Chapter 27
Chapter 27
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 27
Chapter Title: PKK (Player Killer Killer) (2)
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"Shadow Shot!"
"Leg Shot!"
True to their reputation as PKs who terrorized the area, they put up a desperate fight. Skills to bind or slow the target's movements flew out in every direction while they activated mobility skills to pull away and create distance. It was solid fundamentals—infuriating for anyone on the receiving end.
By slowing the enemy while speeding themselves up, they kept the range and loosed arrows nonstop. That was why archer squads like these ranked as the most dangerous and aggravating PKs in the early game.
'Archer bastards...'
Unable to attack or escape, they just watched their HP tick down. Even higher-leveled, they had no choice but to die.
Which was exactly why they'd come charging back at Rokan despite suspecting him of hacks.
Thud thud!
But it didn't faze Rokan. He casually swept aside the arrows with his arm and battle axe, then exploded forward with a powerful leap to close the gap.
"Kraaaaaaargh!"
Before they could react, he unleashed War Cry—boosted by the Lion King's Sealed Helmet.
"Ugh!"
Their stats plummeted in an instant, minds reeling. Legs that had been scrambling nonstop to maintain distance went limp, sending them staggering.
They might've been 10 to 20 levels higher, but Rokan's stat gap and the helmet's power were overwhelming.
"Dash!"
Rokan never missed an opening. He ran down the flashy escapers in a flash and caved in their skulls.
"Gasp!"
Swoooosh!
Chaser hand axe throw!
A nearby one shook off the daze just in time and flipped backward.
He raised his bow to block, but the savage force buckled his legs again. He crumpled straight down in place.
"N-No...!"
Splat!
The rest went without saying. A halted archer might as well be a warrior who'd dropped his weapon in front of the enemy.
Rokan beat the guy down to zero HP without breaking a sweat and lunged for the next target.
"Sh-Shadow Shot!"
"Leg Shot!"
Two down in seconds, but five archers remained—seven counting the warriors piling in to block with their bodies.
They swarmed to stop Rokan all at once, but fat chance.
"Where the hell are you aiming?!"
Swish swish.
Aimed shots or not, Rokan was already beyond their predicted paths. They couldn't even fathom his transcendent speed and battle sense.
"...Fuck, I'm reporting your ass."
"What was that?"
Splat!
In the end, they got mopped up in no time. To the last, they died suspecting hacks, faces twisted in outrage.
Loot time.
Humming a tune as he scooped up the drops, Rokan paused at one item.
"Huh."
[Stealth Cloak][Rare]
A cloak imbued with the special power to conceal its wearer.
Low defense, but packed with unique power.
-Defense: 30
-Durability: 236/300
-Consumes 50 mana to use [Stealth]
-Agility +10
A genuine rare item. A cloak with a skill attached, no less! Gave anyone a high-utility special skill like [Stealth], regardless of class.
"Jackpot."
A grin spread across Rokan's face.
How many rares were even out in the world right now?
Fewer than a hundred, easy. Folks usually didn't snag their first until around level 100.
And even those weren't a cakewalk.
"PK trash carrying gear like this—what nerve."
A high-drop-rate PK lugging around something this valuable? Straight-up moronic. Lucky break for Rokan, though.
Overconfidence, no doubt. Hilarious.
"The world's a big place, full of morons."
Rokan recalled the old adage with fresh appreciation as he stowed the 'Stealth Cloak' in his inventory. He gathered the rest too.
No commons in the bunch, as usual. All superior or magic grade—enough to fetch a nice chunk of change at auction.
They'd shed bloody tears recovering these. Three weapons dropped alone—that'd sting.
"Hmm?"
Swoooosh!
Then light rained from the sky again.
"Over here!"
"Yeah, but... he's probably gone."
Not PKs this time. Regular users, eyes not glowing red.
But Rokan clocked their outfits alone as top-tier.
'Damn, they dumped a fortune into those.'
Rokan was stealthed up.
He could've crushed anyone who showed, but with stealth available, why slug it out head-on like an idiot?
Their conversation was off, though.
"No way a sane guy sticks around one spot. But he really a hacker?"
"Caught arrows barehanded mid-flight, blocked the hunt squad's volley of guided shots with his weapon. A few connected clean but just bounced off. One guy got it on video—downloading from outside now. Already filed the report."
"What's the punk's name?"
"Rokan... Gatekeepers used Pierce when they first died—nailed his name."
Not PKs, not Blood Chasers either. Different guild mark on their chests.
But they were talking about Rokan, clear as day.
'Hm... where do I know that mark from?'
Watching closer, the emblem jogged his memory. He'd seen it before.
"Report's not enough. Just in case, spread the word—find the bastard's position ASAP. Kill him, threaten him, whatever. We need that Stealth Cloak back. Why the hell did that bitch take it out..."
So the dropper was a female character. The Lord let you tweak appearances, but not gender—probably his real-life girlfriend or side chick. Judging by his bitching, wouldn't last long IRL either.
"Got it. Oh, and guild master—what about the hunt squad's drops? Word is some lost weapons too."
"Idiots. Already scraping by on dungeon rent, and they pull this shit. What're we gonna do, keep using 'em—weapons get replaced. Watch the auction house. Snag 'em if the price is right, otherwise toss 'em some cheap fillers. They got wiped by one guy rushing in a pack—no way they're complaining."
'Dungeon... these fuckers.'
Memory clicked. Their guild mark—it was MP Guild.
The 'manners players' famous for helping newbies. Turned out they were the puppet masters behind the notorious PK guild Blood Chaser.
Once they'd stomped off pissed, Rokan dropped stealth and tsked.
"Wow. So it was all a front."
Meaning in his past life, MP Guild 'teaming up' with normals to smash Blood Chaser and disband it... all staged. Some 'reformed' hard and joined MP? Just the script playing out.
Knowing the truth hit like betrayal. Past-life Rokan had jumped in with MP to hit Blood Chaser too.
"Weird shit wasn't just one or two things."
Digging into old memories, Rokan spotted the red flags even back then. He'd pop Berserk and charge—they'd vanish like they knew. Then swarm right on the post-Berserk cooldown.
Counting deaths? No point.
Blamed their intel net and sloppy recruiting for spies. Truth: MP fed 'em info straight up.
"So that's how it is..."
Rokan's eyes gleamed cold. Couldn't storm in yelling 'You screwed me last life!'—but something fun was brewing.
He had a nose for fights like a bloodhound.
"First things first—time to grind."
Level up for the showdown ahead.
* * *
[You have leveled up.]
[Unbelievable feat! You have defeated 100 stronger opponents consecutively without rest.]
[Acquired title 'Endless Challenger.']
[You are the first to acquire this title.]
[First][Endless Challenger][Unique]
You who felled 100 stronger foes in a row without pause—you are the undying incarnation of the battlefield, ignorant of surrender.
You are the first to acquire this title.
[Effects]
-Recover 1% of total HP per kill
-Lethal strike chance +1% if next battle within time limit (stacks up to 10)
A storm swept through, and Rokan razed the forest lizardman habitat clean. Not a single break—he butchered every last one in sight.
Still a user-free hunting ground, so the system counted it as nonstop combat.
Scored fat exp and the title to boot. Later, spots got too crowded for this bitch of a title. Nailing it first, this early? Gold.
"Whew, Cancel!"
No Blood Chaser or MP interference. They figured he'd holed up in the city—left Rokan to hunt unchecked.
Went full throttle, Berserk and all, smashing even forest lizardman great warriors.
[You have reached level 50.]
[2nd job change available. Visit the nearest city to select your 2nd class.]
[Unlock more classes and skills with your 2nd job.]
Level 50 achieved!
He'd arrived here at 35, post-PK cleanup at 39. Rocket speed.
A hundred straight kills on 30+ level diffs? Maybe par for the course. But most players grinded a full month just to crawl the 20s-30s. Cheat-code pace.
"Heh heh heh, Return!"
Rokan beamed ear-to-ear at the gains, ripping a return scroll. Combat-locked item, but nothing alive around to care.
* * *
Flash!
Light swallowed him, spitting him into the city plaza amid a flood of stares. Watchers who'd been camping for his return.
Torn the city apart hunting him—no dice, so they staked out the square.
'Morons.'
Rokan blew them off. Not his first rodeo with eyes on him. Snickered inside and strode on bold as brass.
But a pack blocked him before ten steps.
"Hold up—got a sec?"
Red-eyed thugs circled like street punks, eyes burning hate and venom.
Rokan scoffed. What, chit-chat between hunter and prey?
Shoved past with brute force—they just surged back to fill the gap.
"What?"
Heh.
Rokan barked a harsh laugh. How to handle these clowns rampaging in town? Fun to ponder.
"Let's talk, asshole—"
They read it wrong, doubling down aggressive, barking in his face.
Bad enough regular users slunk away.
Rokan just stifled a chuckle.
'Suckers lining up to donate.'
PKs couldn't roam towns legit—guards dogpiled at the gates.
Sneak holes or return scrolls got you in, though. Shops limited, but basics worked.
Explained the tantrum. Wrong mark.
Skipped the talk, flicked voice to shout-only, and roared from the gut.
"Guaaards!"
Boom boom boom!
Guards popped into existence in the empty air.