Not a scratch on Arthur.1
"[Berserker's Rage]!" Oblack activated his ultimate skill, body glowing red, veins bulging with power.
Arthur's eyes gleamed beneath his hood. "Time to finish this."
He shifted stance, blade held at a new angle.
What happened next left the crowd speechless.
Arthur flowed between his opponents like water, his strikes precise and devastating. Not to wound—to disable.
The tank's shield arm went limp. Oblack's rage fizzled out. The hunter collapsed from a pommel tap to the forehead.
The rogue and Eliza fell in tandem, one from a strike to the solar plexus, the other from a leg sweep.
Four down. Only Oblack remained standing.
The scarred warrior stared in shock at his fallen allies. "How? HOW?"
Arthur turned to him. "You are weak. A weak mind fosters a weak body."
Oblack abandoned strategy for rage. He charged, his greatsword raised high.
Arthur didn't dodge. Didn't even raise his blade.
Oblack's eyes gleamed with victory. The crowd leaned forward, some covering their eyes.
"The Swordmaster isn't moving!"
Oblack's grin widened as his blade closed in. One clean strike would end this farce.
"Too arrogant for your own good!" he snarled, putting everything into his swing.
Arthur simply muttered under his breath, "Mana Coating, Iron Fortress."
No one saw it happen. No flashy effects, no dramatic light show.
Oblack's greatsword slammed down—and stopped an inch from Arthur's skin. The blade trembled against an invisible barrier, mana rippling like water where steel met magic.
"Wha—" Oblack didn't finish.
His own weapon rebounded with twice the force, ripping from his grip and spinning back. The pommel slammed into his shoulder with a sickening CRACK.
"ARGH!" Oblack collapsed, clutching his shattered collarbone.
The arena went dead silent.
"He didn't even TOUCH him!"
"The sword bounced back!"
"THAT'S our new leader!"
Oblack writhed on the ground, face twisted with pain and humiliation. One second he'd been certain of victory, the next...
Arthur hadn't even drawn blood himself. He'd let Oblack's own attack do the work.
An old veteran, who was also a player, shook his head in disbelief. "He is incredibly powerful, and he is also smart. He deserves the leadership status."
The crowd's chant began, building into a roar that shook the arena.
"SWORDMASTER! SWORDMASTER! SWORDMASTER!"
Charles stepped forward, raising his hand to quiet the still-roaring crowd.
"With that settled, I declare Swordmaster as the new player representative!"
The arena erupted in cheers again. Players were already spreading the news to those outside—how one man had defeated five elite warriors without breaking a sweat.
Charles approached Arthur, lowering his voice. "I would like to discuss the future with you. Can you come to my office?"
Arthur nodded. "Yes, but first I need to talk to the people."
He turned to face the crowd, smoothly sheathing his blade. The spectators fell silent, eager to hear their new leader speak.
"Today wasn't about proving my strength," Arthur began, his voice carrying across the arena. "It was about showing what's possible when skill and preparation meet opportunity."
He gestured to the defeated candidates, who were using health potions to regenerate.
"These warriors fought well. They'll be my deputies, helping build what we all want—a player community that thrives, not just survives."
Arthur stepped forward, connecting with the crowd.
"I make three promises: First, every player matters—level 1 or level 10. Second, we'll share information, resources, and opportunities. Third, we'll face whatever challenges come our way together, not divided."
He pointed toward the village center.
"This rebellion happened because some thought power meant control. I believe power means responsibility. My strength is your strength. Your problems are my problems."
Arthur's eyes swept across the audience.
"Now go spread the word. The age of factions and infighting is over. The age of unity begins today."
The crowd roared their approval, players already rushing to tell others what they'd witnessed.
Arthur turned back to Charles with a slight smile. "Now, we can talk about the future."
Inside Charle's office, Charles sat down at the chair and stared at the swordsman infront of him.
'I wonder what the protector will think about the recent events. I tried to settle the players down, and based on what this swordmaster did, he isn't trying to cause problems with me. So he should be able to cooperate with us smoothly.' He thought.
Before he smiled and said.
"So Swordmaster. Tell me, what are your requirements?"
"My requirements? I told you them before." Arthur smiled faintly.
"I don't think we met and spoke to that degree before."
Arthur smiled before his hands reached to his face. Before his face changed, as he took off the mask.
Charles's eyes widened in shock, his mouth falling open.
"P-protector Fateless?" he stammered, half-rising from his chair.
Arthur nodded, his true face now revealed beneath the Swordmaster's hood.
"The very same," he replied calmly, as if this revelation weren't shattering Charles's entire understanding of recent events.
"But why?" Charles asked, struggling to make sense of it all. "Why fight as the Swordmaster?"
Arthur moved to the window, looking out at the village below where players still celebrated the duel's outcome.
"Different identities means different paths of influence." He turned back to face the stunned village chief.
"Fateless the merchant controls the flow of items. And now, the Swordmaster leads the players directly. As for the protector identity? It's not time to reveal yet."
The brilliance of it dawned on Charles slowly. "You've positioned yourself at every level of power."
Arthur nodded. "A village is only as strong as its people. And people need different things from different figures."
What about Adam? Do you want to keep him imprisoned."
"Yes, keep him rotting there. When the weekly time goes, immediately extend it by another week. Don't give him a single second to react." Arthur said, his voice hardening.
"I will make sure of that personally protector…"