I fell to the ground in pain.
The arena was chaos. The sands, which once lay flat, were overturned and marred with crimson spikes of blood. But not all the blood came from magic.
I felt a sharp pain in my shoulder. Glancing down, I saw the wound not deep enough to incapacitate me, but the searing pain was nearly unbearable for someone like me, a normal man thrown into a novel.
Across from me, Crimson Reaver stood like a predator savoring his prey. He towered over me who had fallen to the ground.
He looked as terrifying as ever, but if you paid close attention, you'd see his skin had turned pale, almost ghostly, a clear sign of the toll his blood magic was taking on him. Using his own vitality as fuel was slowly draining him.
Not only that, the wound I'd landed on his thigh earlier though shallow was enough to slow him down.
I forced myself to focus, every breath a struggle as my injured shoulder screamed in protest. The wakizashi lay several feet away, glinting faintly in the dim light of the arena. It was my lifeline.
"Pathetic," Crimson Reaver sneered, his voice filled with mockery but lacking the earlier conviction. "You're crawling in the dirt, clutching at scraps. Just give up already."
His taunts were little more than noise now. My eyes were locked on the wakizashi.
"Move," the Book's voice echoed in my mind, steady and unyielding. "You're wasting time."
I gritted my teeth, pushing against the pain as I forced myself to my knees.
"You think you can get up?" Crimson Reaver growled, his scythe sparking with crimson energy. "You're finished!"
He swung the scythe downward, a crimson arc trailing its deadly blade.
"Blink!" the Book commanded.
I tried. Mana surged, the spell activating I aimed to go towards the wakizashi, but my body was sluggish. My focus wavered, and I reappeared clumsily several feet to the side, crashing into the sand again.
"Ugh," I groaned, spitting out grit as I rolled over. My shoulder flared in agony, my vision blurring for a moment.
Crimson Reaver laughed, his earlier fatigue momentarily replaced by satisfaction. "What was that supposed to be? You call that magic?"
I ignored him. My eyes darted to the wakizashi again, calculating the distance.
"You must act faster," the Book said, its voice taking on an edge of urgency.
Easier said than done. My body wasn't cooperating, the pain dulling my movements.
"Improvisation is necessary if u can't get your hands on a weapon use your surroundings" the Book urged.
Improvisation? I had no weapons, no strength, nothing but the sand beneath me
Wait. Sand.
I grabbed a fistful, the grains dry and coarse in my hand. Crimson Reaver was closing in, his scythe dragging against the ground with an ominous hiss.
"This is the end," he said, raising the blade high.
"Not quite," I muttered.
With all the force I could muster, I hurled the sand directly at his face.
The effect was immediate. Crimson Reaver staggered, shouting in frustration as the grains struck his eyes.
"You little !" he snarled, clawing at his face with his free hand.
It was the only opening I'd get. I pushed myself to my feet, my legs trembling as I bolted toward the wakizashi. Every step felt like fire coursing through my veins, but I couldn't stop now.
Crimson Reaver's injured leg slowed him down as he tried to recover, his movements sluggish and uncoordinated. That wound small as it was had been my saving grace.
"Almost there," I gasped, stretching out my hand. The wakizashi gleamed, just inches away.
I dove forward, my fingers closing around the hilt.
"Now!" the Book's voice roared.
But Crimson Reaver wasn't done yet. Through sheer force of will, he closed the distance, his scythe raised to strike.
Time slowed. His blade arced downward, aimed directly at my neck.
Desperation surged through me. I reached for mana, summoning the last of my strength.
"Blink!"
The spell fired off, the world twisting around me. This time, it worked.
I reappeared behind him, my wakizashi cutting through the air in one fluid motion.
The blade sliced clean through his neck, the scythe falling from his hands as his head hit the ground with a dull thud.
For a moment, everything was silent.
Crimson Reaver's body dissolved into pixels of light, his form disintegrating as the virtual arena reset itself.
I stood there, panting, the wakizashi trembling in my grip. The Book of the End hummed faintly in my hand, its presence steady and unyielding.
"You adapted," it said, its tone calm but approving. "But you must become faster. Stronger. This is only the beginning."
The arena dissolved around me, leaving me alone in the VR pod.
Sweat dripped down my face as I sat back, my heart pounding in my chest.
It hurt my body hurt like hell my muscles screamed in agony at the over exertion my shoulder was bleeding my head hurt like hell due to the mental strain of battle and using blink more than had ever previously.
Yet, yet I was smiling out of happiness and no I wasn't a masochist.
I was smiling beneath the mask because, because I had won, The battle was hard and by no means pleasant but victory felt amazing.
[VICTORY!]
Opponent Defeated: Crimson Reaver
Match Summary:
Time Elapsed: 7 minutes 42 seconds
Opponent Rank: Novice (Mid-Stage, 36%)
Element: Blood
A new prompt appeared:
[Updating Status…]
My stats flickered on screen, showing a small but satisfying change:
Rank: Novice (Early Stage, 18%)
Wins: 1
Losses: 0
Current Matchmaking Bracket: Novice
Honestly 1 Win didn't seem that impressive but I had done it I won!
And hey technically I was undefeated.
Kai the Undefeated!
Pov Shift
Far far away from kai lay a VR pod a small, dimly lit room filled with tools and gadgets and even weaponary.
The pod slid open with a sharp hiss, revealing the Crimson Reaver.
Or rather, the person behind that avatar.
The figure stepped out, his appearance startlingly similar to his virtual self wild crimson hair, sharp features, and an undeniable air of arrogance. But there was one key difference.
He was short. Very short.
The imposing, muscular frame from the arena was replaced by a stout, broad-shouldered body. His height barely reached the top of the VR pod.
A dwarf.
The Crimson Reaver or whatever his real name was stomped away from the pod, muttering to himself. His crimson eyes still glowed faintly, suggesting a trace of mana infusion even outside the virtual space.
"That wannabe," he snarled, his voice tinged with disbelief and outrage. "Some nobody with a book and a tiny sword took me down? ME?!"
He kicked the side of the pod with a satisfying clang, though the metal barely dented.
"I was this close!" he yelled, gesturing wildly as though explaining his failure to an invisible audience. "Who even fights with a book? And that stupid mask ugh!"
He paced back and forth, his frustration palpable. Passersby a mix of students and VR attendants gave him a wide berth, clearly familiar with his temper.
"I'll find you, Spectator," he growled under his breath, glaring at nothing in particular. "You're not getting lucky twice. Not against me."
With one last muttered curse, he stomped away, his diminutive form casting a surprisingly large shadow under the dim fluorescent lights.