Pride on the Edge of Collapse

The moment the explosion was triggered, Zyfa, still wearing that arrogant expression, continued walking forward, leaving behind the billowing smoke—where something might very well be lying in wait for him. Such arrogance might be something he would regret for what was about to happen.

Through the thick, pitch-black smoke, mingled with ash from the blast, the silhouette of a man in a leather coat emerged—the coat itself peeling in places from the shockwave. From his body emanated a crimson, ominous aura, signaling a type of power still beyond our understanding.

Crow realized this match would not be simple. Though he wanted to intervene, he froze when he caught Akk’s glance—a silent reminder that this had always been a one-on-one duel.

King’s face twisted, veins bulging at his temple—a clear display of fury at being underestimated. To the astonishment of the spectators, King suddenly lunged forward, and in the blink of an eye, he was right beside Zyfa. Zyfa turned his head, but before he could react, a devastating punch slammed into the center of his chest. The ground trembled faintly from the impact.

Zyfa’s body was hurled backward, crashing hard against the opposite wall. He slumped there, unable to rise. Blood streamed not only from his mouth but also from the corners of his eyes. His breathing quickened. Pain etched into his features, Zyfa forced himself, with great effort, to stand and continue fighting.

“A mage-type barrier taking a direct hit from a Bruiser’s punch… that’s practically crippling. Now he’s got nothing left but to stand there and lose.” Kleith remarked.

Hearing such a confident statement, Crow silently agreed, but he couldn’t accept seeing his friend humiliated. He knew Zyfa was arrogant—but not without reason. In this perilous situation, he still believed Zyfa could perform a miracle.

Zyfa refused to acknowledge King’s strength. To him, King was nothing but a coward. Anger clenched his fists tight. On King’s side, after that punch, he assumed the match was over.

“That was quick. Over in just one blow,” King muttered in disappointment.

That comment stabbed directly into Zyfa’s pride. With an ego towering at the peak, he couldn’t let it go. Extending his hand toward King, he triggered a remote explosion. A burst of light erupted. Though caught off guard, King managed to dodge sideways. Recognizing Zyfa’s familiar movements, King knew the next blast would follow immediately. Sure enough, three seconds later, a second detonation roared. This time, King leapt backward, but still caught part of the blast.

It was here that Zyfa’s ability became clearer. It did not originate from the palms—he used his vision to lock onto his target, with his hands merely serving to aim, while the activation occurred directly from his brain. Though the radius remained uncertain, the ability clearly had a limited range.

“All that big talk, yet all you can do is dodge?!” Zyfa growled, his voice hoarse from pain, his tone dripping with rage at being belittled.

King paid no mind to the provocation. He continued searching for an opening to strike back. By now, the crimson aura around him had begun to fade.

Akk knew King’s ability well—it was a physical enhancement fueled by the malice he absorbed, both from damage taken and damage dealt. In other words, the more he fought, the stronger he became. Against Bruiser-class opponents, where clashes were constant, King held the advantage. But against a mage like Zyfa, who attacked from range and took minimal damage, King struggled to reach his full potential. If Zyfa hadn’t been careless from the start, he might have already seized control of the match.

The duel dragged on. King continued to evade without counterattacking. Zyfa used the time to recover—though only marginally. In King’s eyes, there was no panic—only patience, as if waiting for something.

Akk and Crow both knew what it was. Only Zyfa—blinded by anger—failed to realize it. For while mages possessed wide-area attacks and devastating firepower, they were bound by one fundamental limit: energy.

Energy in this world differed from games, yet bore some similarities. The physical energy limit was 4,000—when depleted, stamina declined accordingly. Energy was consumed each time a strike was launched or a high-level ability used—it was the measure of one’s fundamental strength. The greater one’s high-level energy, the stronger their body and abilities, depending on personal growth rate. This meant even the “powerless” could survive—and even surpass—others.

And King was waiting for exactly that: Zyfa to run dry. Zyfa was attacking relentlessly, recklessly, without any strategy. Every strike missed, yet he continued triggering them.

The signs grew more apparent. Zyfa began to tire, his vision blurring. Concern flickered in Crow’s every move—he knew his friend couldn’t win like this.

King stopped dodging. He charged straight in to end it. Despite the explosions bursting around him, he took only light damage—enough to store up even more malice. The red glow around his body blazed with terrifying brilliance—the mark of someone among the strongest. In contrast, Zyfa grew more frantic, his hands trembling in fear as King closed in.

“Time to end this, don’t you think?” King said coldly.

He raised his fist—but before the blow could land, a blade pierced through his body. King shuddered, turning to see—not Crow—but Akk standing behind him.

Right then, the timing struck. A chorus of mid-tier monsters roared, surging in to surround the area—a sign that the monster lord was in imminent danger. When that happened, all monsters on the map would converge on a single point to overthrow the reigning king. Among the students, no one knew this—except Akk.

“It’s time to end this,” Akk murmured.