Chapter 104
Chapter 104
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 104
Chapter Title: Hellhound (2)
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Five times. That was how many times the Hellhounds had been completely wiped out in the same spot. Consecutively, no less.
But even right up until their final wipeout, they hadn't pinned down Rokan's identity. Ally or enemy? Or were they overlooking some special event?
They only vaguely started piecing it together while agonizing over whether to attempt a sixth try.
“Leader, did you see it?”
“What the fuck!”
He wasn’t in the mood for soft words.
A crude curse burst from Goddog’s mouth, but the guild member who’d spoken didn’t flinch, pressing on like it was urgent business.
“YouTube! Rokan’s YouTube!”
“Fuck, that bastard’s probably glued to YouTube right now, you crazy shit...!”
Goddog’s face, which had endured up to that point, twisted into something vicious.
‘We’ve been wiped five times in a row, morale’s in the toilet, and this idiot’s sitting around watching someone else’s YouTube?’
His eyes bulged like he’d yank the guy from his team leader spot any second, but the other yelled in exasperation.
“No! That bastard’s here right now! Rokan!”
“What?”
Goddog’s expression blanked out for a split second. He couldn’t wrap his head around it.
And who could blame him? He hadn’t checked Rokan’s uploaded video yet, so he had no clue the first to set foot on the central continent wasn’t them—but Rokan.
How do you buy “someone’s here” out of nowhere in a situation like this?
After a few seconds with glazed eyes, he frantically pulled up YouTube through The Lord homepage.
“Th-this motherfucker!”
That’s when instinct hit him. The “piece of shit” showing up every time they tried crossing the canyon was Rokan.
No footage of Rokan himself, so no visual ID, but beyond calling it the fourth city, his videos made it obvious he was here.
Taimura, the grassland field teeming with bird-like monsters, the canyon choked with gray mist and swarming zombies, and even the plain and dock they’d poured everything into breaking through!
Rokan’s videos had captured all those spots—the ones they’d reached and the ones ahead—in reverse order.
In other words, he’d come straight from Taimura to here.
“Find that fucker right now!”
Crunch!
Goddog made no effort to hide his fury.
He was the type to dodge unwinnable or unprofitable scraps entirely, but this? Enough to snap his mind, not just his temper.
On top of that, pulling this stunt meant Rokan had shown crystal-clear hostility toward them.
“Why the hell’s this asshole got a problem with us?”
No angle made it feel fair. That just fueled the rage.
The only link between them and Rokan was sharing the central continent.
They’d routed through totally different first-, second-, and third-tier cities—no overlap possible.
All kinds of wild theories bubbled up.
If he scraped for one connection, it was snapping up most items from the Crossroads visitor shop—stuff Rokan might’ve eyed.
But did someone snag gear Rokan wanted? Auctions locked buyer and seller anonymity tight!
“This is him cockblocking us. Scared we’ll catch up.”
After mulling it over hard, Goddog locked in on the idea.
Pure sabotage. No clue how, but Rokan—slightly ahead on the central continent—was clearly cockblocking the latecomers like them from closing the gap.
“Horse! Yeah, the horses were the key!”
Grinding his teeth at Rokan lurking somewhere close, Goddog bellowed like a lightbulb flashed. A weird cocktail of catharsis and glee.
“Leader, what’re you on about?”
“Horses, dumbass! The way across the canyon!”
“Oh... Ah.”
Only then did the other guild members holding the dock get it, faces lighting up with realization. They clocked what Goddog was driving at.
Leverage the horses’ mobility for a blitz dash.
Just like the presumed Rokan herded mobs onto them, they could mount up and sprint past—the slow-ass zombies wouldn’t catch up once they lumbered to life.
“Got it. Play to mobility... But with the whole crew?”
Goddog’s hunch was half-right. Mobility solved it, sure—but punching through Rokan-style on horseback meant slicing zombie necks clean from the saddle in one go.
That took mounted weapon control leagues beyond flat-ground swings. No cakewalk.
And one more hard reality blocked their path.
“You nuts? How’s this many ride skeletal horses? Elite squad crosses first.”
Cash. Mounts ran 100 gold apiece.
Top dogs in a third city or not, they couldn’t kit out all fifty with skeletal horses.
They’d dumped every coin into gear and consumables to smash sea monsters and push inland.
Sure, guildmates back across the ocean were grinding funds steady-like, but still miles short.
So Goddog dropped the hammer.
“Elite squad... Got it.”
The guild members’ faces soured at that.
They’d scrapped tooth-and-nail to climb here, dodged death crossing the sea—only for a select few to punch through the canyon again?
They knew the drill: hit Taimura, score top gear or farm prime stuff, liquidate it to bankroll the rest. Didn’t make it sit right.
Team leaders’d get picked, no doubt.
Funds’d lag for some horses, turning it into a cutthroat dick-measuring contest.
“Found him! Wait—no, he showed!”
Right then, a shriek cut from nearby.
Just like Goddog called it—they’d really spotted Rokan.
“Yo, friends.”
More like Rokan, lurking close in stealth, stepped out himself.
Low-level stealth should’ve popped nearby normal-like, but the insane level gap kept him hidden even up close.
Let him eavesdrop the whole chat.
‘Nice reaction.’
He cracked a pleased grin inside.
Not ’cause they were sharp. Bullshit. If so, he’d have conned them off-track with slick talk.
No need now. Let ’em ride—they’d implode solo.
Burn cash on horses, bleed guild loyalty squeezing ’em, rack gear and exp losses on repeat fails. Obvious.
Best case? Latecomers catch and pass ’em. Luckier? Stomp ’em flat. Rokan’s metric.
That’d scratch his itch without lifting a finger.
“You fuck, what beef you got with us...”
“What’re you waiting for? Rush him!”
But Rokan didn’t roll that way. He’d stroke out from sheer spite.
Five wipes were indirect, mob-herd kills.
Time to show face-up.
Gotta hands-on the kills to scratch that itch!
“Fine, no chit-chat needed?”
Hellhounds—Goddog and crew—packed the same fire.
Sure, Rokan outleveled ’em, but “strong” meant different to these wolves.
They’d chewed higher-ups and yanked ’em down to claim this turf.
Dozens of eyes flashed venom, snapping into sync like clockwork.
“Appraise!”
No brain-dead charges. Scout weakness, gnaw nonstop—that’s their playbook!
One thief jabbed Appraisal at Rokan first, testing waters.
“Shit, no read!”
Rokan wasn’t green enough for that amateur hour.
He’d popped “Veil of Mist” consumable—nulls seven Appraisals or a hundred tries. Just flashed a shit-eating grin, watching their circus.
“Let’s see how long that ego lasts! Formation A!”
Rokan’s “generosity” let Hellhound lock in their dream setup.
“You’ll regret this!”
“Oh?”
[Guild ‘Hellhound’ activated formation effect ‘Bond of Unity (D)’]
‘Figures...’
No wonder they held the ferry against hits at this skill level—formation effect, that rare monster-drop gem akin to a skillbook.
Stacks with buffs, packs unique perks no plain skill matches. Goldmine.
‘Oh yeah, need to snag one myself...’
Dozens baring teeth and growling at him? Rokan strolled like park-walking.
Their moves, attacks? Not even radar. Daydreaming mid-stare—Hellhound unsheathed claws.
“Time to pay for that hubris! Charge!”
Lead dog? Shockingly, guild master Goddog.
Leader death changes zilch, but norm was bleed foes with grunts first, boss last for sure-kill. Ballsy move.
‘Scythe main, huh.’
Only ’cause he trusted his chops.
The Lord lacked a dedicated “Lord” guild job, so top dog takes master—or 1v1 gauntlets like dojo trials before recruiting.
Hellhound built that way.
“Cute pups.”
That overkill confidence? Fatal flaw.
Later meet might’ve sized him up, swallowed pride. But green as fuck now.
Skill-swagger plus fresh “central continent firsts” arrogance—no recon, straight brawl. Reckless.
[Legitimate self-defense established.]
Skill triggered—their names blazed orange in Rokan’s HUD.
Self-defense mode: PK carte blanche this scrap.
Rokan’s brutal rampage kicked off.