This was the hunter Rank 3rd, Francis Stratus! Bas could sense that Francis was at the tenth level of the Hunt Foundation. He couldn't help smirking as he thought, 'His strength is so low at the tenth level? My strength should be around 11, and I'm only at the eighth level. I can tell he's weaker than that. How embarrassing.'
If Francis knew Bas was thinking this way, he would be enraged. Anyone Francis wanted to kill, he would kill. He had never spared an enemy he faced with the current look in his eyes.
Bas also sensed the killing intent radiating from this new opponent. However, why would he want to kill Bazzy? Did they know each other? Bas' hand instinctively fell to the new butterfly knife on his hip. He hadn't had to use this blade yet, but he wasn't about to take a death threat lightly.
Want to kill me?
I guess you should die.
Bas didn't care why this weakling wanted his life. He was insulted that a mere bug dared to glare at him in such a manner. It didn't matter how bug-like he currently was himself.
The atmosphere surrounding Bas suddenly grew frigid to the max, shocking Brenda into re-evaluating this youth.
Francis had been building up his kills over the last few months, and Brenda watched him become more brutal and vicious over time. However, the previously amiable yet slightly arrogant Bazzy Dagod was now emitting such thick killing intent that it made even her a bit nervous. At first, Brenda still thought Bas was inexperienced in life-or-death trials.
'Who is this guy?' Brenda thought in shock.
Could someone inexperienced with death emit such thick killing intent? Something like that could never be for show. Where had this teenager come from?
"Oh?" Francis Stratus originally wasn't planning on speaking to this brat at all.
In his mind, this Bazzy was already dead when he touched Marsha Logan. Francis planned to do it privately, but the punk fought his way up to the Top 10. In that case, Francis would end this black horse permanently.
"You dare to look at me like this? Punk, this is the eve of your death. Tell me, do you know your crime?"
"Are you always so chatty before a battle to the death? Come," Bas didn't need to speak with someone he had decided to kill.
"You arrogant son of a bitch, how dare you address me like this," Francis ground his teeth.
Ever since Francis clawed his way up the ranks battle by battle, night by night, no one had insulted him lightly. They all tried to curry favor and cowered in fear of his dominance. Who did this new upstart think he was, really? Francis reached his hands down and pulled out two hunter firearms. They shined with a sleek black.
Bas was stunned.
'What manner of weapon is this?' Bas never saw this weapon in his old life.
Hadn't it only been 300 years? How could so many changes have occurred, exactly? Bas quickly checked his collection of Sebastian King's memories and discovered the name of this weapon.
Hunter Rifle!
The newest innovation in hunt tool production. Hunter Rifles came in various sizes and could fire projectiles empowered by hunt ryms or even raw soul power. They would either fire hunt bullets or soul bullets. Soul bullets were heavy and impactful highspeed bricks. Hunt bullets were piercing and deadly, and they could cause more direct damage.
These bullets' impact and piercing power were not something to be scoffed at. Such a weapon is dangerous. Unless you can endure the shot. This was a weapon that mortals could use to defend themselves quite well, even if they didn't possess hunt ryms. That's because they could still create soul bullets using the tool.
As a result, most mortals used this weapon to protect. Indeed, Bas noticed no one in the sewage outlet was surprised but himself. Some gave him disdainful gazes, thinking that hunting guns had made him fearful.
'So Marsha's boyfriend wants to shoot me?'
Bas was speechless. Seeing these weapons, he suddenly desired to possess some as well. Why should others enjoy the thrill of shooting someone and not himself? He would also prepare some for his sisters.
But not Dazzal. The youngster would have to use his fists better first.
Brenda didn't like this deadly matchup but could not do anything if both fighters wanted to war, "Challenger Rank 3: Francis Stratus vs. Rank 8: Bazzy Dagod! Referee, are they ready? Okay, battle start!"
"Hey, Cissy boy," Bas suddenly called out to Francis once the battle started, startling everyone.
"WHAT DID YOU..." Francis' eyes bulged with rage as he started to bellow.
Bas didn't care as he cut him off mid-sentence, "Isn't fighting like this too boring? Let's make a bet. If you die, I get all of your wealth. If I die, I don't care what you do either."
"Why should I make a bet that I will win anyway?" Francis sneered with disdain in his voice. "You don't know how high the sky is, little guy. It's War, then; winner takes all!"
[Goumen lavi ak lanmò ak lanmò ak lavi.]
[Lagè Li Pral]
The ryms in the surroundings trembled while making echoes that no one could interpret, but all could understand through their rym chords. Fight life with death. Fight death with life.
War!
The winner takes all!
Calling out War made any friendly competition impossible as it engaged hunters in a battle to the death. Once a hunter reached fourth class and was able to condense a Hunter Badge, violating the rules of War would have serious consequences. The laws of War would brand Hunter's Badges upon completion, making one a true hunter of the Warpath. The mortal laws of War prevented other hunters from taking vengeful action against the victor, one reward among many. If they did so, they would be judged by the will of the twilight.
If one angered the heavens, would they see anything but hell?
"War? Very well," Bas closed his eyes, folded his arms, and nodded calmly.
It was good to see some traditions hadn't changed. Once he opened his eyes again, they were so piercingly indifferent that Francis couldn't help but start.
Bas spoke coldly, "I accept."
The ambient ryms trembled again, like thundering lyrics in the hunters' bodies.
[Touye tout moun ki kanpe devan ou.]
"Good. Now die!" Francis backflipped into the air, releasing a flurry of hunt bullets from his bronze-class hunter rifles.
The piercing strength of each bullet was more than Bas expected, and according to his estimations, the strength should be around 18 points. Most tenth-level Foundation hunters would have approximately 10 points for each of their stats. These bullets were indeed dangerous, but Francis was disappointing as far as strength was concerned. Bronze class rym tools added around 10 points to the base stats they affected, while bronze class soul tools added around 12.
Without these weapons, Francis' strength stat was only around 6 points. It made Bas want to spit on him for being so rude.
An adult male would have a natural strength stat of 3-5, so Francis was slightly spectacular among mortals. However, this talent level was nothing to pay attention to for a hunter.
"Hmph," Bas disdained this paltry strength but went on unsheathing his bronze class butterfly knife.
He had waited too long for this.
The thin blade danced beautifully, and in a flash, all the bullets were cut in half faster than the crowd could see. They observed this dumbstruck as a shock wave rang across the stage.
So this was Bazzy's true strength?
Formidable!
"So this Bazzy had strength comparable to a peak sky foundation? He hid deeply."
"No wonder he dared to say he would enter the Top 5! Turns out he was a genius of such talent."
"I've never seen a genius hunter like this Bazzy! Is he truly from Mortalee?"
"Impossible...why else would he hide his identity? He has to be some expert's legacy disciple."
"I want to see his face!"
Many hunters started conjecturing about Bazzy Dagod's background once he displayed his prowess. Everyone wanted to know more about this black horse.