The Gods’ Gacha Game: Return of the God-King Chapter 70: Duel to the Death Part II

I launched into the offensive without hesitation as the storm gathered around my blade.

“Windstorm!”

The blade shrieked as compressed air exploded from the edge, tearing toward Graham in a spiraling blast. He raised his sword to block, but the sheer force of the wind slamd into him like a battering ram, driving him backward with a grunt as shallow cuts blood across his arms and torso.

I didn’t give him ti to recover and spamd the skill. “Windstorm! Windstorm!”

Two more howling arcs followed—one horizontal, one diagonal—crisscrossing through the arena in furious bursts. The air howled around us as the repeated waves of pressure kicked up dirt and debris, forcing Graham to brace himself behind his greatsword. His coat whipped violently in the gale, and he looked increasingly unsettled and more injured.

[Desperate Willpower Lv.8] has activated.

Your combat power has increased by 24%.

I blinked at the notification. My will to win must’ve been so desperate that the skill triggered on instinct, even though I wasn’t in imdiate danger.

“What the hell—?!” Graham gasped, staggering under the force. “What kind of skill is this?! How can you use it without any cooldown or repercussions?!”

I didn’t answer and simply watched as Graham’s feet slipped across the torn-up arena floor, his body struggling to stay upright, much less getting close to . The relentless wind kept battering him, grinding against his defenses. Shallow cuts continued to open across his arms, legs, and torso—one after another.

These wounds were nothing individually, but even a thousand paper cuts could bleed a man dry.

But still, I wasn’t done yet.

“Grant Plausibility.”

You have used Grant Plausibility.

You have temporarily altered the terrain.

Air currents are now amplified three tis around the caster’s position.

Movent speed increased by 30% within the affected zone.

A total of 104 Plausibility has been consud.

The mont I activated it, the ground beneath began to tremble, and gusts of wind spiraled upward, concentrated around my position like an invisible do. The air wrapped around like an ally answering a battle cry, lifting dust and swirling debris as the zone transford into a vortex of sharpened wind.

To Graham, it must’ve looked like I’d cast so kind of area-based spell.

“Tch! So you’re a mage too now?” he spat, eyes narrowing. “I see… hiding spells behind swordplay. A Battle Mage? No, a Spellsword? No wonder you’ve lasted this long; you must have advanced to Giml rank and buff yourself with a spell.”

I didn’t bother to correct him. Let him chase shadows and false labels while I turned the field into my weapon.

“Windstorm!” I shouted again and swung my blade, unleashing another slicing burst that scread toward him.

This ti, it struck him head-on. The blast hit with enough force to stagger him and forced him to his knees. His expression twisted in frustration as blood trickled down the side of his face.

“Damn it!” But sohow, he forced himself up, gritting his teeth as he raised his greatsword through the roaring gale. “Blade Echo!”

Suddenly, three phantom slashes erupted from the ground beneath him, tearing through the lingering wind and hurtling toward like spectral guillotines, disrupting the storm and turning my own domain against .

But I had already seen his attack and moved away. Thanks to the wind-enhanced zone and my bolstered stats, the phantom slashes missed entirely, cutting nothing but air. They carved through where I’d been an instant earlier, trailing behind like angry echoes chasing a ghost. I sidestepped the last with ease, my body gliding like it weighed nothing.

“Wind Rush!” I shouted, closing the distance in a blink.

Before his phantom slashes faded, I was already behind him. He whirled around just in ti to catch the glint of my blade.

“Heavy Slash!”

The impact landed cleanly against his side, tearing open a wide gash. Graham flinched, gritting his teeth as blood splattered across the arena floor. However, I didn’t stop with just one attack. I kept attacking, one strike after the other. Quick, deliberate slashes carved shallow lines across his coat and arms, whittling him down piece by piece.

Graham snarled and swung his greatsword broadly, but I was already gone, circling him like a predator teasing its prey. I stayed just outside his reach, attacking between his movents, never giving him a chance to recover. While my attacks weren’t lethal on their own, they added up. Cut after cut. Wound after wound.

It was only a matter of ti before he bled out.

He must have felt the humiliation seeping in—the way I was treating him not as a threat, but as at. His expression twisted with rage and sha, so contorted with fury that I was certain it would leave a permanent frown line across his face.

“ENOUGH!!” An ear-deafening roar erupted from Graham’s mouth, causing to wince.

You have been afflicted with Lion’s Roar.

You are stricken with fear.

All stats have been temporarily reduced by 20%.

Movent speed decreased by 50%.

Your body has montarily frozen up and is unable to move.

What? A debuff skill?!

I tried to move, but my limbs locked up, refusing to obey. My breath caught in my throat, legs rooted to the ground as an overwhelming pressure bore down on like a predator’s gaze. It felt like a force of domination crashing into my mind, a tidal wave of sheer killing intent.

Across from , Graham stood on his feet while blood was dripping down his torn armor. And yet, his presence hadn’t diminished in the slightest. His eyes burned—not just with fury, but with a cold, calculated hunger.

“Thought you could humiliate , didn’t you?” he growled, stepping ever closer. “I’ve killed many stronger opponents than you in the scenarios.”

He dragged his greatsword behind him, carving a long line into the dirt. My muscles still refused to listen. My heart pounded violently in my chest, but my body felt paralyzed.

I gritted my teeth. Move… damn it, MOVE!

One Who Conquered the Impossible’s effect has activated.

All your reduced stats have returned to normal.

“Die!” Graham roared, lifting his blade high above his head, ready to cleave down in a single swing.

You are no longer frozen in place.

In a split second, I kicked off the ground and stepped back just as the blade ca crashing down. I narrowly avoided the worst of it, but a thin, stinging cut opened across my torso—blood trailing down my side.

I barely had ti to register the pain before Graham attacked again, this ti driving a brutal kick straight into my chest.

“Gahh—!”

The impact knocked the wind out of completely. I was sent flying into the air, my vision flickering as my ribs flared with pain. It felt like a good few seconds passed before gravity reclaid and I hit the ground hard, face-first. My sword, torn from my grip, clattered across the dirt and stabbed into the ground a few ters away.

Fuck! It hurt so much!

My limbs trembled as I tried to push myself up while feeling sweet liquid on my throat. My thoughts were hazy, like smoke curling around the edges of a fire about to go out.

Graham’s heavy footsteps approached, each one sending vibrations through the ground.

“If only… I can restrain him…” I muttered, my voice barely coming out.

Then I ca to realize sothing as I clenched the dirt on the ground.

“Grant Plausibility.”

You have used Grant Plausibility.

You have altered the terrain.

The ground beneath has been imbued with a command concept and will follow your every command for ten minutes.

A total of 65 Plausibility has been consud.

The earth around shimred for a very brief mont. Just as Graham stepped closer to deliver the finishing blow, the dirt beneath his feet pulsed, then erupted. Dozens of jagged stone tendrils shot upward, spiraling around his legs and snapping shut like the jaws of a trap. They coiled around his boots and calves, locking him in place.

“What?!” Graham widened his eyes in surprise.

He thrashed with everything he had, breaking several of the stone tendrils with raw force. But for each one shattered, more erged below, thicker and stronger. The ground churned beneath him like a quicksand made of stone. And even Graham—wounded, bleeding, and drained from our clash—couldn’t escape it.

The terrain dragged him downward, inch by inch, anchoring his legs deeper into the earth. The strength left in his body was being sapped away with every heartbeat until he was completely trapped.

I coughed hard, blood flecking the dirt around as I pushed myself up to my knees. My arms trembled, but my eyes remained locked on my sword, still embedded in the earth a few ters away. Now’s my chance…

With a painful grunt, I forced myself upright and staggered toward the blade. Each step felt like a marathon, pain flaring in my ribs and lungs, yet I didn’t stop. I wrapped my fingers around the hilt and tore the blade free from the earth. The wind whistled around again, as if sensing my resolve.

I turned back to Graham, who was still struggling to free himself, and walked toward him. He glared at with a mix of fury and desperation, his gaze sharp enough to cut, as if willing to die through sheer hatred.

Flinch I did not.

“Fantasia is better without you,” I said coldly. “Now, die. Heavy Stab!”

With a roar, I drove the blade straight toward his chest. The impact tore through his weakened armor and plunged deep. Blood sprayed from the wound, and a pained scream ripped from Graham’s throat. His eyes widened in disbelief, fear overtaking rage as blood spilled from the corners of his mouth.

“No… Don’t…” Graham pleaded before his expression suddenly turned 180 degrees. “You thought I would plead like that? I dare you to kill !”

“Crazy bastard.” Seeing that he was not dead yet and instead went insane, I poured my last remaining mana into Howling Edge and shouted, “Windstorm!”

A burst of slicing wind detonated from within his body, erupting outward in a cyclone of blood and pressure. The earth holding him shattered from the blast, but so did he. His body convulsed as the internal storm shredded through him, tearing his flesh and muffling his scream.

Then silence.

Graham slumped forward, limp, the light in his eyes already gone.

It seed that I had finally won.

The once-silent crowd erupted into cheers, their voices echoing through the Grand Colosseum. The divine warriors roared in triumph, while Graham’s followers stood frozen in despair, their faces pale with disbelief as they saw that their big boss had fallen.

But just as I turned around and thought that everything was over, Graham’s slumped body—no, his corpse—trembled. Monts later, impossibly, it rose. And as his head tilted upward, a third eerie black eye split open vertically on his temple. It stared directly at , unblinking and brimming with sothing ancient and hateful.

A low, wet rasp escaped Graham’s throat, like lungs reanimating after drowning.

“You… thief…”