Chapter 106
Chapter 106
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 106
Chapter Title: Now It Begins
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Now it begins. The bracket had been handed out to us. After checking it in the waiting room, I couldn't help but crack a wry smile.
"Hey, are they being this obvious about it?"
Jeong O-hoon nodded at my words.
"Yeah, tell me about it."
The bracket had clearly been rigged with some effort. Me, Han Sang-ah, and Jeong O-hoon wouldn't face each other right from the start.
Honestly, if they hadn't hidden some other ploy, the obvious move would have been to pit me, Han Sang-ah, and Jeong O-hoon against each other as early as possible.
That way, they could knock at least one of us out quickly.
But that hadn't happened. Me, Han Sang-ah, and Jeong O-hoon would each have to beat at least one opponent before we might run into each other.
In other words, they'd stuck Taebaek's special forces—or whatever elite unit they called it—against Han Sang-ah and Jeong O-hoon from the very first round.
"What about their profiles?"
Jeong O-hoon answered me.
"I checked. According to an expert I know, there's a high chance they're using fake identities."
Damn, that makes them pointless then. I looked at Han Sang-ah and Jeong O-hoon and said,
"Even if you win and advance, you'll drop as soon as you face me."
"Why do you have to say it like that?"
"It's the truth. You have zero chance of winning."
Jeong O-hoon grumbled with a dissatisfied look, and Han Sang-ah immediately shot back.
"Even so, I'll be the one knocking you out. I don't want to hear anything about getting carried by me. I'll fight at a level that's convincing enough for everyone else too."
If it came down to facing either of them, I'd win for sure—but I'd make it look close. Against anyone else, I'd overwhelm them completely.
After a bit of chit-chat, we dispersed back to our individual waiting rooms.
I killed time in my waiting room until my turn came, then spotted some shocking news on my smartphone.
Jeong O-hoon defeated.
"What the hell kind of bullshit is this?"
I stared blankly at the text in disbelief. Eliminated? Meaning... he lost? I had no idea what to say as I pulled up the match details.
"Son of a bitch."
Jeong O-hoon had been disqualified for a foul.
"I don't even know what to say."
His opponent had moved in a seriously sneaky way. Jeong O-hoon hadn't landed any potentially lethal blows. But the guy had deliberately turned Jeong O-hoon's attacks into critical hits.
Put simply, he'd taken an attack aimed at his shoulder and shoved his own temple right into it.
"Crazy bastard. Is Taebaek's direct elite unit some kind of suicide squad?"
One wrong move in that stunt, and he'd end up brain-dead. But the guy acted like it was nothing, calmly exposing his vital points to Jeong O-hoon's strikes.
Of course, even with a disqualification, it just meant he couldn't continue in this tournament. Jeong O-hoon could still challenge his way onto Hope's List.
I clicked my tongue and leaned against the wall, staring at my phone.
According to the bracket, if I won my next match, I'd face the guy who'd fouled out Jeong O-hoon.
"Looks like the guy who fought Jeong O-hoon dreams of becoming a cripple."
Fine then. I'll make that dream come true. At least Han Sang-ah had managed to win hers. Jeong O-hoon was probably going to be pretty down about this.
He'd have every right to feel screwed over. Who could've predicted an opponent would deliberately ram their vitals into your attacks mid-fight?
"Hunter Yoo Chan-seok, it's your turn. Please prepare."
The door opened, and a staff member informed me. I left the waiting room and took the stage. My opponent eyed me with a tense expression.
"I didn't want it to come to this."
I gripped my spear and stared him down. The crowd in the stands cheered, and the broadcast team excitedly rattled off info about me and my opponent.
Finally, the signal to start blared out. My opponent dropped into a fighting stance.
My spear struck his gut, and in an instant, the tip was at his throat.
The match ended so fast, it was almost embarrassing to call it a match.
"Sorry."
The stands—and even the broadcast team—fell silent. It was over just 0.73 seconds after the start.
There was nothing to commentate on, and no time for the crowd to cheer. I withdrew my spear and stepped off the stage.
For the hyped-up audience, it must've been a total letdown. But I didn't care.
I wanted to wrap this up as quick as possible and prep for the next one. Taebaek would probably freak if they saw this.
They'd clearly misjudged my level—probably assuming it was what it was before I consumed the Banshee's Tear Shard.
After stepping off the stage, I returned to my waiting room.
"Um... the committee has a message."
I replied to the staff member.
"Tell them the next one won't be like this."
They can look forward to it. I'll show them exactly what it means to thoroughly toy with someone.
If he's from Taebaek's elite direct unit, he's gotta be a key asset. Breaking him so bad he never recovers would weaken their forces nicely.
The other hunters from that special unit in the tournament would lose their edge too, and once Taebaek's elites heard the story, they'd start fearing me.
"Alright then... I'll pass that along. This is an entertainment event too, so please, try to make it exciting."
"Don't worry. You're good."
I'll make sure Taebaek gets a real headache from this opportunity.
I waited in the room for my next turn. And soon, I was back on stage.
After the last match ended in a blink, the crowd's vibe watching me and my opponent was pretty subdued.
"... ."
My opponent wielded a cutlass and shield. He gripped his sword tighter as he stared at me. I tossed out a question.
"Scared?"
"No."
I chuckled.
"Don't lie. You're terrified. I'm way stronger than you expected."
I spun my spear a few times, then tapped the ground once. A clear metallic ring echoed out.
"It's fine. Something even worse than what you're imagining is waiting for you anyway."
The intros for me and my opponent wrapped up again, and the start signal blared.
I charged with my spear and swung. It wasn't that fast. Just enough for him to barely block.
His face went pale as he blocked the spear. I swung lazily. As he parried and dodged, the spear shaft grazed his shoulder.
A light thud rang out.
His eyes widened instantly. He probably wanted to call for a stop. But he couldn't shout. The mana that had flowed in through his shoulder was choking his throat.
The moment he tried to drop his sword in surrender, my spear shaft tapped both his forearms in a flash. Once more, the mana spread, locking his muscles rigid.
He couldn't release his sword or shield now. For at least 30 minutes, he'd be stuck gripping them, unable to make a sound.
This technique would've been useless in a real deathmatch. Way too inefficient.
Just snap the arms and crush the throat—done.
But this was a match, not a fight.
"Now it starts."
Ah, from here on, it'll be torture, not a match. I'll make him so terrified he'll never pick up a sword again.
It wasn't slicing muscles or breaking bones. Just pure agony worse than any injury.
"Can't surrender, and it hurts every time the spear touches."
So he flails desperately to block. I play along with a few fake exchanges, then tap a non-lethal spot on his body with the shaft again.
Every time, mana seeps in, delivering excruciating pain. Nerve-searing torment, muscles ripping apart, bones gnawed raw.
He opens his mouth like he wants to say something, but no words come out.
After about 15 minutes of torment, his eyes lost focus. Drool poured from his mouth.
The moment he started shitting and pissing himself on the floor, they called it.
"What's the problem?"
I shot the referee a baffled look as they signaled the stop.
"Your opponent's not in good shape."
"Yeah, I can see that, but he hasn't surrendered."
He could speak now—I'd undone all my effects. But he just groaned like "Ugh... uuuugh."
"What did you do to him?"
"It's a tournament. Didn't you watch? What do you mean 'what'? We fought."
The referee gave my opponent a grave look.
"We'll run a full check first. If anything's wrong, Hunter Yoo Chan-seok, you might face disqualification."
I stared at the referee in disbelief, then sighed heavily.
"Got it."
Obviously, no disqualification. The guy's body was perfectly fine—no issues at all.
"How's he doing?"
A bit later, the referee came back.
"No physical problems. But he's suffering severe trauma. Driving him this far..."
"What are you talking about? If something was wrong, he should've said so. Or at least dropped his weapon."
I said angrily.
"He didn't say a word, blocked my attacks aggressively, and showed zero signs of surrender. What was I supposed to do?"
"Well..."
Nothing to say to that, right? Honestly, there shouldn't be. We fought fair. If his body couldn't take it, he needed to signal. But he didn't.
Well, technically couldn't, but the referee had no way of knowing.
This wasn't some hidden internal damage either. He looked fine on the outside, and he was fine inside too.
"So, he's unable to continue anyway?"
The referee nodded.
"Then I win. No clue why he suddenly acted like that, but..."
After a brief debate, the match was ruled in my favor. It felt fishy to everyone else, but I was thrilled.
I approached the following matches with full seriousness. I'd pissed off the committee twice already—it was time to perform.
Of course, I still dominated overwhelmingly, but I kept it exciting enough for the crowd.
And finally.
"Is that how it is? I think it's a pretty meaningful encounter."