Welcome to the True Man’s World – 1.12

That was something they hadn’t expected. Voices rose again behind him and around him.

"Of Ares, the god of war himself?"

"I don’t believe it."

It wasn’t as if there was much noise around, so he could catch their voices easily. The only obstacle was the cacophony they created. But if he missed something, it wasn’t of much importance anyway. They were simply shocked and scared out of their minds at the idea of being so close to a fight between champions of gods—opposing gods at that. War and the sea had much to do with each other, but only in an elemental sense.

Fire and water. In any case, just because Ronan was Poseidon’s chosen champion, now they were destined to fight to the death. How absurd. How utterly absurd.

But that was his new world, his new reality. The sooner he got used to it, the better. In his old life, he had already wasted too much time. If it were up to him, he wouldn’t waste a single second now.

"You’re not going to tell me what Ares wants, why he put you here, or how he found a replacement so quickly," Ronan said, "so there’s only one way to resolve this."

He adopted a combat stance. Max did the same, gripping the sword with both hands, taking a deep breath, steeling his strength and courage.

Whatever happened, Ronan wouldn’t back down. He couldn’t be convinced otherwise. So Max decided to provoke him.

"Actually, you have another option. You can turn around and get the hell out of here. Back to wherever you came from."

Even if I wanted to tell you, Max thought, I have no idea what Ares intends—if he has any goal beyond pure amusement. In any case, the best move was to act as if he had the answers, as if he knew. There was no point in showing weakness or uncertainty. Because, as he had said, Ronan wouldn’t back down. And certainly not now.

"Max," said Helen, behind him.

He could feel one of her hands on the cold metal of his armor. A trembling hand. Without a doubt, the girl must have feared for her life when she saw him fight the serpent. But surely, she had thought the champion of the god of war couldn’t be defeated by such a beast. She must have felt more confidence in him than she should have.

But now he was face to face with someone blessed like him. That changed things. It was natural for her to feel more fear than before.

He felt it too. The great white serpent had been a mission, but he wasn’t sure if this was part of the plan. If this was a battle he was supposed to win.

"You’re not going to make it easy for me to please my lord Poseidon, so no, I can’t." Ronan smiled sardonically. "The only option I truly have is to bring him your head as a trophy."

He said it as casually as if it were something he did every day. And maybe it was. This world was dark and cruel. It forgave neither the slightest mistake nor the smallest stroke of bad luck. In his brief stay in this world, if Max had learned anything, it was that.

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It made him want to ask: Are you like me? If Ronan was also someone from another world, granted power and a second chance, he had certainly adapted quickly to this one. But if he wasn’t, asking would only make Max seem crazy and reveal too much at the same time.

So he kept his mouth shut.

"Come here," Ronan said.

"Here? You mean into the water? Sure, no problem."

"You don’t have a way to walk on water? You must be very new. In any case, I didn’t feel like destroying this town, but what will be, will be."

Ronan walked to the shore. Max charged at him, sword raised over his head. A wall of water rose behind Ronan.

Once or twice, Max had read that, contrary to what movies showed, falling into water wasn’t very safe. When you reached a certain speed, it was like hitting a concrete wall. He had always wondered what would happen if the water came at you instead. He was about to find out violently.

Maybe he was fast enough now to dodge that torrent. He was wrong. The force of the impact felt like being struck by a gigantic hammer in the chest.

The air was knocked out of his lungs. And before he realized it, his feet no longer touched the ground. He flew backward, ten meters, maybe more, before landing again.

"You’re nothing but a rookie," Ronan said. "Killing you will be so easy I won’t enjoy it. Blame your bad luck, kid, or the god who sent you here to die."

"You arrogant bastard," Max growled through clenched teeth. "You’ve only landed one hit. It’s too soon to start celebrating."

"Oh, really? Then get up. Come on, what are you waiting for?"

Max gritted his teeth. Yes, the difference between them was clear, but that didn’t mean he was going to throw in the towel. He stood up. It wasn’t easy—his whole body hurt—but he managed it.

He wondered how many of his strikes Ronan could withstand. How close he was to leveling up. Then he realized he hadn’t received the notification that the mission to kill the white serpent was complete, along with the rewards he should have earned, despite even the serpent-scale sword disappearing from his hands.

The serpent couldn’t be more dead, yet the mission wasn’t finished. That meant Ronan was the true final boss of this quest. The damn master of that creature.

What a first quest you’ve thrown at me, Max thought. Ares, you son of a bitch! It seems you don’t want me to succeed. Champion, my ass! More like a jester.

"You can’t even stand on your own two feet!" Ronan said. "I understand the desperation. The desire to defy the inevitable. But you’re nothing to me, Max Miller. Just a fly. And I’m going to crush you. Why resist? Why prolong the inevitable?"

Max spat on the ground and flipped him off. He might not be the strongest, the most experienced, the smartest, or the most skilled. But in one thing, no one could beat him: willpower. He wouldn’t let anyone break his will.

"Fine. Have it your way."

Ronan traced lines across the water’s surface with his trident. Droplets of water rose, forming stalactite-like projectiles—spears—that shot toward Max at bullet speed. Or so it seemed.

He saw them coming, but reacting properly... he did it. He gritted his teeth, planted his feet firmly, and raised his sword to cover his head and neck, the most vital areas.

None of the bullets hit him, but he couldn’t take all the credit. He realized it instantly, and he knew Ronan would notice and wouldn’t let it go. Helen had saved him again, applying that protective barrier. Unfortunately, she had attracted that bastard’s attention in the process.

Those dead, fish-like eyes turned toward her: an elf with delusions of heroism. The bastard started walking toward her.

"Don’t you dare touch her!" Max shouted, running faster than he ever had.

He deflected several attacks with his sword—more water projectiles. In the end, a tentacle caught him by the ankle, pulling him down and knocking him over.

Max gasped, growled, frustrated. He bit his tongue. He was dragged across the ground and hurled far away. He stretched his free hand toward Helen, as if he could reach her and pull her to him, but she was too far away.

He lost sight of her when his fall was stopped by a wall. He crashed into a house, bringing down a cloud of dust and rapidly expanding debris.

He gasped, coughed, roared. The pain was nothing, the shadow of a shadow. He ran back outside, desperate, his heart pounding in his throat.