The crowd in the stands was riding an emotional rollercoaster.
After the initial shock wore off, as Rune’s repeated hair-raising dodges and the Terrene Drake’s repeated clumsy wall crashes played out over and over, the original frenzy began to cool. In its place rose impatience and a restless craving for more intense action.
“Damn it! Are you just gonna keep dodging?! You little fraud!”
“Face him head-on! Mage! Blast it with your fireballs!”
“Terrene Drake! You brainless idiot! Aim properly! Bite him to death!”
“Boring! Too fucking boring! This isn’t what we came to see!”
“Fight! Fight like a man! Stop running!”
Boos, curses, and impatient urging rose again like a tide.
To them, skillful evasion was exciting at first—but after enough repetitions, it grew stale.
What they hungered for was flesh-tearing head-on clashes, magic slamming against claws, the brutal instant where life and death were decided!
Not this seemingly endless game of “cat and mouse.”
“Hahaha! See that?! See that?! I told you! What courage? What theory!” The ice-mage adventurer Vark—who had clashed with Rune earlier—was practically jumping in his seat. His face was flushed with manic excitement and a twisted sense of vindictive pleasure as he screamed toward the arena, voice hoarse but carrying over the din despite not standing out. “Lecturing me about experience? About weak points? And now?! Facing a Tier 1 Terrene Drake, what good is your pathetic little ‘weak-point knowledge’?! Is your ‘theory’ still holding up?! Huh?! Keep pretending to be calm! I wanna see how you die!”
In a corner of the stands, Ice Mage Vark’s face twisted with venom and unwillingness as he roared.
He couldn’t wait to see Rune torn to pieces in the next second—this cat-and-mouse game felt like torture and humiliation to him.
People nearby shot him strange or pitying looks, but he didn’t notice.
Yet in the arena, Rune had completely walled off all external noise.
His world consisted only of his own ragged breathing, the pounding of his heart, aching muscles, and the pair of scarlet-mad beast eyes opposite him.
He was searching.
He was waiting.
Waiting for that theoretically possible—but so far nonexistent—opportunity.
He could see the Terrene Drake had fallen into complete frenzy. Its attacks were now driven purely by rage, its openings growing larger.
But that instinctive, subconscious protection of its oral weak point remained like an unbreakable final gate.
Every time it charged to bite, that massive maw opened and closed with terrifying speed—closing like lightning, leaving no window long enough for him to precisely launch a fireball deep into its throat.
“No good…” A cold judgment formed in his racing mind, bringing a deeper wave of exhaustion.
Physical stamina was approaching its limit. Maintaining this state of absolute calm and high-speed calculation was becoming harder; the adrenaline comedown made muscle soreness and fatigue increasingly sharp.
“If this continues, that opportunity won’t appear. The Terrene Drake’s attack pattern has stabilized, and it’s gradually getting used to my evasion routes… Passively waiting leads only to death.”
“I have to… create an opportunity.” His gaze sharpened like a tempered ice pick.
“Use my last reserves of stamina… bet everything… on one gamble.”
Rune’s eyes scanned the entire interior of the beast pit like the sharpest probe, flicking in split seconds.
The view was barren—dry sand, mottled stone walls, and the cold metal structures of the distant entrance and Triumph Gate. Almost nothing else.
But when his gaze swept a certain spot near the arena’s edge, his pupils suddenly contracted!
Not far behind him, right against the wall, lay several gray boulders of varying sizes—seemingly fallen from the wall long ago or deliberately placed there.
They weren’t randomly scattered; they formed a rough, stepped “platform”: several smaller ones near the wall, about waist-high, like stepping stones;
A larger one in the middle, chest-high;
And on the outermost side, the most prominent: a massive conical boulder more than two and a half meters tall, its rough top barely wide enough for one person to stand.
The moment this crude “staircase” structure entered his vision, a flash of inspiration—like lightning in darkness—sliced through the accumulated fatigue and deadlock in Rune’s mind!
“Got it!”
No time to hesitate, no chance for a second simulation.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
In the instant the Terrene Drake’s nostrils flared with hot white breath, its hind-limb muscles coiling for yet another lethal charge—Rune moved!
He no longer retreated, no longer circled horizontally.
Instead, he spun violently, turning his back to the coiled colossus—and sprinted full force toward those stepped boulders! The distance was only a few meters; a few powerful strides brought him close!
First step: his left foot landed precisely on the smallest waist-high stone. He pushed off hard, leaping upward!
His body traced a brief arc in the air, lunging toward the second, taller rock!
Almost the exact moment his foot left the first stone—
BANG!!!
An earthy-yellow storm of violence slammed into that small stone with devastating force!
The poor rock shattered like it had been struck by a siege ram—emitting a pained crunch before exploding into fragments. Shards mixed with sand sprayed in all directions!
The impact came from the Terrene Drake—now at maximum speed, charging like a derailed war chariot!
Massive inertia carried it—and the broken stone—sliding forward, gouging a deep furrow in the sand with its dark-brown bulk.
By then, Rune had already landed on the second, larger stone.
The vibration underfoot made his body sway, but he instantly steadied his center of gravity—even without looking back at the shattered rock or the missed lunge.
His eyes locked forward—on the tallest, most prominent conical boulder!
Without a moment’s pause, he drew a deep breath. Leg muscles exploded with his last reserves of power, propelling him toward the third and final stone—one meter eight tall, its top slightly flattened!
This jump was farther and higher than before. His hands barely caught the rough, sharp edge of the top. His knuckles whitened instantly from the strain.
He clenched his teeth, arms and core working together in desperate coordination—hauling his body upward, struggling until he finally clawed his way onto the top.
He knelt gasping on the narrow summit of the boulder, then turned to look down.
Just in time to see the Terrene Drake shake off clinging debris and dust, recovering from the brief daze of wall impact.
It shook its head violently. Its amber vertical pupils—now scarlet from repeated frustration and the sight of prey “fleeing”—glowed with murderous intensity.
Without hesitation, it adjusted direction and charged again—straight toward the largest boulder where Rune now stood—with even greater savagery!
Rune’s heart clenched, but he forced calm.
The instant before the beast collided, he leaped sideways again with all his strength!
BOOM——!!!
An even more violent impact rang out!
The Terrene Drake’s thickly keratin-armored head struck the chest-high stone Rune had just occupied—like a giant hammer!
This time, even the harder rock couldn’t withstand such barbaric force. It groaned and split with several massive cracks before disintegrating into several huge fragments that tumbled away.
The Terrene Drake was also dazed by the rebound force, staggering a few steps before steadying itself, growling in fury and shaking stone dust from its face.
Rune—mid-leap—had a clear target: the tallest conical boulder, more than two meters high!
His hands caught the sharper, rougher edge of its summit again. Pain flared from cuts in his palms, but he ignored it. Below, the Terrene Drake’s roar was close enough to taste—death had never felt so thick.
With his last reserves of strength, arms and core straining in unison, he dragged himself upward again—finally gasping atop the narrow flat surface of the highest point in the arena.
The conical boulder’s top was barely half a meter square—just enough for him to stand.
Rune looked down. The Terrene Drake—crouched—stood less than half a meter at the shoulder. Even rearing up, its head still fell short of the summit by a noticeable margin.
For now… safe.
He panted heavily. Sweat streamed like small rivers from his forehead and temples, soaking his clinging clothes. His chest rose and fell violently; every breath burned like fire.
Ten-plus consecutive maximum-evasion maneuvers plus this final climb had nearly drained him completely.
But his eyes remained hawk-sharp, locked unblinkingly on the beast circling restlessly below—clawing and scraping at the boulder’s base, issuing grating screeches of frustration.
“Yes! Stay up there! Hold on, kid!” Behind the Triumph Gate, Brog and the others had already reached the control area for some time. While anxiously directing the team to operate the rusted, incredibly complex ancient gears and levers according to Old Barnaby’s instructions, he stared through the gate’s gaps at the arena, shouting hoarsely with desperate hope.
When he saw Rune successfully climb the tallest boulder, he nearly wept with relief, roaring at the top of his lungs: “Hold on! We’re already working the backup reset mechanism! Soon! We’ll be in soon to save you! You have to hold on!”
As an experienced hunting captain, how could he not see that Rune was at his absolute limit? Physical exhaustion, near-empty mana—both were pushing the boy to the brink of collapse.
Finding a high point temporarily unreachable by the beast’s direct attack was undoubtedly a lifeline in desperation—the only way to buy precious time.
Yet the blood-and-violence-fed “spectators” in the stands felt extreme dissatisfaction with this “sensible” survival tactic!
They had also keenly noticed Rune’s stamina nearing bottom—his steps heavy, his breathing audible even from afar. This was exactly the prelude they had waited for: the exhausted prey finally torn apart by the raging hunter!
But this prey had climbed onto a rock?
“Damn coward! Chicken!”
“Get down here! Fight like a man!”
“Trash! All you know is hiding!”
“You fucking said ‘theory confirmed,’ right? Your theory is just teaching you to be a turtle?!”
“Fire-spark fraud! Get down and let the Terrene Drake eat you!”
Boos, curses, and humiliating shouts poured down like sewage from every corner of the stands.
They hadn’t come to watch “hide-and-seek” or a “stamina contest.” They wanted instant life-or-death thrills, blood-and-gore visual feasts!
Rune’s “avoidance” felt to them like ruining the “glorious” climax of the show.
Neither Brog’s hopeful shouts nor the stands’ venomous tide of abuse could pierce Rune’s mental barrier—now focused solely on the razor-edge between life and death.
His world held only his drum-like heartbeat, burning lungs, trembling acid-soaked limbs, and the death-shadow circling below—desperately seeking a way to climb.
He hadn’t climbed here to prolong survival through “hiding.”
He had climbed to create an opportunity.
A true, one-shot-kill opportunity.
One that would expose the Terrene Drake’s greatest weakness directly beneath his final mana reserves.
So his gaze never slackened—like the most patient hunter—locked on the frustrated, circling colossus below, waiting, calculating.
Several minutes passed in suffocating stalemate.
The cursing in the stands grew more vicious and shrill as the “plot” stalled.
Finally, after circling the boulder base restlessly, clawing and roaring in frustration, the Terrene Drake seemed to find a “method.”
The lizard-like colossus began mimicking a climbing lizard’s posture.
Its thick, pillar-like forelimbs lifted violently. Razor claws slammed into the boulder’s rough side seam with a grating “crunch!” Then its waist, abdomen, and back muscles rippled like waves, hauling its heavy front half upward—trying to “stand”!
Crouched, the Terrene Drake stood less than half a meter at the shoulder—but once it reared fully upright, its height would far exceed two meters!
That fang-filled maw—capable of crushing rock—would reach the summit and swallow the boy hiding there in one bite!
“No—!!” Brog—watching through the gaps—felt ice flood from his feet to his scalp. His face went deathly pale. “Damn it! Why is this fucking mechanism so complicated?! Faster! Faster!”
He pounded madly at a jammed bronze gear beside him, roaring hoarsely at his sweat-drenched teammates.
......
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