Sikhail GodFiend’s opponent was well-rounded. As a warrior, they applied themselves not offensively but supportively by generating momentum. At maximum velocity, they could freely bypass their internal limiters by zeroing out all thoughts and focusing only on their speed.
Sikhail had dormant instincts, methods, and techniques. All of this was on top of his acquired wisdom. These things could be taught or experienced in some shape or form. He simply adapted them to his own style. Physical muscles and unique physiques were things that were built from the ground up or were born into. They could not be given away.
He was now in an unfavorable position because his opponent had exceeded his physical limit by a significant margin. If he was previously in a one-on-one, it suddenly became a two-on-one. Luck wouldn’t cut it.
He was deep in thought as he remembered something. Many ACEs were dual-wielders, their guns of ordinary build and shape. A few stood out. The design, no, the material, was quite exquisite. He remembered one in particular. It was rather inconspicuous when not in use and spectacularly exotic when transformed.
The barrel closest to the phantom was made of flames that imitated real fire. The one opposite shifted between planes. The last one on top was leaking spatial fluctuations as though hiding something incredibly terrifying.
At the same time this happened, his suit seemed to have developed an aura, forcing the crowd to retreat.
“This… what’s going on.”
“This isn’t OverDraw. This is pure intimidation.”
“I wonder what’s on that fella’s mind.”
That *fella* was currently feeling tremendous unease.
It was expected that the newcomer would fall into despair and hopelessness. Who wouldn’t feel the same fighting an unknown opponent? Born into a low middle-class family, he was ecstatic to learn he was a Warrior. Life had always been a struggle. He was always ostracized. He didn’t expect that to be eased in the military. In some cases, he expected far worse. What he wanted was a chance to rise using his own ability.
Alas, reality was cruel. His non-existent sense of balance meant he was terrible with guns. He immediately became a *Bronze Detractor*. Crestfallen that he had no offensive value, he shifted his focus to defense and support. Hard work, training, and self-discovery opened up a new path for him as he advanced to the ranks of a Tier 2 Warrior-Rogue. The way he applied himself as a Rogue allowed him to turn his utility as a tank into something more offensive, resulting in others giving him the nickname *Bull-Dozer*.
His fame skyrocketed as he became a star rookie overnight, becoming a *Gold Essential*.
Currently, he felt an urgent sense of crisis. He had long noticed the strange behavior of the battle-suit. It was highly likely to be related to some unknown feature. This was not a good thing. Whatever came to fruition would not be favorable to him. Committing himself to a decision, he took a deep breath and threw out his trusty *Steam-Roller*.
It applied everything he knew about trait stacking. The force was equivalent to a collision with a sports car cruising at 250 mph.
The unease in his heart rose dramatically as strange handguns materialized. The design was exquisite and of unknown origins, slightly different from the one he had used before. It was otherwise ordinary in look and feel.
The unease turned into horror when the newcomer suddenly opened their eyes and tapped the trigger. Horror turned into despair as the chamber of the gun pointed at him…
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This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
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His mind lulled slightly as he thought, *transformed*.
Many tongues of flames were jumping at him, even as something tried pulling him into alternate dimensions. There was even the feeling of a formidable existence intent on tearing him to shreds if he got too close. He strained his muscles, forcibly shifting his angle at the last second. His knuckle grazed the lip of the barrel as it raced toward its target. It receded almost as fast as it appeared, causing him to doubt himself. At the same time that he landed his punch, an odd sensation hit his chest. He coughed but didn’t back down. Confused, he looked up only to feel a chill go up his spine.
The impact from his punch was nowhere to be seen. The newcomer stood there, calm and expressionless.
He wasn’t weak. His opponent had done something. He racked his brain but didn’t know what. Projectiles, let alone static objects, could not penetrate his battle-suit as it gained momentum. The force of his punch deflected most things. Very little explained how it was being countered.
Undisturbed, he continued circling the newcomer, entering dead angles before throwing out a punch. The newcomer dodged out, firing more shots at him. As the battle of attrition continued, the number of punches landing continued to fall, frustrating him. The punches that did land seemingly had no effect. Despite the situation, he kept persevering.
Eventually, he noticed something. The handgun had transformative qualities, but only when a shot was fired. With such a specific requirement, grinding the match out for so little return was not worth it. He stopped the match shortly after realizing that.
“Cadet Sikhail GodFiend. Initially, I was confident, but you seem to have a few surprises up your sleeve. I’m unable to land any meaningful punches. I admit defeat. Can you tell me a little about your gun? I feel like there’s something special about it.”
“It was a good duel. To be honest, I was going to admit defeat. I had a sudden epiphany that let me overcome a tough situation. My gun is weird… possessing its own intentions and purpose. I envy those with reliable weapons,” Sikhail explained vaguely, smiling.
The crowd was stunned. A gun that had its own intentions? If it won fights for him, how was that a bad thing? It seemed like he was hiding something important, but it was inappropriate to probe further.
“How confident are you about completing the assignment?”
“Even if I lost the first duel, I would’ve completed the assignment. If I didn’t chance upon an epiphany, I would’ve admitted defeat to you. Now, I want to see my limits,” Sikhail said ambitiously.
“Everyone, let’s take a break. Cadet Sikhail GodFiend has been in thirteen consecutive battles since coming in. He’s most likely famished. Let’s refresh ourselves before resuming,” a deep voice announced from within the crowd.
This was the same voice from earlier. It was domineering yet charismatic. Nobody had any complaints.
Sikhail grabbed salmon sushi, a tuna sandwich, and soda-flavored drinks. He operated the machine after watching others do it. He found a seat and leaned into it. As he took big gulps, he thought back to the handguns that were in his hands when he opened his eyes. They were not necessarily replicas or relics from a forgotten era but an artisan master-craft set, hot out of the forge, custom-fitted for him.
The original design was made by an ACE leagues above his peers. The first gun, named *Tri-Barrel Dimensional Shaper*, was meant to be the offensive half.
While the original design was built using arcane materials, his version was crafted with transformative elements of unknown origins. This meant that he did not have to rebuild it if he ever needed an upgrade. It would scale and adapt to his growth.
It had a unique ability called *Synch* which had a unique style. According to its designer, Sync was a more complex version of stack, compounding using domino theory. In his hands, it had a qualitative effect. The main theories between the two specializations would merge, creating an entirely new concept.
This was how he defeated his opponent.
He originally entertained the idea of three guns, but it was impractical in inferior ways.
Fifteen minutes quickly went by as the 14th opponent jumped up on stage. She had a formidable aura that was incomparable to the others. With the Shaper by his side, he wasn’t worried.
He easily defeated her and the 15th, 16th, 17th, 18th, 19th, and 20th opponents.
His 21st opponent, Joe, was in disbelief. The fight lasted 30 minutes, ending with his loss. He walked away from the stage, muttering in low spirits.
When the 21st opponent stepped up, he admitted defeat. He could not see through his opponent, Sophia, at all.
Although she was disappointed, she gave him high praise. Most Cadets would not even get through the 1st opponent, much less the 11th, let alone the 20th. They were dumbfounded into disbelief, but that was due to their expectations of him versus the reality he gave them. His current ability did not feel very threatening to them.
The last 5 opponents gave him many tips, encouraging him to look for them in the future when he got stronger. They reminded him that they were just ants to the seniors above them. They exchanged contact information before parting ways.