat to its master's life, intercepting foes automatically.
Never once missed an assassin.
Nakayama entrusted it all—mana, stamina, even his bank account.
'Trust me, partner.'
For the first time in ages, he almost heard the ego sword's voice.
"Then... match begin..."
The chairman eyed him with pity.
"Muramasa... draaaaaaw!!!"
Space warped at the start signal.
On another level from before.
This time, he clearly saw Muramasa tag Blue Vest's collar.
"Gack...!"
Still a hair's breadth.
Blue Vest's chin shot landed a hair faster.
Nakayama's consciousness flickered.
Vision spun.
Unable to twitch a finger, his mouth moved on its own.
"One... more time..."
This was no duel, no noble war for nation.
To any outsider, Nakayama was just a gambling addict.
Spitting blood-mixed saliva, he crawled toward Blue Vest.
"One more... please."
"1.6 billion yen."
Nakayama's eyes had lost focus.
"......"
Pathetic as Nakayama was, oddly, the chairman stared at him with teary eyes.
"Maybe call it quits..."
Song was addressing him now, not Blue Vest.
Another loss: 3 billion yen gone.
Hard to recover even holing up in an A-Rank Gate for a year.
For some reason, Nakayama thought of his brother.
That trash who'd wasted his youth dumping balls into pachinko machines with zero odds.
Pouring in every yen he had.
Even hocking the house deed to keep playing—the brother he'd despised.
[Just this once... one big hit, and house, fortune, all back!!]
Me... making the same choice as that scum?
No.
He was Japan's rank two.
A proud samurai.
This was no gamble—a fair fight.
Just bad luck.
Master Muramasa properly.
Reverse that 0.01-second gap, and the next was his win.
"Muramasa draw!!!"
Even as he yelled, a doubt flickered.
Was he truly fighting of his own will...?
An utterly bizarre question.