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Jishuka looked at both Alan and Regas before raising her hand. "Fight," she declared.
Both of them rushed toward each other instantly. Regas threw a punch—it was a feint. His left fist moved first to distract Alan, while his real attack ca from the right a second later.
But Alan saw through it. He stepped inside Regas's range, tilted his body slightly, and delivered a precise counterpunch straight into Regas's opening. At the sa ti, crimson flas burst from his gauntlets, dealing heavy damage.
It was the passive skill of the Red Orc Chief's Gauntlets—every successful critical hit triggered Crimson Flas, which burned the target for 100% of Alan's total attack power. It wasn't just physical or magical damage—it was based on his full attack power, making it extrely deadly.
In an instant, Regas's health plumted, and the match ended almost imdiately.
It was only natural. Martial artists possessed high attack power and speed, but their health and defense were relatively low.
Regas stood there in a daze, having lost the fight within just one exchange.
The others were equally stunned as they stared at Alan, who was calmly thinking to himself, He's still inexperienced… and that skill is an unconditional hit at this range.
'Plus, with all my titles, my critical attack power is very high,' Alan thought as he calmly said, "Next."
Regas looked depressed but stepped aside. Pon glanced at Alan before stepping forward.
"I'll fight you next," he said. Alan nodded and switched his weapon to the Tridal Trident.
I'll have to watch out for those flas that defeated Regas so easily… that's a powerful skill… huh? Pon's thoughts stopped when he saw Alan now holding a spear.
"First-rank spearman… I look forward to this fight," Alan said.
Pon narrowed his eyes. He's dangerous, he thought. As a spearman himself, he understood spears better than most. There's no opening. Alan looked relaxed, but Pon could clearly see that there wasn't a single gap in his stance.
"Do you have Advanced Spear Mastery?" Pon asked, surprising the others.
Alan simply nodded. "Hmm… yeah, I have it."
The Tzedkah Guild mbers were once again shocked upon hearing this.
"How many Advanced Mastery skills do you have?" Grid couldn't help but ask.
"Hmm… isn't that a bit inappropriate to ask?" Alan replied calmly. Grid blushed and scratched his head awkwardly.
"Anyway, let's fight," Alan said. Pon nodded in response.
Pon tightened his grip on his spear as Jishuka raised her hand.
"Fight!"
The mont her voice fell, both of them moved.
Pon's spear shot forward like lightning—fast, precise, and filled with killing intent. He didn't underestimate Alan after seeing Regas lose so easily. His first thrust aid straight for Alan's shoulder, followed by a sweeping strike ant to control distance.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Alan blocked and deflected every movent with clean, efficient technique. There were no flashy skills, no overwhelming aura—just pure mastery of timing and positioning.
He's… reading everything, Pon thought, his eyes narrowing.
Alan stepped in calmly and activated Gatling Spear.
His spear blurred.
One stab. Two. Five. Ten.
In a single second, twenty-four rapid thrusts erupted forward, each one precise and relentless. Every hit dealt heavy damage, stacking pressure without giving Pon ti to breathe.
Pon imdiately used his own spear skills, releasing sweeping arcs of energy to push Alan back—but Alan moved like flowing water, slipping through the attacks while continuing his relentless barrage.
Stab! Stab! Stab!
Forty percent of Alan's physical attack power struck again and again, each hit landing with chanical precision.
Then—
BOOM!
A sudden surge of water energy exploded from Alan's trident.
Fury of the Sea activated.
A roaring wave crashed into Pon, dealing massive magical damage and forcing him backward across the ground.
Pon staggered, trying to regain balance, but Alan didn't rush recklessly. Instead, he advanced calmly, maintaining pressure with nothing but normal thrusts and Gatling Spear—no fancy spear skills, no overwhelming abilities.
And yet
Clang!
Pon's spear was knocked aside. Alan's trident stopped inches from his chest.
Silence fell over the battlefield.
"…I lost," Pon admitted quietly, breathing heavily.
The Tzedkah Guild mbers stared in disbelief.
Even while using only two simple abilities—and fighting with a weapon outside his main specialty—Alan had completely dominated the first-ranked spearman through pure fundantals.
Alan lowered his trident casually.
"Next."
I shouldn't have expected much after getting used to fighting Piaro and Fenrir, Alan thought quietly.
Under him were monsters disguised as allies. Piaro and Fenrir fought him almost daily, relentless and rciless. Lucifer worshipped him too much to go all out, and Marie Rose preferred… different kinds of battles in bed. Yetima, the greatsword master among the Direct Descendant vampires, also pushed him to his limits whenever they crossed blades with pure technique only.
Compared to those opponents… the Tzedkah Guild still felt like rookies.
And after defeating Faker, the number one assassin… then Jishuka, the number one archer… and finally Laella, the number one fire witch—
Alan let out a small sigh.
"No… this won't do."
The remaining mbers stiffened.
Grid.
Vanter, the Guardian Knight.
Toban, the Judar Church Paladin.
Ibellin, a top-ten ranked swordsman.
Zednos, the rank one wind mage.
Alan rolled his shoulders and looked at all of them at once.
"All of you… fight together."
Silence.
"…What?" Vanter frowned.
Grid's eyes narrowed. "You're serious?"
Alan nodded calmly. "You're strong individually. But real battles aren't one-on-one duels. Co at together. Show your real teamwork."
The villagers gasped, while nearby players began recording again.
Jishuka folded her arms, watching carefully. She could tell Alan wasn't being arrogant—he was genuinely disappointed and wanted a real fight.
Grid stepped forward first, eyes burning. "Fine. Don't regret this."
Vanter planted his massive shield into the ground. Toban raised his holy mace as light gathered around him. Zednos's robes fluttered as wind currents spiraled violently. Ibellin drew his sword, stance low and precise.
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