Would helping me pinpoint the location of my opponents count as overstepping? Desmond asked Kenny, the question laced with curiosity and a strategic edge.
[No, it doesn't. But any aid that directly increases your battle strength would qualify as overstepping. If I break those boundaries, I will be forcibly removed, leaving you to figure things out on your own] Kenny explained in its usual calm tone.
Desmond mulled over the response, nodding slightly.
That's better than my death, he thought dryly. At least he could rely on Kenny's assistance without compromising the system's integrity.
Pulling up the ranking panel for the Stone League, he let his gaze skim over the list of top players.
The sleek interface displayed the top ten players, each name glowing in faint gold letters.
"There you are, Evans" Desmond muttered, locking onto the name at the very top. His eyes shifted to the league points beside the player's name: [Worst Foe: 1,100/700].
The number told a story all its own. Despite dominating the Stone League, Evans hadn't advanced to the next tier—the Wood League.
Desmond smirked knowingly. "Not ready to face the second years yet, huh?"
It made sense. He had read enough about how the system worked to understand Evans' hesitation.
Advancing to the next league meant stepping into a battlefield with stronger opponents, and Evans clearly wasn't confident in his chances there.
Desmond scrolled further down, his own name catching his eye near the bottom of the leaderboard.
"224th," he murmured, arching a brow. "At least I'm not dead last."
He considered the implications. About seventy players hadn't even made it onto the rankings yet—either because they hadn't arrived at the academy, hadn't logged into their accounts, or hadn't won a single match.
Desmond's lips curled into a determined smile. "First step is raising my rank."
He knew his current position wouldn't draw much attention. But if he broke into the top ten? That was a different story.
Not only would it spotlight his skill, but it would also serve as the perfect moment to reveal his perfect control of Celestial Fluid—a feat that would make waves among both peers and staff.
"And the rewards for being in the top ten wouldn't hurt either," he muttered, his mind already calculating his next steps.
The list of names shimmered on the screen, and Desmond's eyes narrowed with focus.
It was time to climb.
Closing the panel displaying the league rankings, he shifted his focus back to the task at hand.
The simulation database immediately began its search for a new opponent.
(Searching for an opponent… 0%... 93%... 100%)
(Opponent found: Hot Dance)
(Your battle begins in… 3… 2… 1…)
The familiar white void rippled, shimmering like the surface of disturbed water, before dissolving into a sprawling rainforest.
Towering trees stretched over thirty feet into the sky, their dense canopies casting a mottled shade over the swampy terrain below.
The air was thick with humidity, and the occasional screech of unseen creatures echoed through the expanse.
"A dungeon set-up," Desmond muttered, scanning his surroundings. The environment was alive with potential dangers—and opportunities.
Kenny, give me a map of the forest and my opponent's location, he requested, his voice calm but edged with anticipation.
[Coming up… now] Kenny replied smoothly.
Within seconds, a holographic map materialized before Desmond, detailing the labyrinthine layout of the rainforest.
A red dot marked his opponent, Hot Dance, currently on the move.
The dot weaved through the terrain, its path irregular but purposeful. Desmond narrowed his eyes, analyzing the movement.
So, you're not just wandering aimlessly.
Gripping Kiss of Death, Desmond began moving, careful to keep his footsteps as light as possible.
Each step was calculated, his boots finding stable footing amidst the swampy patches of ground.
The environment was as much an opponent as the player he was about to face—every careless movement could give away his position.
He moved with precision, his eyes darting between the holographic map and the dense rainforest surrounding him.
Each step was calculated, his ears attuned to the faint rustling of leaves and the soft squelch of swampy ground beneath his boots.
The red dot on Kenny's map indicated Hot Dance's path, weaving ever closer to an interception point just a few meters ahead.
Desmond scanned his surroundings and found the perfect vantage—a towering tree with thick branches that provided both cover and height.
Quietly, he approached the tree, slinging Kiss of Death over his back as he began his ascent.
His movements were deliberate, avoiding the brittle bark and loose branches that might give him away.
Reaching a sturdy branch, he crouched down, finding a spot where his weapon's full firepower wouldn't lose its lethality due to distance.
The height gave him an unobstructed view of the clearing below, and the surrounding foliage shielded him from immediate detection.
Desmond's muscles tensed as he resisted the urge to lean back against the tree trunk.
His phobia of ants kept his posture rigid—no amount of adrenaline could erase that particular fear.
Squatting on the branch, he steadied himself, his focus sharpening as he tracked Hot Dance's position through the map Kenny provided.
The red dot grew closer, its path aligning perfectly with his crosshairs. Desmond raised Kiss of Death, his hands firm as his helmet's targeting system synchronized with his aim.
The HUD marked Hot Dance's outline through the thick canopy ahead, the sleek red outline becoming clearer with each step.
"Come closer," Desmond muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible.
His finger hovered over the trigger, the tension building in his body like a coiled spring.
As Hot Dance moved closer, oblivious to the danger looming above, Desmond kept his arms steady, his focus unwavering.
The crosshairs of his targeting system aligned perfectly with his opponent's head.
A few more steps…
The moment Hot Dance stepped into the ideal range, he pulled the trigger.
A burst of ten laser bullets shot out in rapid succession, the streaks of red energy tearing through the air and striking their target in less than a second.
Desmond didn't wait to assess the damage; he somersaulted off the branch, landing on the ground with practiced ease.
Hot Dance, struck and disoriented, instinctively threw himself forward to escape further fire.
Rolling over his head, he transitioned into a kneeling position, his stance low and ready.
A metallic javelin materialized in his hand, the shimmering weapon crackling faintly with energy.
Eyes locking onto Desmond, who had just landed, Hot Dance hurled the weapon with all his might.
Desmond's heightened instincts kicked in.
With a precise tilt of his head, the javelin whizzed past, grazing his helmet but failing to make contact.