Chapter 39 - Who Is the Real Deceiver?

Chapter 39: Who Is the Real Deceiver?

The battered armor and twin swords, marked by the passage of time, left no doubt in Su Mu’s mind: the opponent before him was no ordinary foe.

Not every boss was as laughably weak as the Scarlet Boar King.

“Black Blade, return to my hand,” Su Mu commanded, his voice steady.

The Little Mu Ran, hovering nearby, transformed back into her true form—the Spirit-Charged Black Blade. Su Mu caught it effortlessly, his grip firm.

Without hesitation, Su Mu raised the Anti-evil Crossbow and fired a bolt directly at the Lost Warrior. The arrow struck its mark, but the results were underwhelming.

The crossbow, once unstoppable, barely scratched the surface of the Lost Warrior’s weathered armor. The damage was negligible.

Meanwhile, the Little Mu Ran, perched on Su Mu’s shoulder, trembled visibly.

This was the weapon that had ended her previous life. Even now, its aura unsettled her, stirring a deep instinctual fear.

Su Mu noticed but said nothing. He focused on the battle as the Lost Warrior retaliated, its twin swords slicing through the air with blinding speed.

The sheer swiftness of the attack caught Su Mu off guard.

Thus far, he had relied on ranged combat—efficient, safe, and deadly. But against a foe like this, close combat was unavoidable.

“Necromantic Control,” Su Mu murmured, activating one of his skills.

He knew the Glass Bracer’s defensive ability wouldn’t be enough to block the incoming strike. Thankfully, he had prepared in advance.

A skeletal hound, summoned earlier as a decoy, rushed forward, intercepting the Lost Warrior’s deadly swords. The creature let out a ghastly wail as its brittle frame was cleaved in two.

But the momentary distraction was all Su Mu needed.

With a fluid motion, he swung the Black Blade, activating its special ability:

Blade of Ambush

.

The strike tore through the Lost Warrior’s armor, exposing its decayed body beneath.

“Without the armor, things get much easier,” Su Mu muttered to himself, a small smile tugging at his lips.

When it came to undead flesh, nothing beat the piercing power of the Anti-evil Crossbow.

…

Far across the apocalyptic Wasteland, a group of six survivors huddled together. They hailed from a different nation, one with a fierce determination to surpass Su Mu’s growing legend.

Unlike Su Mu, who preferred to hunt solo, these survivors had chosen to form a team. Safety in numbers, they believed.

“Where is Lord Turde?” one of them asked, frustration evident in his voice.

“Yeah, didn’t he promise to join us for the Level 10 mini-boss? What’s keeping him?”

Chital, the group’s only Level 2 member, shrugged. “Probably got delayed by some undead creatures along the way,” he said.

“But don’t worry. Lord Turde wields a rare-grade weapon. He’s the strongest among us.”

The others nodded in agreement.

“When he gets here, we’ll take down the boss together,” another added. “Then, we’ll move on to the next one. One way or another, we’ll surpass that Dragon Nation guy, Su Mu!”

Their collective goal was clear: surpass Su Mu’s achievements by any means necessary.

Moments later, Turde appeared, carrying his weapon, the

White Eagle’s Claw

.

“Apologies for the delay,” he said, his tone calm.

The group erupted in enthusiasm.

“Lord Turde, it’s an honor to have you lead us!”

“With your strength, this boss doesn’t stand a chance!”

Turde nodded curtly and led the group into a dimly lit cave.

Within the shadows, a Level 10 mini undead boss awaited.

“All together now,” one of them said confidently. “With our numbers, there’s nothing to fear!”

But confidence quickly turned to panic.

The boss, though heavily injured, was far more dangerous than they anticipated.

One by one, their group fell. Four of them met their demise before the creature finally succumbed to Turde’s final strike.

Now, only three survivors remained.

Chital wiped the sweat from his brow. “That was closer than I’d like,” he muttered. “Next time, we need to prepare better.”

Yet, despite the victory, Chital couldn’t shake a growing sense of unease.

“When hearts aren’t united, even teamwork becomes a burden,” he thought bitterly.

Looking at the fallen boss, Chital said, “There are only three of us left, so we’ll split the rewards evenly. The Level 1 guy contributed the least, so he’ll get twenty percent. You and I, Turde, will split the rest—”

Before he could finish, Turde’s weapon, the

White Eagle’s Claw

, pierced through Chital’s chest.

Eyes wide with disbelief, Chital clutched at his wound, his voice barely a whisper.

“Turde… why?”

Turde’s expression was cold and unyielding. “Apologies, but the rewards… are all mine.”