As if they were waiting for a silent signal, the two contestants stood still and observed each other. Neither rushed. Neither blinked too much. It was the kind of stillness that only existed right before violence, when both sides were busy searching for a single mistake.
Reever's posture was calm, almost lazy, but his mind was anything but. He was already measuring distance, timing, angles, and possible outcomes. His body had been through countless fights during the time throwback with the system. Battles against creatures, humans, and things that could not even be named had sharpened his instincts. His battle sense had been refined to the point where he barely needed to think about it anymore.
That was why there were almost no openings in him.
Across from him, the boss stood tall and unmoving. The stance alone told Reever enough. This was not someone who relied on brute strength alone. The way the boss held his weight, the way his grip tightened around the trident, it all spoke of experience. Hard experience.
Reever's thoughts drifted briefly to the Boeerahna kingdom. From everything he had seen so far, it did not operate like a normal nation. It was closer to a mafia structure. Power was everything. Respect was earned with blood. To rise in such a place, one had to fight again and again. Weakness was not forgiven.
The boss standing in front of him was proof of that.
The Boeerahna boss finally moved. He removed the water cigar from his mouth and flicked it aside. The cigar flew in a lazy arc before landing in the ocean. A small wave rose as if guided by a will of its own, carrying the cigar gently as though it were something precious.
Then the boss reached for his shirt and pulled it off in one smooth motion. Water slid off his skin as if it feared touching him for too long. He flexed, though the muscles were barely visible, more suggested than shown. Then he rolled his neck slowly, cracking it once, twice, before tightening his grip on the trident.
The weapon hummed faintly, responding to its master.
Reever felt the vibration through the ground.
The timer on Reever's system continued to tick down. He glanced at it without moving his head. While he had been trying to communicate earlier, trying to gauge whether this fight could be avoided, two full minutes had already passed.
That mistake irritated him.
As if sensing his impatience, the boss lifted one hand and curled his fingers inward in a clear gesture.
Come to me.
Reever snorted softly.
"It's on Tripple B," he muttered as he cocked his rifle.
Tripple B was the nickname he had come up with on the spot. Big Boeerahna Boss. Even as the thought crossed his mind, he felt a sting of embarrassment. If the old Reever B still existed somewhere in his head, he would be cursing him nonstop for such a lazy name.
The boss slammed the base of his trident against the ground.
The sound was thunderous.
The ocean answered.
Water surged upward, twisting and compressing in midair. In seconds, dozens of condensed water bullets formed around the boss, each one sharp and dense enough to pierce steel.
With nothing more than a thought, they fired.
Reever reacted instantly. His body moved before the sound even reached him. He twisted, stepped, bent, and leaped, weaving through the storm of bullets with terrifying precision. His movements were smooth and fluid, almost graceful, like a dancer who had practiced the same steps for centuries.
Still, there were too many.
Several bullets struck him squarely. They slammed into his chest, shoulders, and arms, only to bounce off harmlessly. The cheat armor provided by the system absorbed the impact with ease.
"Damn it," Reever cursed under his breath as he kept moving. "The boss can form bullets."
More shots flew past his head.
"At least they have no firing power," he muttered. "Otherwise I would already be full of holes."
For a brief moment, a reckless idea crossed his mind. He could just stand still and let the bullets hit him, the same way Boeerahnas ignored normal bullets. Let the armor do the work.
His paranoia shut that idea down instantly.
He was not Superman. He was not invincible. He was just a man with good armor. Or a bot with good armor. Or whatever he was right now.
Either way, trusting it blindly was a good way to die again.
Seeing that the water bullets were doing nothing, the boss stopped his attack. The bullets dissolved back into the ocean, leaving the air heavy and wet. The boss tilted his head slightly and studied Reever with renewed interest.
Reever did not waste the opening.
He raised his rifle and fired.
The special water bullets shot forward with a sharp crack. Unlike the boss's attacks, these were metallic, reinforced, and packed with terrifying destructive power. They sliced through the air, aimed straight at the boss's torso.
The boss smirked.
Water surged upward again, forming a thick, rotating shield in front of him. Reever's bullets struck it and shattered into harmless fragments.
The boss did not laugh, but the confidence in his expression said enough.
He knew exactly how deadly those bullets were. He had seen what they did to his henchmen. Bodies torn apart. Limbs blown off. Death delivered in a single shot.
He was not stupid enough to test his skin against them.
"Damn it," Reever thought as he fired again.
The bullets were blocked once more.
"My skills are on cooldown. I only have my experience right now. No cover. No distance. No clean shot."
His eyes flicked around the battlefield. There was nowhere to hide. Nowhere to snipe from.
"I have to fight him head on," he continued inwardly. "Good thing sniping is not the only thing I am good at."
The boss took advantage of the moment. He extended his trident toward the ocean, and the water responded eagerly. It twisted and condensed again, but this time it did not form bullets.
Instead, long bluish spears emerged one after another. They hovered in the air, sharp and vibrating with pressure.
Reever barely had time to react.
One spear vanished from the air and reappeared directly in front of him.
It slammed into his chest.
The impact threw him backward several steps. Though the armor absorbed the damage, the shock still rattled him.
"Teleporting spears," Reever muttered.
Pain did not come. It never did. Pain had lost its meaning to him five hundred years ago. Even if the spear had torn his arm clean off, he knew he would only grin and keep fighting.
That was one of the strange perks of being what he was now.
More spears appeared around him, blinking into existence as if reality itself was bending to allow them through.
He dodged the first few, twisting and stepping aside, but there were simply too many. One grazed his shoulder. Another slammed into his side. The armor held, but the repeated impacts slowed him.
The boss smiled.
"Gogly guglo blgjdhgkgi gle," it shouted.
This time, Reever understood.
The words formed clearly in his mind.
You human scumbag. Continue being my punching bag. Or spear bag. I might forgive you for killing my weak henchmen.
The arrogance hit harder than the spears.
Something inside Reever snapped.
His jaw tightened. His eyes sharpened.
Five minutes remained on the timer. Five minutes, and the boss did not have a single scratch on him.
A huge wave rose behind the boss, crashing violently against the shore. The sound echoed across the battlefield.
The boss looked even happier.
Reever felt anger boil up.
"Keep laughing," he said quietly as he straightened his posture. His expression hardened, all traces of humor gone. "Just know this."
He raised his weapon and took a steady breath.
"It's your last."