"The new cult leader is about to fight the 'Charming Beast' in a deathmatch!"
"The Beast even goes after 1-point bets?"
"Think the cult leader's already fallen into his trap?"
"More than likely. This isn't just about 1 point—if the Beast wins, he could walk away with 50 points in one go..."
Listening to the murmurs from the audience, Ash gave a forced smile as he wrapped his fists with bandages. "So you really were playing the innocent act, huh?"
"I'd say the same about you," replied Igula, the blond-haired, green-eyed man with pale skin. He smiled, his tone playful. "You're the Four Pillars cult leader who dared challenge the Bloodmad Hunter. Me? I'm just a humble con artist. Clearly, you're the one with the higher combat capabilities."
Ash had already investigated Igula's criminal background through Ronna before agreeing to the deathmatch.
In this prison, everyone knew each other's crimes. That's just how it worked—most inmates got their moment of fame on the news as soon as they arrived. Just like how everyone knew Ash was the small-time cult leader captured by a team of Hunters.
Igula Borjin, aka the "Fraudster," had been an insurance salesman. He'd conned numerous wealthy individuals out of large sums of money before finally landing in prison. As a mind mage, he possessed a repertoire of spiritual manipulation abilities, including one particularly dangerous spell: Contract.
While the prison supposedly prohibited the use of magic, this prohibition was limited to "direct" usage rather than "complete" suppression.
For someone like Igula, a master of subtle spiritual influence, techniques such as persuasive speech, gestures, or body language could still trigger his magic. For instance, when Igula had casually invited Ash to "team up" in the lobby, accepting would have silently imprinted Ash's mind with a binding magical contract.
By all appearances, Igula lacked any real combat ability. But—
Ding!
The lights around the Deathmatch Society dimmed, leaving the arena's glowing screen to dominate the room.
Igula Borjin – Bet: 46 Contribution Points
VS
Ash Heath – Bet: 1 Contribution Point
In deathmatches, bets always started at the lowest amount possible, which meant Igula had already fought 45 matches.
And, according to Ronna, Igula had won all 45.
So why had Ash agreed to fight him?
Because... he already had.
When Igula jokingly asked Ash if he wanted to fight, Ash had jokingly replied, Sure, why not?
That single offhand response had sealed the deal.
It was difficult to describe, but it wasn't as if Ash's body had been physically controlled. Instead, his very thoughts had been subtly altered. It was as if his mind had embraced a new truth: I must fight Igula.
The concept of refusal never even crossed his mind, as though the freedom to choose had been shackled without him realizing.
"This is why you shouldn't casually respond to invitations," Scarlet Saber chided, lounging against the railing with a lazy smirk. "You're supposed to be the End Observer, aren't you? You should be rejecting everyone's goodwill and malice alike, saying no to all things. You should conquer the world with your power and reshape reality with your will, ruling as a true demon king—"
No.
"You little—"
Before Scarlet could finish her thought, the transparent barrier rose around the arena, signaling the start of the match.
As the bell chimed in Ash's mind, he felt a strange sensation, as if a lock within him had been undone. The chip on his neck was no longer limiting their ability to attack each other.
At the same time, Igula charged forward like a predator closing in on its prey.
Ash instinctively raised his arms to block and sidestepped, but Igula seemed to anticipate his every move. With a swift slide, Igula kicked Ash's legs out from under him, sending him sprawling face-first onto the ground.
Ash quickly rolled to his feet, but Igula was already there, landing a powerful punch to his stomach. A sharp pain shot through Ash, making him feel like he was about to vomit bile.
"Brace yourself," Igula offered "kindly," then delivered another blow, this time to Ash's temple.
Dazed and cornered, Ash pressed his back against the wall, shielding his head and vital areas with his arms. Yet, no matter how he tried to protect himself, Igula's fists found their way through his defenses, landing punch after punch. Before long, Ash's face was swollen and bruised as he staggered away, trying—and failing—to avoid the relentless assault.
"Isn't the experience transfer supposed to start? At this rate, I'm gonna die!"
"Scarlet! Get in here and beat this blondie's face in!"
"Help me, Scarlet Mom!"
"Calm down, calm down," Scarlet Saber replied lazily. "The more you get hit, the faster the experience will transfer. But hey, why don't you try fighting back?"
"Will that make the transfer faster?"
"Nope, but it'll make this fight a little more entertaining. Watching you get pummeled is honestly kinda boring."
Scarlet didn't voice her surprise, though.
She'd expected Ash to get beaten to a pulp—after all, this was Crater Lake Prison. Ash fighting here was like a lamb strolling into a den of wolves. What shocked her wasn't his inevitable defeat, but how he handled it.
Despite being thoroughly outclassed, Ash showed surprising resilience. Instead of breaking down or begging for mercy, he did his best to minimize damage, sticking to the wall to reduce angles of attack, protecting his head, and immediately getting back up whenever he was knocked down.
But most of all—he didn't cry.
For someone who had likely lived a sheltered, mundane life before being thrust into this brutal world, Ash displayed a remarkable tenacity.
Scarlet realized something: Even without me, even without the Mage's Handbook, this guy would adapt. He's no coward. Strip him of comfort, and his true nature emerges.
He really is... the End Observer.
Crack!
Pain flared through Ash's arm as he felt the bone strain under the pressure. Fueled by frustration and Scarlet's constant goading, Ash snapped.
Even a clay figure has a spark of fire.
Recalling his military training from long ago, he stepped into a firm stance and threw a solid punch.
"So soft. Adorable, really."
Igula tilted his head slightly, dodging effortlessly, and retaliated with a punch that landed square on Ash's jaw.
"You—!"
"You—!"
"You—you—you—!"
Ash's punches couldn't land, while Igula's blows connected with devastating accuracy. To an observer, it looked less like a fight and more like a choreographed performance—Ash practically handing his face over to meet Igula's fists.
"Here it is, the Beast's magic trick again."
"Looks like the cult leader's remaining 49 contribution points are about to become the Beast's."
"Hah, he's all smoke and mirrors. If it were me in there—"
"What? You'd do what?"
"If it were me, he'd be checking if I was still breathing after one punch!"
The crowd erupted in laughter as the match continued.
Meanwhile, Igula wiped Ash's blood off his knuckles, speaking in a calm, almost mocking tone:
"Do you know why I've won 45 consecutive matches, Ash? My physique isn't remarkable. My reflexes aren't extraordinary. So why can't you land a single hit on me?"
Ash didn't respond, too focused on catching his breath.
"It's simple," Igula continued, his voice dripping with disdain. "I've defeated orcs, trolls, and goblins—creatures whose strength far exceeds mine. And yet, they all fell to me. Do you know why?"
"Because you're livestock."
"You've never owned your own life."
"The moment you stepped into this ring, I put a leash around your neck. Until I've wrung every last drop of value from you, you're mine to control!"
"Livestock has only one fate—" Igula licked his lips, a cruel grin spreading across his face. "To be bled, skinned, and carved into something... delectable."
"Don't even think about surrendering, Ash. There's no such rule here. Don't worry, though—I'll make this quick. I'm very gentle with my livestock."
Ash straightened up, spat out a mouthful of blood, and rolled his shoulders.
"Yeah," he said simply.
On the sidelines, Scarlet smirked, stretching lazily. "Finally," she murmured. "It's time to end this."