Chapter 83
Chapter 83
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: True Detective
Chapter: 83
Chapter Title: Hell (3)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Whoosh—.
A long exhale turned into white mist in the darkness, scattering away.
Yuri peered through the faint haze at the wolf watching him warily.
After his comrade fell, the wolf had backed off at a safe distance, not daring to approach rashly.
Thanks to that, Yuri had a moment to catch his breath.
‘As expected… I can handle up to two wolves somehow.’
One wolf? Piece of cake.
Two? Manageable without much trouble.
And if he went all out…?
‘Even three’s possible.’
Of course, there were a few conditions.
First, the wolves couldn’t be Theresia-level.
Second, full use of his Luck Wave, Neural Skills, and Demonic Style.
Finally, no dragging it out—end it quick.
‘Damn mana’s the issue. Gotta rack up points fast and buy some elixirs.’
Against opponents of this caliber, he figured he could take on three in a blitz.
‘And with support like this…?’
Maybe even four.
Gauging as much, Yuri glanced back casually.
There stood Arin, bowstring drawn taut, tension unbroken.
‘…She’s better than I thought.’
This was the first time in Yuri’s life fighting alongside someone.
And through this ordeal, he’d come to a clear realization.
‘Ah, so this is why people team up.’
Ganging up on foes with backup felt surprisingly satisfying.
Coordination came easier than expected too.
No major clashes in their movements, even on a first try.
Yuri clenched and unclenched his fist lightly, stealing another glance at Arin.
‘Hm. Her doing?’
Arrows slipping perfectly into gaps between his strikes.
Plus constant pressure on the enemy.
Arin’s archery was the epitome of ‘covering fire.’
‘Not bad at all.’
High praise from him.
Yuri eyed the wolf ahead.
Badly beaten, it hesitated to charge.
Taking the opening, Yuri rifled through the pouches of the two downed wolves.
Swoosh—slash—.
His hands moved faster than a pickpocket’s, claiming the unconscious wolves’ hides.
Pulling back, he shouted at Arin.
“What’re you doing? Run!”
“Huh?”
Arin stood dumbfounded, eyes wide in shock.
Yuri scowled and snatched her wrist.
“Run!”
“Eek?! Wh-what?!”
Dragging the flailing Arin, Yuri slipped away smoothly.
The surviving wolf stared blankly at their retreating backs.
“…What? Why’re they running?”
They’d clearly had the upper hand.
So why bolt?
The wolf gawked in the direction they’d vanished.
Meanwhile, Arin—dragged along by Yuri’s grip—wondered the same.
“What?! Why’re we running? We were winning!”
Yuri’s face hardened as he answered.
“Idiot, you think those wolves were the last of ‘em?”
The beasts had first gathered at the campfire’s glow.
But after that, their brawl’s noise must’ve drawn more.
Sticking around meant getting swarmed by hunting packs.
That’s why Yuri bailed before it was too late.
Or maybe…
‘…Too late already.’
That dread soon materialized.
Ahead, where Yuri and Arin fled—
Rustle—.
Pointed wolf ears poked out suddenly.
Followed by a bark.
“Woof.”
Yuri’s expression darkened.
‘Already this close?’
And that wasn’t all.
‘Three o’clock.’
Still some distance, but a potent aura barreled in, unmasked and bold.
Straight ahead, encirclement loomed.
Sensing doom, Yuri decided to punch through frontally.
Instinctively, he swung what he held in his right hand.
‘…Huh? …What was I holding?’
Realizing his subconscious act, Yuri froze.
‘Wait, what’d I have in my hand?’
He flexed his right hand.
Something soft and squishy—a wrist.
‘Huh?’
By the time Yuri clocked it, blue hair whipped past—swish—
‘…?!’
A pretty face twisted in shock filled his view.
‘Huh?’
To Yuri, the scene crawled in bizarre slow motion.
He clearly read Arin’s lips.
“Youuuu fuuucking bastaaard…!”
Her scream echoed into the void.
But the curse cut short.
“……?!”
Yuri—startled by his own instinct—let go.
Arin rocketed forward like a cannonball.
Whoosh—.
A 48th Cohort woman in wolf role, drawn by nearby fight noises.
A person hurtling at her face left her panicking, too slow to react.
Arin headbutted her square in the face.
Crack!
A crisp impact rang through the trees, like splitting logs.
Yuri winced at the sound.
“Ow… ouch…”
Then the thud of a body crumpling.
Thump—flop—.
“Ugh…….”
Yuri scratched his cheek, eyeing Arin’s twitching shoulder.
“Uh… wasn’t on purpose. Just reflex…”
What kind of reflex tosses people like that?
But the one to complain lay sprawled, writhing.
And then—
Rustle—.
Yuri’s ears twitched.
His gaze sharpened.
“Ha, too late.”
Should’ve ditched sooner.
Caught off-guard by surprises, that fierce presence was now upon them.
Face grim, Yuri turned toward it.
Three o’clock.
Spotting the approaching silhouette, sweat beaded on Yuri’s palms.
Thud—thud—.
Out stepped a tall woman, pushing 180 cm.
No headband like the others.
Just a thick leather vest with tiger stripes over black clothes.
But that alone screamed her identity.
‘Coming in bold, no aura hidden—tiger, huh.’
The tiger’s sudden arrival.
What shocked Yuri most?
In her grip—dragged like trash—
A limp figure Yuri knew well.
“Poppi?”
The one who’d vanished, whom Arin had sought.
‘Gone in a flash, turns out she got nabbed early.’
The tiger woman tilted her head at Yuri’s mutter.
“You know this one?”
She tossed Poppi aside casually.
Poppi rolled near where Arin lay knocked out.
The tiger woman stepped forward leisurely.
“Rawr.”
Emphasizing her tiger nature.
Yuri’s eyes deepened.
‘Black Sword Corps, as expected.’
Theresia’s hint.
From bears onward, not beastkin—Black Sword Corps.
Spot on: tiger confirmed.
Minimum Certified Rank 3.
But apex predator of the Beast Forest, 5 million points?
No way just Rank 3.
‘Maybe… squad leader level.’
Squad leader Black Sword Corps: at least Rank 5.
Even regular ones were tough; a leader?
No chance solo.
Yuri scanned surroundings.
‘Escape possible?’
Direct fight? Suicide.
Fleeing? Maybe.
‘Dump every Neural Skill into evasion?’
Rough math done, body moved.
Weight shifted back subtly.
Swoosh—.
Right as he moved to bolt—
A sudden thought hit, out of nowhere.
‘Why run?’
Odd notion.
Yuri knew better than anyone: he couldn’t match her.
Clear gap, impossible to close yet.
But…
‘Flee every strong foe?’
Scared of losing, always running?
Yuri’s face set.
‘Hate losing.’
That’s why, after falling to Moochi, he’d sworn no more defeats.
But cherry-picking winnable fights…?
‘What’s the point of that vow?’
Do stacked wins from weaklings even count?
Epiphany, simple yet profound.
His mind cleared sharply.
‘Ah, what I feared, what I guarded against… wasn’t losing.’
Losing?
He could handle that anytime.
No, what mattered wasn’t that.
It was…
‘Not letting loss break my spirit.’
Rise after thousands, millions of falls.
‘Demonic Style was made for unbeatable foes.’
Born from Yohan’s defeats.
Proof of his unbreakable will.
Fighting only weaklings with a technique forged against the strong—what growth?
Sparks flew in Yuri’s eyes.
‘I can lose. Hell, I’ll lose thousands, millions more. Stack those losses, grow stronger.’
His innate, unconscious resolve.
Making it conscious?
Gave his spirit iron framework.
Unyielding.
Will to challenge, unbroken by pain or torment of defeat.
Different path to insight, but Yuri chose the road Yohan walked decades ago.
“Hoo—.”
Yuri dropped into stance, sword low.
No more fleeing—now he saw her clearly.
Bronze skin, deep golden hair, brown eyes.
Sharp upturned gaze, prominent fangs in her grin.
Tiger vest fit like custom; she embodied the role perfectly.
Raw, feral tiger aura poured off her.
Yuri matched it, surging his own.
“Hoh?”
Foe who’d prepped to flee now bristled—intrigued, the tiger woman spoke.
“Not running?”
“Thought about it…”
Yuri smirked faintly.
“But figured a round wouldn’t hurt.”