Sama Battleground
"What's going on?"
I asked, eyeing their near-complete battle gear. Anyone would mistake them for heading off to war.
"Remember what we talked about the other day?"
The other day? I tilted my head, then nodded as understanding dawned.
"You wanted to spar, right?"
"Yeah! Please, before we leave."
"Today's our last day."
"Aleck, you've hit Maturity Stage now. We won't stand a chance without some gear."
I scanned the equipment they wore—mostly B- to A-grade treasures and weapons strapped all over their bodies.
They're trying to make up for skill gaps with gear, huh.
It was a classic, solid choice. When the skill gap was huge, relying on powerful treasures was standard in this world. Plenty won that way.
These guys are upper clans, elite enough for Chung Hak Gwan—no messing around.
The entry and tuition fees alone rivaled years' worth elsewhere. And it wasn't just money; you needed tribal recommendations. A true elite academy, by elites, for elites.
"Fine. Let's do it."
I agreed readily. My body itched after my recent surge in growth. Perfect chance to test their skills and loosen up.
"I'll go first."
Mooruen from the Emperor Guide tribe stepped up. His gauntlets, greaves, and boots screamed close-combat specialization—all A-grade or better at a glance.
"You going like that?"
He eyed my lack of gear. Even my single longsword looked like plain steel, not treasure-grade. Fair question.
"Don't have any treasures."
I shrugged. I'd given my only protective one to Ultio. I truly had none left.
"Hmph. With your skill, that should suffice."
Mooruen clashed his gauntleted fists together in front of his chest.
Pang—whoosh.
A faint whirlwind formed and vanished on impact.
Wind affinity.
His ether was wind-attuned, and those gauntlets amplified it.
"Alright. Let's play."
We headed to the public sparring grounds. Mooruen grinned, flashing white teeth, and charged.
* * *
"Huff... huff... you monster."
Mooruen panted, sweat pouring nonstop. A far cry from his confident start.
And for good reason. Geared to the teeth and fighting full-throttle, he'd been brutally strong for Growth Stage. Worlds apart from our last light spar—which explained their rematch request.
They must've been dying for more back then.
His innate power plus gear showed why upper clans dominated. He zipped like a gale, closing in relentlessly—earning his "Speedy Mooruen" nickname.
Riding Guide primals, I'd thought even collisions at that speed would shatter bones.
But that was his limit. Enough to test a fresh Maturity Stage 2? Impressive, but standard for elites. Facing two stages above was routine for them.
Too bad I'd long surpassed Maturity Stage. With Wind Core and Thunder Core devoured, I could handle Complete Bodies.
Mooruen never stood a chance. I toyed with him lightly(?), leaving him battered.
"Out you go, Mooruen! My turn."
As Mooruen dragged himself off, Polt stepped up.
Caucasus Longhorn Beetle... that inner core still tempts.
I'd still pick Goliath Stone Eater's if reborn. But maybe he'd last longer.
Polt—second only to Max among trainees, top upper clan excluding my irregular self—bowed politely and drew a black iron club from his waist, thick as his forearm.
"Grow! Black Heaven."
The incantation stretched it into a long staff instantly.
Black Heaven here?
Famous even in the game. Pre-regression, a Hercules Longhorn's Horn General wielded it against me.
How'd Polt get it?
Not easy to hand over such a weapon...
"Long time no see, Black Heaven."
"Yeah. No full-power fights here till now."
"Polt with Black Heaven should top Mooruen."
Those who knew its power buzzed excitedly. Polt's aura surged menacingly, justifying the hype.
Sorry!
Wind White Swordsmanship. First Form: One Blade Clear Wind.
Wind Core power flowed from my left hand into the form.
Kwaaaaaang—!
A massive storm, incomparable to before, engulfed Polt.
"Grrgh."
Get stronger and come back!
One strike neutralized him. Knowing he wouldn't break here, I pushed hard. Upper clan name too precious otherwise.
"...!"
"Insane..."
"Aleck really just hit Maturity Stage?"
They stared in disbelief. No fresh Maturity Stage outputted that—blasting Polt away in one hit.
"Guess soloing Gardal wasn't total rumor."
"For real? That story?"
"Yeah. Irregular of irregulars."
"Told ya! I saw Aleck take Gardal!"
Someone yelled vindicated amid the shock. I'd heard the rumors, but despite witnesses, skeptics abounded.
And they'd freak more over this: Even a serious, full-power Gardal couldn't beat me now.
I savored the inner Wind and Thunder Core energies, brimming with confidence. A simple spar proved my growth.
"Aleck, you're a real monster."
"...Fair."
"Heh, jealous."
As Polt fell, Max stepped up.
This generation's undisputed strongest. The air shifted.
"......"
"......"
We locked eyes, conversing silently.
"Max might handle him, right?"
"Quit it. Pointless."
"Hercules Longhorns aren't top for nothing..."
"That vibe's lethal."
Just staring oozed danger. Then—
"This won't do. Haha!"
Max chuckled awkwardly, backing off.
Sharp instincts.
He'd sensed it instantly: No chance, even revived.
Plus, doesn't want to reveal full power.
Smart for a Hercules—benefits outweighed by risks.
"Hah..."
"Max showing weakness? First time."
"Aleck's Maturity now, so..."
"What? Max beat a Maturity Stage 2 Poison Centipede last time! No way he'd fold just for that."
Hoo, is that so?
Rumored prime Horn General candidate.
Died early pre-regression, before fame...
Worth probing curiosities sooner.
"Aleck, incredible! You'll go far."
"Don't pretend we don't know you later?"
"Don't forget—we're Chung Hak Gwan intake mates!"
They crowded warmly now, like offering inner cores. Typical Abian Continent: survival of fittest. Might makes right.
"Yeah. Stay safe. Next time, smiling."
I gave Max a meaningful look when—
"Trainee Aleck! You here?"
"...?"
A staffer entered the grounds, pale-faced, shouting from afar. Ominous vibe hit.
"What hap—"
"Sama Battleground's fallen!"
"...!"
* * *
"H-here, Aleck. Take this for now."
"Thank you, Dean."
I bowed, taking Mandara's Guide saddle.
"You sure alone? Other guardians could join, even without me."
Her face brimmed with worry. Sama Battleground lost to internal revolt and Poison Centipede assault. Lord Karimru missing, rumors swirled.
Urgent. As I rushed to mount up, she offered escort.
"Appreciate the thought. Thanks."
Guardians would help hugely.
But it'd give Craig another excuse. Sama Battleground was nominally under Amar King Centipede clan.
Craig could claim internal affair. Chung Hak Gwan meddling? Perfect casus belli.
Mandara knew, so no pushback.
"I'll contact Master Koon. Absolutely no overdoing it. Got it?"
I nodded gravely.
"Thanks for everything. See you."
Short but sincere farewell. I mounted the Guide primal and galloped off.
Bad feeling was right.
I'd sent a cautionary letter, anticipated this despite preparations.
Regret not acting sooner.
Hope I'm not late.
Gripping the saddle, wind in my face, I pushed full speed.
* * *
Sama Battleground's lord chamber—occupied by strangers, not mantis folk.
"Still no sign?"
Duraan, black-striped face. Ultimate Body absolute powerhouse, Poison Centipede legion commander, Craig's trusted aide.
"Sorry, Commander. We're combing everywhere. News soon."
"Hah, cockroach bastards."
Duraan sneered cruelly at the report.
"Others aside... Karimru. Get his head, no matter what. Clear?"
"Yes, sir."
"Three days. Find him!"
At his order, Poison Centipedes scattered from Sama Battleground, scouring surroundings relentlessly.
* * *
Here.
I panted, spotting Sama Battleground afar. Two days' hard ride with catnaps.
"Kwee... kwee-rit..."
The exhausted Guide primal trembled, legs buckling, whimpering.
"Rest."
It collapsed, out cold.
Leaving it, I headed straight—
"Hey, what? Little mantis? From Sama Battleground?"
Three approaching Poison Centipedes. My eyes flashed murderously.