As Adrian Vale and Raven Shaw reached the wasteland region, the internal free-for-alls in the real world were still unfolding at full intensity.
Miracle Nation's Free-for-All had already been the talk of the globe, so it was only natural that Eastern Isles wouldn't be left out. The powerhouses who'd been especially active during the Nation Gate disaster were now fully stepping onto the stage, showing the world what they could really do.
"Of course! Our Eastern Isles is the strongest nation on all of Blue Star!"
"If our Free-for-All is already this vicious, the real Blue Star Deathmatch is going to be even better!"
"I can already see other nations getting butchered by our strongest contestants!"
"In the final fifty Deathmatchers, Eastern Isles will take ten spots—easy!"
"Ten spots? You mean all ten of your contestants make it through?"
"Wake up and stop dreaming. Go watch Miracle Nation's brawl arena."
"Heh. When the real Deathmatch begins, you'll finally understand the gap."
"Oh! Look—this is the contestant I'm backing! He's unbelievably strong!"
As if responding to the flood of comments, the broadcast cut to the contestant in question.
Just like Dragon Nation and Miracle Nation, Eastern Isles had its own studio program. With a few quick introductions, the audience latched onto a familiar name.
Ashina Isshin.
From appearances alone, he looked like a frail old man in his seventies or eighties—and even among the elderly, his frame was unusually thin, almost skeletal. A plain white kimono hung off his body, making him look even more fragile, like a stiff breeze could topple him.
Even some Dragon Nation viewers who'd wandered into the stream couldn't help reacting.
"Damn… an old man that age is still joining?"
"Did he pick wrong or something…?"
"Why does he remind me of Zhang Zhiwei?"
"Not gonna lie, he looks even weaker than Zhang Zhiwei."
"Still… that katana at his waist looks legit."
"Ashina Isshin… why does that name feel familiar?"
Most outsiders didn't know him.
But in Eastern Isles, those four characters carried real weight—especially for anyone with a few more years behind them.
A legend.
The Sword Saint of Eastern Isles.
A name that belonged to myth.
So when Ashina Isshin appeared, the shock was immediate—not because he was strong, but because he shouldn't even be alive.
"Holy—Ashina Isshin?! Why is he here?!"
"Didn't he die ages ago?! How is he still breathing?"
"With Lord Ashina here, we're guaranteed to win!"
"Careful. Look at him—he's too old. How much strength can he possibly have left?"
"Times have changed, too."
"Trust the Sword Saint! A legend like him won't fall so easily!"
The contestants inside the arena had heard the name as well. And when they saw him standing there—old, thin, and surrounded by enemies—something ignited in them.
Not fear.
Excitement.
Anyone who chose to enter a Free-for-All wasn't ordinary. They were elites in their fields. And defeating Ashina Isshin—even in old age—would be a trophy no one could deny.
The crowd around him grew thicker, voices lowering into greedy whispers.
"See that old man? That's Ashina Isshin."
"The Sword Saint… I can't believe he's still alive."
"How many decades has it been? Is he immortal or what?"
"No way. Look at him—he's clearly at the end of his rope."
"Then why show up here? In this state? What a joke."
"Maybe he knows he doesn't have long left, so he came here to end it on his own terms."
"Yeah. Peaceful times don't give a Sword Saint a stage."
They talked, but no one moved first.
Everyone wanted the glory.
No one wanted to be the one who got cut down proving the Sword Saint was still the Sword Saint.
Ashina Isshin didn't react at all—face calm, eyes half-lidded, still as a pond.
But when the ring of bodies fully closed around him, the livestream chat grew impatient.
"Everywhere else is fighting like hell—what is this, a zoo exhibit?"
"Stop talking and swing already!"
"What are you waiting for?! Go!"
"Bunch of cowards—want it, but too scared to take it."
"If you're men, then get in there! Stop hesitating!"
As if answering the taunts, someone finally stepped forward.
A lean man, nearly 1.7 meters tall—above average for Eastern Isles, but still shorter than Ashina Isshin's near-1.8-meter frame. Like Isshin, he wore a katana at his waist. The stance was practiced. The gaze was sharp.
He bowed, respectful.
"Sword Saint. I've heard your name my entire life."
Ashina Isshin didn't respond.
The man continued anyway, voice steady with reverence.
"I've admired you for years. Today, being able to meet you at last… I ask that you guide me."
"Ha."
Before Ashina Isshin could reply, the man drew his katana.
The craftsmanship was exquisite—ornate to the point of arrogance. The hilt and sheath carried flame-like crimson patterns, and the blade itself seemed to hold a red glow along its spine.
He admired it once more, then lifted his chin.
"Sword Saint, this is the blade I treasure most. If I weren't forced into this brawl, I would never have brought it out. I wonder—what about your sword?"
At last, Ashina Isshin sighed.
His voice was quiet, yet it carried clearly.
"Flashy… and useless."
The livestream erupted.
"Did he just call it useless?!"
"That's Firefly Radiance! He called Firefly Radiance useless?!"
"Is he really the Sword Saint? How can he not recognize a good blade?"
"Firefly Radiance is the strongest katana in Eastern Isles!"
"Maybe he hates fancy weapons. His era didn't have craftsmen like this!"
"Ah… so he really is just a relic of the past."
"Sword Saint! Times have changed!"
The man gripping Firefly Radiance went rigid. Then his anger flared.
That blade wasn't just a weapon to him—it was pride. Status. Proof.
And Ashina Isshin dismissed it with two words.
His respect cracked.
"Since the Sword Saint says that," he forced out, "then what about your blade?"
Ashina Isshin only shook his head, indifferent.
That quiet dismissal was the spark.
The man stopped holding back. Firefly Radiance carved a streak of crimson light across the air as he launched forward.
"Enough talk! Sword Saint—let's settle this with our blades!"
Ashina Isshin's expression didn't change.
Not even slightly.
Then—
Shing.
A crisp ring.
The sound of Ashina Isshin drawing his sword.
In that instant, the air turned heavy.
A sharp, suffocating killing intent flooded outward, as if the draw itself had carved a line through the battlefield. From a body that looked so weak, it was impossible—yet every contestant nearby felt their breathing seize.
And in the challenger's mind, a single word rose in blood-red clarity.
Death.
Ashina Isshin's katana slid fully free.
Unlike Firefly Radiance, it was plain—no decoration, no shine. Blade, hilt, sheath: all a dull gray-black, like an old tool worn down by years.
Yet for some reason, that ordinary-looking sword made the challenger's heart tighten.
Ashina Isshin lifted the blade overhead.
A basic stance.
A basic cut.
No tricks. No flourish.
Only the simplest downward strike—refined by day after day, year after year, until "simple" became terrifying.
The challenger snapped back at the last moment, yanking his blade up into a horizontal guard.
Clang!
A sharp impact rang out.
Ashina Isshin's sword rebounded upward.
But the challenger's hands went numb from the shock of the force behind it.
This… is the strength of an old man?
Then he saw it—
a clean notch cut into Firefly Radiance.
His pride, chipped in a single exchange.
The livestream exploded again.
"Did you see that?!"
"That's the Sword Saint!"
"Too fast—I can't even track it!"
"But that challenger's strong too—he reacted in time!"
"Anyone else would've been done!"
Before the comments even settled, Ashina Isshin cut again.
And again.
And again.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
The strikes came like lightning—each one slamming down on the exact same spot.
The notch widened with every impact.
Only then did the challenger understand.
It wasn't just speed.
It wasn't just strength.
It was control so precise it felt inhuman.
The surrounding contestants—both in the arena and behind screens—fell silent, stunned by the brutal simplicity of it.
The challenger's mind finally broke away from arrogance.
He felt the gap.
And with the gap came terror.
He knew the rule: if he shouted surrender, he would be teleported out and returned to Blue Star. Even death wasn't permanent.
But pain was.
And the "experience" of dying—once—was more than enough.
He opened his mouth to surrender—
But Ashina Isshin moved as if he'd already seen the thought.
A pale streak of steel came down without hesitation, and his voice cut through the air, calm and absolute:
"Fool… hesitation is defeat."
This time, there was no crisp clang.
Crack.
A blade snapping.
Under Ashina Isshin's repeated pinpoint strikes, Firefly Radiance finally broke.
And Ashina Isshin's sword didn't stop.
It continued down into the challenger's unprotected body.
One clean cut.
The man split in two.
Ashina Isshin flicked the blade, blood scattering across the stone.
"Good."
He sheathed the sword as naturally as breathing, as if none of it mattered.
The two halves hit the ground with dull thuds.
And in the challenger's last flicker of awareness, the words echoed again and again:
Hesitation is defeat.
The contestants around them dispersed without needing to be told. They found other fights, other targets—anything that wasn't standing too close to Ashina Isshin.
Ashina Isshin himself seemed bored now, eyes half-closed, posture unmoving as a mountain.
The Eastern Isles broadcast cut again.
This time, it landed on another contestant already introduced by the studio:
Kishou Arima.
He wore a white coat, with white hair, and even his glasses reflected pale light. From head to toe, he looked like he'd been carved out of snow.
Only his weapon was different—
a spear as black as ink.
Arima moved through the battlefield like a white phantom. Every shift brought a burst of blood.
"Holy—this guy is ridiculously handsome!"
"Three minutes. I want his full file."
"The show said his name is Kishou Arima—he's from some official secret organization."
"Of course they won't tell us which one. It's secret."
"Doesn't matter. I'm here for the face."
"Not just handsome—his strength is insane!"
Arima, naturally, couldn't hear any of it.
He kept weaving through the crowd, spear flashing.
Shhk! Shhk! Shhk!
His figure blurred, impossible to lock onto.
Pff! Pff! Pff!
The black spear left afterimages like a shadow sliding across snow—silent, cold, lethal. No one knew what it was made of. It didn't seem metallic, and it didn't resemble any known composite material, yet it was unbelievably hard—and frighteningly sharp.
Some viewers thought they'd seen the spear "transform" from a briefcase.
The guesses immediately spiraled.
"What is that spear? It looks insane."
"I swear it came out of his briefcase."
"Is that high-tech? Does Eastern Isles have tech like that?!"
"Did Eastern Isles surpass Miracle Nation in tech?"
"It has to! That weapon is proof!"
In truth, the spear's real name was Quinque: IXA—a weapon forged through special means, something Miracle Nation couldn't replicate.
At least, not yet.
As more contestants witnessed Arima's strength, they began fleeing instinctively.
"What is wrong with that guy?!"
"What even is that weapon?!"
"No—this isn't someone we can handle! Run!"
"Run! Run!"
Arima didn't chase.
He looked bored. Almost indifferent.
He adjusted his glasses, then the black spear shifted and returned to its briefcase form.
Back in the Divine Domain: Forbidden Zone—
Adrian Vale and Raven Shaw had been searching through the wasteland for a long time.
And finally, Adrian's patience snapped.
"Old woman. We've already been here once."
Raven froze, then looked away awkwardly.
She flipped the Rustic Peerless Treasure Map back and forth, comparing it to the terrain, frowning hard.
"That's impossible. The map clearly points this way… What is going on?"
Adrian didn't even know what to say.
They had been in the wasteland for a while now, and under Raven's lead, they'd been looping in circles.
People had always assumed Raven was the type who never miscalculated.
Now, the livestream had a field day.
"Not gonna lie… Boss Raven is kind of airheaded."
"How did I never notice? Look at her turning the map around—did she hold it upside down?"
"That's actually… totally possible."
"Boss Raven being airheaded is adorable."
"Is this what they call gap-moe? That contrast is lethal."
"But Adrian and Raven have been looping for a while. Something feels off."
"Are we about to hit a terrain trap again?"
"Could be. That treasure map leads to something tied to an SSS+ item. No way it's not dangerous."
Raven was starting to get genuinely frustrated.
She was following the direction marked on the map.
And yet, ever since they entered this wasteland, they kept going wrong.
It was bizarre.
And Raven wasn't stupid.
At this point, she could feel something was wrong.
Adrian felt it even more clearly.
They weren't taking the wrong route.
They had entered something like a field—something like an illusion.
The questions piled up silently.
When did they enter?
Why did they enter?
How had they failed to notice at first?
And now… how did they get out?
Adrian opened his mouth again.
"Old woman—"
Bzz… bzz… bzz…
A continuous buzzing suddenly rose from all directions.
And then—
the world around them lurched.
Boom!
Shhk! Shhk! Shhk!
"Watch out!"
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