The first to arrive were the arrows, sent by three archers, all of them utilizing grade 1 skills to augment the velocity and armor penetration, perhaps with additional effects.
Naturally, Carl saw them coming, because the rangers had to ready their weapons and grab the projectiles before they could be launched, although that didn't take long at all, the motions practiced to near perfection. But it was enough.
Last Hurrah!
Combat Insight!
It was a gamble, but Carl had to try. The moment he downed the great mana potion he had to move, as the rushed attacks were intended to merely inhibit him. He didn't expect much, and yet the gladiatorial skill amazed him – having previously bent his knees, he exploded sideways and barely dodged the arrows within the half a second that took them to cross the distance, pleased by his reaction time.
“They should not have fired in a salvo. Now it's my turn!”
He heard shouts from behind, where someone got hit in his stead, but he could not turn to look back. Two melee combatants were upon him, with two more drinking their own potions at the rear. There were also three mages, who would become a real headache if he got pinned by the vanguards. Beginner spells may not have been well-suited for pvp, but nevertheless, they had the potential to do some serious damage from up close, where they could be inflicted directly upon the victim's body by simply aiming the focusing device of choice at them, be it staff, wand or whichever else.
“Good, come at me a couple at a time, that's exactly what I need!”
Carl grabbed the masterwork combat knife and the Black Fang in hammer grip, bursting forth with monstrous acceleration at the two light-armored weapon specialists, thirsty for their blood and eager to sooth his anger by tearing them apart.
Despite their evidently high standards, the people in front of him were not worthy of acknowledgment. He had always left a margin of error, giving others the benefit of the doubt, but still – in his eyes they were pathetic cowards who picked a lazy and ignoble path for self-serving purposes, making up increasingly far-fetched excuses the deeper they devolved and eventually turning to full-fledged lies.
After all, this wasn't just a game. Roleplaying alone was often indicative of a person's character, and these guys elected to be thugs, hinting at their approval of the law of the jungle. Adding a money factor on top of that could only cement this conclusion. Carl was no fool, he knew who they were and why they came. Their nefarious intent was practically tangible.
Maybe all these PKers had extenuating circumstances, like a rough upbringing, bad company, or a financial predicament, and deep down were – or longed to be – decent folk. But they had also made a choice, surrendering to the temptation and bowing down to their weakness, thus becoming predators who deceitfully preyed on their competition rather than besting it fairly.
Sure, the game didn't forbid it – on the contrary, it opened up myriad opportunities for the big to take advantage of the small, counterbalancing this abuse with huge risks and penalties, all for the sake of excitement and flavor. The society saw nothing wrong with it, viewing VR crime as a totally valid profession, and reveling in delight from the ensuing drama.
But Carl knew better. Once more – you are what you eat, and indulgence in mischief inevitably leads to the trampling of virtue. That's why he treated every career PKer as his enemy be default, and would kill them endlessly without mercy – or at least until they proved to possess some honor, since lost unicorns in fact existed.
Remarkably, all this seemed completely normal to him by this point. His mindset, conditioned throughout the years by an excruciating yearning for justice, embraced and assimilated this new fantastical reality wholeheartedly, zealously stepping up to the challenge. The current him, trained on horrid wolves and wicked specters, feared not other players, no matter how strong and numerous.
But not in a contemptuous way – only in the spirit of a true champion!
He was a very different person now compared to a few days before, and the incident with Blood Brothers on his previous break awakened a profound hunger within him. Immortal Frontier was rapidly changing him and shaping him up, even obliterating his apprehension towards hostile pvp. For the first time …
… he was excited for it!
The interceptors, agility-type swashbucklers with a war saber in one hand and a dagger in the other, were by no means amateurs, and they came prepared to boot. Though Carl's decisive charge shocked them, they didn't lose composure – he actually did the job of stopping him for them! He really was a madman, like everyone said. Either he didn't care about dying, or he was delusional to the point where he believed himself invincible.
As if he stood a chance!
The two displayed superb teamwork, launching their skills in unison, one from the left, the other from the right, sweeping diagonally with their exquisite swords to force Carl into a corner.
“Wow, is it … superior quality? These are probably from the system shop, together with the rest of their gear. To think they'd throw away such experts' lives just to mess with me a little!”
Ultra-focused in the heat of battle, propelled by an adrenaline rush in spite of the avatar's exhaustion, Carl saw his adversaries as if in slow motion. He perceived the massive buildup of momentum in their weapons, and understood he could very well die from a single hit of this caliber.
The ankle hurt like hell, but he ignored it – this had to be done.
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The vanguards goggled mid-swing, if only for a fraction of a second. Initially, Carl moved exceptionally fast, but now … he sped up even more! Just what kind of power was that?! They had watched and rewatched his fight with the Blood Brothers and knew he used Last Hurrah, and yet they failed to predict he could have mastered it to such a ludicrous level.
Their faces betrayed bitter unwillingness, as they both got lifted off their feet and shoved back by mighty Vicious Hooks delivered to their abdomens. The only consolation for them was that Carl received one of their discontinued sword attacks to his back – albeit at an unfavorable angle, which confronted the disturbed blade length-wise with his armor, mitigating the damage to a minor cut – and simultaneously got pierced by one of their guarding daggers as he blithely rammed into it, if barely, since no skill was applied to it and the gravidon leather provided a lot of protection.
“Fenger!” some woman shouted in distress.
Though they were still alive and armed with lifesaving support in the form of Slow Bleeding and health tonics, the two swashbucklers' outlooks were grim – there was no doubt in any of the outlaws' minds that the sanguineous monstrosity before them would make quick work of their wounded companions. Their plan to swiftly assassinate their target and dash for the teleportation terminal was apparently too optimistic …
Yes, the guards would certainly catch a few of them, but there were ways to avoid jail, like committing suicide in conjunction with rebinding one's revival spot, and their anonymous client had compensated them for their whole team getting killed upfront, so any one of them escaping would be a welcome bonus.
Now, however, they had to readjust – taking Carl down had to be their sole objective, even if none of them survived! And as the guards would be upon them within moments to rescue him, having increased their patrols on the temple plaza after his last stunt, they couldn't dawdle.
But neither could Carl!
He collapsed on top of his enemies, propping himself up on a knee as they slammed into the ground. With all his mana depleted, he needed over 2 seconds for it to fully recover, so he did the only natural thing – proceeded to execute his downed opponents with regular attacks to the throat.
It wasn't his first rodeo. The intense experience of tackling black wolf prowlers came in extremely handy. Although his prey resisted, defending themselves with their own daggers, absent good leverages they accomplished very little, their skills stabbing his torso impotently and merely inflicting inconsequential bleeding, which got instantly arrested.
While brutally snuffing the desperate men out in this frighteningly real scuffle, Carl felt an incredibly vivid sensation, similar to the one from before – an instinctual repulsion to murder. But he was wise to it already, and he knew full well that it was just his subconscious, programmed to exhibit empathy in such situations. His soul, which he was deeply in touch with, was calm and composed, free of hatred or vengeance, free of all iniquity. He had no misgivings and no doubt, his movements precise and deliberate. Since they willingly chose this path …
… it was time they tasted Justice, more terrifying than anything they had ever imagined!
One arrow hit his chest and went clean through, making a mockery of gravidon leather, the second one lodged itself into his belly, where it erupted with fiery fury, shrapnel shredding his insides, and the third one whizzed by his ear, off by centimeters.
“So that's what a fragmentation arrow does?”
As his meager health zeroed out, he crushed the precious fine quality emergency capsule with his teeth, while his resolve ignited to thwart the mind-numbing pain. Whether directly or indirectly, these rangers had to be dealt with at once.
To the end!
Squeezing all the remaining strength from his enfeebled legs, he pushed his virtual body to the limits and tangled with the two other melee fighters, a dual-wielding swordsman and a spearman, and three mages right behind them, employing them as live shields. But they were more than capable of facing him on their own …
A soothing coolness of reinvigorating vitality suddenly mixed with a nauseating mental assault, subsequently followed by a skin-searing anguish and the galling tingling of an onset of muscle-cramps.
“An entropic mage and two organic mages? What is that, Confuse? Heh, these guys don't lack funding, do they? Let's see if they have any more trump cards!”
Carl wasn't delusional or naive at all, on the contrary – he stepped firmly on the ground, ever reasonable and self-critical. Belittling pros was something he didn't do out of principle, because how could he, being one himself? No, with his back against the wall, he had to go all-out if he wanted to last at least a few more seconds.
Disregarding the debuffs and scalded face with his supreme willpower, he charged at the imposing man who appeared to be the group leader, making it as difficult as possible for the mages to maintain a clear line of sight necessary for the spells to work.
“You're courting death!” the grand swordsman shouted out in English, outraged by the blatant disrespect, Last-Hurrah-empowered momentum already billowing in his right-handed blade of some bluish metal, tiny sparks dancing on its hilt where it touched the glove and a low hum indicating the presence of electric current, while the pointy left-handed one projected forward to impale Lionheart if he heedlessly run into it …
… which he did!
Jade Whirlpool's eyes widened with consternation and dread. Now he understood his opponent's unwavering confidence, which emanated righteous reprehension like a scorching laser beam, bent on dishing out just punishment to the offenders.
Did he bite more than he could chew? Was his mark today someone he should never have crossed?
Either way, it was too late for remorse.
Lionheart exploded once more with unreal acceleration, carelessly tanking the parrying rapier with his chest …
… and pushing it away with a forcefield extending in front of him!
Although not perfect, the magical aegis prevented the softened white-hot tip from puncturing the leather cuirass, and shoved the hand holding it aside, opening Jade Whirlpool's stance completely. If only he had applied a skill to it!
But he would not be given another chance. A large black fang arrived promptly, going through his elegant Chinese brigandine as if it wasn't even there, and he lost his footing, momentarily becoming airborne.
“Are we really going to lose this fight?”