Thirstfall - Memory of a Returnee Chapter 176: Cheers!

Of course. I know exactly who this man is.

The sound of the hooves triggers a synesthetic chain in my head, opening mories that had stayed buried for years. I saw him once in the trenches. What I rember most clearly is the lethality—he single-handedly took down sixteen Rank A monsters in one engagent.

Park Do-Yoon.

Before I ca back, he was the 13th on the Hadal Notoriety ranking. Known across the trenches as the ’Haunted Coachman’. Ten years from now, he reaches Rank SS. His unique class is Order S—the Aristocrat of Purgatory.

Veric is in danger. I need to warn him. I tap the comm imdiately.

"Veric. Don’t argue. Just listen. Use your defensive skill, or you die in the next ten seconds."

The horses are still taking shape, circling against the do of the sky. The day darkens into night above the arena. Four ghost-horses resolve out of the fog—pale green, translucent, life-sized—pulling a carriage of the sa ethereal nature in full scale. The detail on the spokes of the wheels is clear enough to count.

Veric glances at for half a second, straight into my eyes. He read them and took an instant to understand. Sohow he knows I’m not joking.

He flexes his knees and points his shield directly at the carriage spiraling above their heads. The carriage slows in its orbit, makes a tight banking turn, and drops toward Veric at full speed. The horses scream as they descend. The sound is wrong, unspeakably so—an animal’s voice with sothing else wearing it from the inside.

Veric braces.

"Azure Dividends..."

He calls his skill almost inaudibly. Even lower than Death’s Lantern had whispered. Veric probably did it like that because almost everyone in Thirstfall already knows the Prince of Azure’s signature ability, and a quiet activation reveals less about timing than a shouted one.

A translucent barrier materializes around him at the exact instant the carriage smashes into his shield.

I can hear his knees crack from where I’m standing. A dry, clean pop.

Veric locks his jaw. The strike is so heavy that, without Azure Dividends, he would be dead. No doubt about it.

"Veric, hold on. The attack has three hits. Three-second interv—"

I barely finish saying it before the second hit arrives.

The ground under Veric begins to give way, as if a fully loaded freight truck were ramming his shield over and over. Blood starts running from his nose. The stress on his body is climbing to unreal levels. The look in his eyes is one of complete desperation—

—and then, without warning, Veric starts to laugh.

Loud. Manic.

"HAHAHA! You owe one, Sands! You owe one big ti!"

The third and final hit lands on the shield with everything Death’s Lantern has. The protective energy of Azure Dividends cracks, fractures, and almost shatters. Even after consecutive hits from a Reef Stalker, it had never split.

My original plan with these fights was to force an attribute increase and bank so real combat experience for the team. Veric is by far the one getting the biggest gains.

The horses and the carriage dissolve into mist. Death’s Lantern is visibly exhausted, breathing heavy through his nose, his chest rising and falling with effort he isn’t bothering to hide.

Veric, on his side, is wrecked. Blood running from his nose and ears. His joints loose as jelly. He’s leaning on the shield to stay standing.

’Ti to end this. Veric can’t win this fight anymore. I genuinely don’t know what he had in mind the whole ti.’

Then Veric starts speaking on the comm. His voice is heavy, ragged, riding between breaths.

"If there’s one thing... my father taught ... before I even learned to ride a bicycle... it was how to recognize... a good product... and a good businessman... Sands, you absolute bastard..."

I don’t know how to react. I just keep watching him, trying to understand, looking for the answers in his face.

Veric straightens. Slowly. He pulls himself fully upright, wipes his nose on the back of his gauntlet, and strikes a pose so theatrical it could only belong to a man who has been raised to be looked at. He sighs once, deeply. Turns to face the crowd.

And he shouts.

"Oh, my OXI is so low I can barely stand..."

He drags the back of his gauntlet across his nose again, this ti more carefully, painting a red sar across the tal for the audience to see.

He reaches into his inventory and pulls out the small vial I gave him this morning.

He raises it to the light.

"If you want to survive the abyss trenches..." He pops the seal with his thumb. "Or just want a smoother level-up grind..." He tilts the vial back, swallows a asured drink, and holds it up for the whole arena to see.

"Lunaria Drop Potion. L-D-P. It isn’t soline juice—" he lets a beat land, "—but it tastes incredible. Try it. Coming soon to the best stores in Azure Pri."

He lifts the vial toward the bleachers in a toast.

"Cheers."

I stand at the edge of the periter pillars, looking up at him, trying to assemble the entire night in reverse.

He saw it.

The lab kit on my desk. The dropper vials. The stained sheets of test paper. The line of bone powder sachets. He stepped into my room at dawn, while I was still rebuilding myself after the Duvilin summon, and he saw the whole experint laid out across the desk like a confession. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t ask. He just understood what he was looking at, filed it, walked out, and started building his half of the play before I’d even brushed my teeth.

That’s why he didn’t refuse the mask and chose the stupid na. ’Soline Bandit’—a setup for the punchline a thousand bets from now. The trash talk that drew the largest crowd of the morning. The deliberate refusal to use the gladius, so the fight would last long enough for the entire Oathring to commit emotionally. The fake OXI line, sold loud enough to telegraph the desperate mont. The carefully placed gauntlet sar of blood.

He took three hits from Park Do-Yoon’s signature skill on purpose.

He bled on purpose.

He almost died on purpose.

For my product launch.

Veric, you absolute bastard. You’re a genius.

I let a laugh out. I genuinely cannot hold it in.

Across the ring, Veric ets my eyes through the lenses of the "bandit" mask. He gives a small, exhausted, blood-streaked smile.

The crowd roars.