Chapter 92: Should Good People Always Have Knives Pointed at Them?
"Who's there?!"
Genthru whirled around with a sharp cry.
Everyone present followed Genthru's gaze toward the cave entrance.
A young man wearing a casual T-shirt with a sword at his waist walked in from outside.
The newcomer smiled at Genthru and clapped his hands, saying, "Lying low for five whole years just for this final moment—quite the impressive scheme."
It must be said that as a villain, the Bomber Genthru was undoubtedly qualified.
Rational, cruel, selfish—without any extraneous emotions, a complete villain.
Those who are cruel to others must first be cruel to themselves, otherwise they're merely cowards.
He was the truly ruthless type, as evidenced by his five years undercover. Beyond that, Mord remembered from the original work how Genthru, in order to snatch the cards from Tsezguerra, didn't hesitate for a second before rolling the Risky Dice—a move that essentially gambled with his own life. If the dice had landed on "Catastrophe," he would have lost his life right then and there.
Someone that merciless to himself would naturally be even more so toward others.
These members of the Nickes' Alliance naively believed they could trade with Genthru to save their own lives.
But the moment they chose to compromise, they had already lost everything.
"Who are you?" Genthru looked up, his gaze fixed intently on Mord as he spoke coldly.
"Who I am isn't important. What matters is why I'm here," Mord replied with a smile.
Genthru stared at Mord, his eyes narrowing as he said in a low voice, "So it's you?"
"That's right, it's me."
...
The surrounding players had no interest in watching Mord and Genthru exchange cryptic remarks. Their primary concern at the moment was their own survival.
"What is this... Hey, what is this thing?!"
"I have one on my chest too!"
Everyone stared in horror at the bombs that had suddenly appeared on their bodies.
"Numbers—the numbers on the bombs are moving!"
They soon realized that the numbers displayed on each person's bomb were different.
"If you want to live, settle down and listen carefully," Mord explained as confusion spread among the crowd. "These bombs count down based on your heart rate. When you're excited, agitated, or physically active, your heart beats faster, and the countdown speeds up accordingly."
"The countdown starts at 6,000, which means under normal conditions, the bombs on your bodies will detonate in about an hour."
Genthru watched Mord coldly.
So what if you figured it out? The situation is already set in stone.
He sneered, "The kid's right. You have one hour left to live. But as your former comrade, I'll offer you a way out: trade the 90 specified slot cards you've collected for your lives."
"Wait, no—to be precise, it's 81 cards. I already have nine. Thinking about it, isn't that a pretty good deal? If you agree, I'll use another method to disarm everyone's bombs at once."
"And if anyone ties up this annoying guy for me, I'll remove the bomb from them too."
For a moment, a few players were swayed by Genthru's words and began moving toward Mord.
Mord almost laughed at the sight of them.
In truth, the players in the Nickes' Alliance weren't necessarily doomed.
Even if a few would die to Bomber's Little Flower, as long as everyone worked together, some would inevitably survive.
But this so-called alliance was, in reality, nothing more than a disorganized mob.
The first dozen or so to charge forward would undoubtedly die—who would sacrifice themselves for others? Even Jispa, the most skilled fighter among them, had been easily taken down by Bomber.
The outcome had already been decided at that moment.
"Are you sure you want to come at me?" Mord asked, amused.
"Don't blame us. We just want to live," a few of them replied, already brandishing their weapons.
The weak should have united, seeking warmth in each other to endure the darkness and cold.
Yet they chose to wield their blades against those even weaker.
"You fear him but not me?" Mord stretched out his hand, pointing at Genthru not far away, and spoke. "Is it because he's the great villain everyone dreads?"
"Do I look like a kind, easy-to-bully good person?"
"Should good people always have knives pointed at them?"
The corners of Mord's lips lifted, his smile growing increasingly radiant.
"I also have a way to prevent the bombs on you from exploding."
The next second.
Two streaks of crimson blood spurted out, staining the distant stone wall.
Two headless corpses collapsed with a heavy thud.
Just as Mord had said, the numbers on the bomb timers on their bodies indeed stopped counting down.
If the timer was based on heartbeats, then stopping the heartbeat directly would naturally prevent the bomb from exploding.
"See, I didn't lie to you." Mord glanced at the group of players and casually tossed the heads in his hands aside.
He turned to face Genthru and said, "Of course, there's a less bloody method."
A drop of cold sweat formed on Genthru's forehead. Mord's speed earlier was so fast that even he could only barely catch a glimpse of an afterimage.
Countless thoughts raced through his mind.
Direct confrontation was unwise; he could only rely on wit.
"The trade location is set at Battera's castle base, where the game console is. Anyone can come, but only one person is allowed."
Genthru quickly finished his sentence and shouted.
"Book!"
But the moment the Card Collection Book materialized, a flash of blade light shot out, slashing fiercely toward his hands.
He had no time to open the book and could only retreat in disarray.
"Do you think you can escape?"
Mord had been monitoring the Bomber Genthru's every move. The instant Genthru summoned the Card Collection Book, he knew the other intended to use a spell card to flee.
With a cold laugh, Mord advanced again.
At such close range, Genthru would have no time to open the Card Collection Book and use a spell.
"Seeking death!"
Seeing Mord dare to close in on him, a ferocious grin spread across Genthru's face as he swiftly thrust a clawed hand toward Mord.
"Little Flower!"
If his hands made contact, an explosion would occur.
Mord neither dodged nor evaded, instead throwing a straightforward punch—a simple, direct strike!
Genthru was already imagining the scene of Mord's right hand being blown apart.
Though the explosive power of Little Flower wasn't as great as that of a Nen bomb, it was still far beyond what flesh and blood could withstand.
He was confident his explosive ability could breach the other's Nen defense.
Even knowing his ability, this was the first time someone had chosen to confront his hands head-on.
Boom!
An explosion rang out, and Genthru laughed wildly with abandon.
But the next moment.
His smile froze instantly. The bloody scene he had anticipated did not materialize...
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