The Veteran of Bug Wars: Reincarnated as a Transcendent Mantis (20)
"You……."
I realized Motenson hadn't come here with good intentions. The malice radiating from him was so vicious it bordered on outright murderous intent.
"You, it's because of you…… everything I had went up in smoke."
A putrid stench wafted from Motenson's mouth. He looked like a total wreck, as if he hadn't bathed in who knows how long—a pathetic, wastrel shell of a man.
"Unbelievable. I don't know what happened to you, but don't pin your self-inflicted mess on me."
The dumbest thing anyone can do is blame others for their own screw-ups. Everyone makes mistakes. That's how we grow. But those who always point fingers never improve, no matter how much time passes.
"Grit…… you fucking bastard."
Motenson's malice thickened at my words. From the look of him, he'd clearly lost a lot of standing after getting beaten by me last time. Sure, he'd been riding high on the Overlord Club's coattails and just met someone he couldn't handle—but he didn't see it that way.
"Every time I think of you, rage boils up like my chest's about to explode. My days have been pure hell. Because of you…… I was on the verge of getting kicked out of the Overlord Club."
"And how is that my fault?"
I stared at Motenson, who kept blaming me, utterly dumbfounded.
"You fucker, you! If you hadn't ambushed me…… if I hadn't lost so pathetically! I wouldn't have fallen out of favor with the execs!"
Motenson bellowed, breathing raggedly, his face twisted in fury. I furrowed my brow at his shout and shot back.
"So what do you want from me?"
"I'm gonna chop off all your limbs and salvage even a scrap of my ruined honor."
Motenson's eyes darted wildly. The more he talked, the more ridiculous it got. For one, it was questionable if he'd ever had any honor to ruin in the first place. And me ambushing him? Absurd. He'd invited me in first, so I'd attacked—that was all.
He's rewriting history to suit himself.
I shook my head in disbelief. My body felt heavy after the ranking matches, but schooling an idiot like Motenson was no problem.
"Heh heh, I heard you had your ranking matches today."
Motenson edged closer, opening his mouth again.
"So, how far'd you make it?"
"What kinda stupid question is that? Obviously the finals……."
I started to answer, then raised my left arm to swat away the object flying at me. Midway through his chit-chat, the bastard had ambushed me. But I'd seen it coming, so I deflected his throw without flinching.
Or so I thought.
What the—?
I narrowed my eyes at the sticky threads clinging to my left arm.
Low-grade web bomb.
This thing burst on impact, spewing webs that pinned the target down. In other words, my left arm and feet were now glued to the ground by these webs.
It's low-quality webbing…… but this frail body of mine can't rip it off in one go.
"You ambushed me first, so don't cry foul. Heh heh."
Motenson leered at me, trapped in the webs, with a sleazy grin. This prick. He'd gone this far just to get revenge?
"Pathetic."
"You…… still don't get how fucked you are, do you?"
Motenson glared, fuming, then smirked and pulled another web bomb from his pocket.
Those aren't easy to get. How'd he score one?
I clicked my tongue and lifted my left arm. The webbing's elasticity tugged vividly against my skin.
And no sword.
I'd returned my gear when leaving the training hall, so I was empty-handed. Even with a sword, the webs on my arm would've made drawing it tough. Another hit from that bomb, and I'd be completely immobilized—worst-case scenario.
"I'll show you hell today."
Motenson hurled the web bomb at me again. Its trajectory slowed in my vision, heading straight for my right torso if I did nothing.
But I wasn't about to take it lying down.
The art of softness.
I softly caught the incoming web bomb with my right hand.
"What the—!"
Motenson's shocked yell rang out. No surprise—he couldn't believe I'd caught a bead that should've burst on contact.
Web bombs seem cheat-tier now…… but after the continental wars, counters popped up everywhere.
I grinned and twisted my body, hurling it right back at him. The technique was an application of deflection principles. The bomb rocketed back faster than it came.
Thwack!
"Guh."
A defeated groan escaped Motenson. The bomb exploded above his right thigh, webbing his lower body to the floor.
"Damn it!"
He fumbled desperately in his pocket for something else. But I wasn't letting him pull any more tricks.
High Jump activate.
I bent my knees into a sprinting stance, locking eyes on Motenson.
Rrrumble.
The now D-rank High Jump skill surged into my legs. Power beyond what my F-rank strength could muster condensed there.
But it's not enough.
This wouldn't snap the webs clean.
Time for ether.
I drew up my ether. Crushing force gathered in my legs, strong enough to shatter rock. I unleashed it all.
BOOM!
With an explosive roar, my body launched toward Motenson.
SMASH—.
"Gaaah—."
I slammed into him full-force. The impact kept him from drawing whatever he'd reached for, ripping a massive scream from his throat instead.
Crash-tumble-bang.
I tore off the webs on me—and his—rolling across the ground in a tangle.
"Ugh."
Pain wracked my body. Wincing, I looked down: Motenson lay crushed beneath me, drooling and passed out.
"What was that noise?"
"Sounds like it's coming from over there?"
Our commotion had drawn a crowd. They gawked at me sprawled with Motenson.
"What the hell happened?!"
"Isn't that Aleck and Senior Motenson?"
The arrivals were my fellow trainees from today's sessions, heading the same way to the dorms. They'd rushed over at the racket.
Horrified by the scene, they helped me up.
"Aleck! You okay? Whoa, what is this? Webs?!"
"That psycho! Motenson, you crazy fuck! He ambushed you with this shit?!"
"Yeah."
"Holy shit…… what a slimy bastard. Doing crap like this? Can't even call him 'senior'—just a mosquito wannabe."
"And he still lost the ambush? This guy's hopeless."
"Nah, Aleck's the badass. Looks like he turned the tables even after getting webbed."
"Yeah, exactly. Finals contender for a reason!"
I could barely respond amid their chatter. The pain throbbing through me was intense. My exterior and interior were both wrecked.
Fusing skills and ether is still too much for me.
I tasted blood rising in my throat, realizing my ether circuits were badly damaged. It'd take days of rest.
And that wasn't all.
Left arm…… shoulder's dislocated.
Ripping free of the webs had popped it out.
"Aleck, you good?"
The guys propping me up paled at my ashen face, worry creasing their brows.
"Yeah, I'm f…… ugh."
"You sure? We gotta hit the infirmary."
"No, really, I'm fine."
I forced myself upright, gripped my left arm with my right, and jammed it back in.
Crack-pop!
The bones slotted home. Rest would fix it soon enough.
"No infirmary. Thanks for the help."
I nodded to my rescuers. Going there meant they'd push for admission—and no finals tomorrow.
'Manage your body right! No schedule changes for personal injuries. Off-field care's part of training too.'
Norton's words to us. My injury wouldn't delay the finals. Ruslan would win by default.
Couldn't let that happen. Jinuurhwan was exactly what I needed now.
"I'm seriously fine…… just help clean this up?"
"Got it, Aleck. Leave it to us—go rest!"
They got the hint: infirmary now meant trouble for tomorrow's match. Grateful for their respect, I headed straight to the dorms to recover.
I'll repay them later.
I'd remember their faces. First, pull myself together for tomorrow's finals.
Back in my room, I sat cross-legged.
Injuries are bad. But circulating qi all night should calm things down.
My qi circulation was Wind Qi Gong (E-rank), foundation for future Wind White Swordsmanship (SS). Low proficiency meant no skill activation, but with ether flowing, I could practice it.
That night, until dawn, I circulated Wind Qi Gong, striving to settle my ravaged insides.
* * *
The next day. Finals day dawned.
The training grounds buzzed with trainees from morning.
"Man, can't wait to see who wins today."
"Right? Our cohort's top two going at it."
"Oh? Finally admitting Aleck's our strongest? Last time you were all 'little mantis clan, got limits.'"
"Hey, that was ages ago. Aleck's small clan or not—guy's legit."
"Look at you flipping scripts."
"Anyway, this final's gonna be epic. So much hype."
"Ruslan fans were louder, but Aleck's crew was right there."
Top dog debates were inevitable in any group. Our warrior cohort had argued nonstop for a month: Aleck or Ruslan stronger?
Today settled it.
"Lord Aleck…… you sure you're okay?"
"Told you, I'm good. Don't worry."
"But your left arm's barely moving—how're you gonna fight?!"
On the way to the training hall, Kind eyed my arm with shaky concern. I'd run into him heading to the grounds this morning, and he'd noticed my injury.
"Seriously, maybe forfeit and heal up……."
Normally, yeah—Kind was right. Risk loss and worsen the damage?
But that's for normal cases.And I'm anything but.
I flashed a grin.
"Relax. I'll win and come back."
Kind nodded, eyes laced with worry.
"Then…… don't push too hard! I'll be cheering!"
He headed to the stands.
Guy didn't even say 'win it.'
Probably figured my odds were slim with the injury. Smart—no pressure, just consideration.
Fair. Fighting one-armed, no ether access.
I'd barely stabilized overnight with Wind Qi Gong. No ether use possible. Left arm near useless.
Others might call it dire.
But with legs and right arm fine? Far from worst.
Pre-regression, I'd survived worse hellscapes.
"Aleck, contestant—enter the arena when ready."
Bardwin, the assistant ref in the waiting room, called out. Showtime.
I eyed the racks of swords, axes, and gear.
Normally, a straight longsword.
But not today.
I reached for the swords and gripped one utterly unlike my usual: a thin, slender curved blade.
"……!"
Bardwin's eyes widened at my pick, puzzled why. He seemed about to speak, then clamped his mouth shut.
No meddling in matches.
Just watch—you'll see.
I shot him a knowing grin with my eyes.