Don't Provoke the Witch
Provocation in the Lost World's Proof Arena wasn't something you threw around lightly, especially not at Diamond tier. That was far from a low rank. Bronze, Silver, Gold—the so-called "BronSilGol" bracket claimed 75% of all players, and adding Platinum pushed it over 80%. By default, Diamond meant you were in the top 20% at minimum.
But public opinion on Diamond tier split into three camps: "A tier you can reach by grinding games if you have any talent at all," "A tier only for those with real talent," or "A dumping ground for mediocre talents." From Master tier onward, it was widely agreed only true talent could cut it.
Arkreil was just like most Diamond players—he'd ground out a whopping 500 games to claw his way up. He'd hit the wall of talent and never made Master. Then the probability manipulation scandal gave him the perfect excuse: "I could have hit Master, but the game's trash, so I'm quitting." Classic self-rationalization.
Brimming with inferiority from that talent barrier, he now spotted the perfect prey: Noel, server growth ranking #1 but zero PVP experience. Beating her would net him the title of "the guy who crushed ranking #1," bolstering his excuses even more.
"Come at me. Can't even hit Master, you trash-tier loser— who are you to judge anyone?"
Noel struck his sore spot right back. Sure, he'd started it with his own personal attack disguised as provocation.
His mind was already flooded with the urge to brutally crush the witch before him.
"What...?"
"Want me to say it again? Trash-tier loser who ground 500 games and still couldn't hit Master?"
She flashed a grin at Sareah in the commentator's booth.
"Let's get this started. We've both provoked enough, right?"
Uh, y-yeah! Yeah! Match starting!!
With that, the barriers between them dissolved. Arkreil growled at her in a trembling, furious voice.
"I'll kill you... fuck..."
She wiggled her fingers at him, beaming with a beautiful smile. But the words from her lips didn't match it at all.
"You first? Matchup favors you anyway—if you talk big and lose, it'll be embarrassing."
Arkreil the swordsman couldn't hold back anymore. He charged at her.
"Baldo."
A white flash erupted as his body rocketed forward. Sword thrust ahead for one purpose: kill the witch.
"Grease."
The basic 2-circle spell that stripped friction from the ground. She twisted aside just enough to dodge the blade. The swordsman, sliding uncontrollably, slammed straight into the coliseum wall—self-inflicted damage.
Whoa! Using Grease like that?! Noel slices 20% off Arkreil's HP in one go with some creative play!!
Theorycrafting has this strat: Grease into self-wall-splat. But it's a ground-targeted skill needing pinpoint aim, super speed, and control. Noel makes it look easy!!
"Ahh... so that's the feel? Fun. CC chains barely work here, huh?"
In PVP—unlike PVE—crowd control lasting too long auto-broke, followed by a 5-second Control Guard immunity.
The swordsman recovered and charged again.
"Aura Infusion."
White mana wrapped his blade.
"Yeah. Now that I think about it, that's tricky."
As former #4 swordsman ranker, I knew his kit inside out. Melee vs. ranged? Distance is king. Aura closed the gap, and his next move...
"Sword Ki Release."
Yep, that. Turned basic attacks into crescent ranged slashes for a duration. Individually meh damage, but stack 'em and HP melted.
Crescents flew from his sword—aggressive, provocation clearly working.
Watch closely.
In reality, I focused mana on my brain for speedup. In-game, on my eyes. World slowed; crescents crawled. Mana amp doubled my speed and precision.
"Light variant formula—Flashbang."
Flashbang: blinds enemies briefly. Useless in PVE, godsend in PVP for vision denial. And blind wasn't immobilizing, so no Control Guard trigger.
After that, it was a one-sided beatdown. I chipped him with Magic Missiles and elemental spells. Arkreil grew frantic amid rising frustration.
Noel! So sneaky and good at it!! Arkreil's down to 30% HP already?!
Noel's giving a masterclass in "playing the game like a total dick"!!
Can't keep this up. Need an all-in.
My chipping without taking hits screamed "dirty play"—the kind that made players ragequit.
Arkreil wanted to trash-talk it but knew whining hitless would just make him look pathetic. So he went for his nuke.
Baldo Technique Variant: One Point Kill
Deals 500% attack power to single target. Low chance of instant kill (ineffective on bosses).
Land it, and bye-bye sneaky witch. He baited carelessness.
"Baldo!!"
Crouched low, he yelled the name loud—drawing out her cast timing, since double-cast was mage-only.
"Grease..."
She uttered it. He snapped his head up. White flash—straight to her face.
Plan working. He grinned.
"I win...!"
"Baldo Technique Variant: One Point Kill."
Gripped sword tight; red aura converged on the tip. Thrust at Noel.
He expected horror. Instead... she smirked, dark and deep.
Why...?
"Threat variant formula—Fear."
Her eyes blazed purple, locking his gaze.
She was casting Grease—no mana left...?
He glanced down. Clean floor—no spell traces, just old craters.
Fuck... a trap...?
Afflicted with Fear.
Resistance failed. Incapacitated for 4 seconds.
Status aftermath? Sky tinted purple like her eyes.
"Hah... huff..."
He looked up in terror. She stared down coldly.
"I hate guys like you the most."
Black flames flickered in her hand, pressed to his head.
"Gaaahhh!!!"
"You should've picked your targets better for provocation."
His screams filled the arena. His twitching stopped. Blue victory screen filled the restored sky.
The witch relaxed, flashing a bright smile. Swordsman blood smeared her face for a creepy vibe—but she had no clue.
"I win, right?"
Commentators had frozen in awe, but caster Shin Yong-min broke the silence.
Y-Yes! Round of 16, Match 8: Noel vs. Arkreil—the winner is... Noel!!!
She left the field with a grin, checking the stream chat with some worry.
Phew, not much backlash.
Some called me psychopath or said it was too much, but positives outnumbered them. No biggie.
After that, no more provocations came my way. Breezed through quarters. In semis... someone waited.
The first to uncover my identity. The one who'd helped me. Season 1 Proof Arena Master.
Serinsel awaited.
"Noel-nim, wanna make a bet?"