POTLS - Chapter 17: Risks and Return

Paul focused his thoughts on analyzing the possibility of running. Quickly, he concluded it would be unwise.

His stamina was undoubtedly inferior to his opponent's. He'd be out of breath before escaping, leaving himself defenseless for his enemy to harvest like ripe wheat.

The opponent would not give up, would not throw away his prize due to fatigue. Moreover, from the mobility skill used earlier, Paul deduced that this sudden attacker could close distances in an instant. He was at a disadvantage without any movement skills, having invested everything into [Blood Barrier] from the start.

The unpredictability of each run always caught him off guard, threatening to throw his mind into chaos.

His luck extended only to finding a suitable skill set, while factors outside the system—like human problems—remained beyond his control. Days ago, he'd been hindered by teams; now he faced a madman.

Killing was beneficial, no denying that. But ethics still prevented many from taking that step.

Everything was changing daily to adapt to the new life. Paul's enemy was simply faster in this adaptation phase.

"Smart move," the bald man sneered. "Running would be the stupidest thing you could do before dying. But I like a challenge. [Daybreak Executioner], now that's rare. Show me what you can do."

Paul glanced at the Crimson Court Noble's corpse that had been lifeless for some time. Blood from its body had formed a substantial pool.

Activating [Blood Barrier], Paul lowered his stance and charged forward. His silver sword slashed horizontally and vertically.

Small explosions sounded after each movement. Silver light flashed—not blinding, but painful to the eyes.

The whip-wielder backed away, drawing his weapon and attacking with ferocity.

Paul noticed the opponent's attacks were faster than before. [Whirlwind] must be supported by some attack-speed enhancement skill.

He managed to parry with his sword. What he couldn't block, [Blood Barrier] absorbed. [Crimson Echo] was nearly useless against the whip's elastic nature. After contact, it would snap to another position, giving phantoms no opportunity to strike.

While defending, he inched closer to the blood pool.

[Daybreak Executioner] was a powerful skill. It would make fighting monsters much easier, even those ranked as Lords. The skill inherited the Holy Mark property. Those tiny explosions would be like thousands of needles piercing vampiric creatures.

The problem was against humans, it proved largely ineffective. His enemy knew this, and Paul understood it even better.

Both could conclude Paul's skill set wasn't suited for killing humans. Monsters would fear him. Humans would rejoice.

Damn it, Paul cursed inwardly.

The lashes from [Whirlwind] interspersed with [Double Edge] reached him. His chest and thigh bore two painful whip marks. Silver thorns pierced in and out, making blood flow continuously, dripping onto the ground.

To further humiliate him, the opponent darted forward and slapped him. When Paul swung his sword, the man mockingly ducked and kicked him in the ribs. When he looked up, distance had been reestablished between them.

His stamina dropped rapidly from defending against [Double Edge], approaching the 40 mark.

If this continued, he would surely die here.

Adrenaline surged, helping him block another strike. His hand flicked out [Lunar Flare] to buy himself a momentary respite.

His vision blurred at the edges, signaling encroaching exhaustion.

In this run, his resource management relied solely on himself and his additional stats, with no items to fall back on.

Thoughts of death weighed increasingly heavy. He had prepared himself, had thought extensively about it. But no preparation is ever enough when facing death. The readiness anyone claims is always a lie.

Paul believed this because he had experienced death nine times. Each time in different states.

The first was bewildering and quick. Barely entering the portal, two Shadow Hounds had torn his throat out.

The second experience was clearer. Pain, fear, loneliness, confusion, regret. Emotional storms tore through him. Each subsequent death intensified these feelings.

Not once had he dared to look death straight in the eye. It came, smiling coldly with its scythe. And this time, it wore the face of a human, not a monster or deformed creature. How ironic.

When he was truly about to die, it would be at human hands.

"Man, how many times I have to see you look like shit," David said with a smirk, his figure hazy in Paul's peripheral vision.

"Shut up, David," Paul muttered. "I'll be joining you soon."

"We don't want to see you yet," Kate said, her tone analytical. "This would benefit no one. The three of us need you alive, to avenge us. Did you think you could join us that easily?"

His impression of Kate was of a girl outwardly gentle but inwardly practical, even utilitarian. He didn't dislike her for it. Such traits helped people survive in modern society.

Lina, conversely, still retained a naivety untested by life.

"It's nice to see you here, Paul! If you're too tired, just close your eyes and rest."

"That would be great, wouldn't it, Paul?" David seemed to press close to his face as Paul swung his sword desperately, hopelessly. "But I agree with Kate. I won't let you join us like this."

"Then what should I do, David?" Paul could taste the saltiness of blood trickling from the gash on his forehead.

"Remember what I told you? Everything requires sacrifice. In business, it's always like that. High risk, high return."

The voices around Paul faded, like speakers submerged underwater, only bubbles of air breaking through.

Seeing Paul grow increasingly haggard, his deranged opponent laughed loudly. Each swing was accompanied by insults echoing through the night. He was clearly enjoying the process.

Stamina fell to alarming levels. Wounds multiplied across his body. Paul had managed to drag himself to the blood pool left by the Crimson Court Noble. Adding his own blood, the red liquid on the ground was sufficient to activate [Blood Resonance].

A new surge of power flowed through him, not overwhelmingly strong, but enough to feel the increase in each attack.

He moved his sword to the left, blocking the first strike of [Double Edge]. At the point of contact, the whip bent in an arc, striking his back with a sharp crack where deep wounds reached to the bone.

Paul was losing consciousness not only from fatigue but also from blood loss. The pain from the latest strike helped clear his mind, tensing as he raised his sword to block a second [Double Edge] strike that seemed to materialize from nowhere. The whip wasn't long enough to inflict additional damage.

The whip was retracted, striking the ground with a snap in the air. With a laugh, the whip lashed out again.

Paul couldn't help but smirk. He had spent enough time analyzing his opponent's attack pattern and was certain [Double Edge] wasn't a skill without cooldown. Therefore, the next strike would be a normal whip attack. Even if he blocked with his hand, it wouldn't be severed like with [Double Edge].

Silver thorns embedded in his forearm, making him scream in agony. He heard a scraping sound as if something was grating against his bone. Fighting through the pain, he allowed the whip's momentum to wrap tightly around his arm.

His opponent smiled, flicking his wrist, intending to use [Whip Mastery] technique to retrieve his weapon. But he met resistance as Paul grabbed the whip with his left hand. To ensure his grip, he stabbed his sword into the ground and used his right hand as well.

With the buff from [Blood Resonance], he gave a surprisingly powerful yank that made his enemy stumble forward. In the confusion, the opponent let go of the handle.

Paul didn't hesitate, swinging the whip upward, sending the handle flying, avoiding his opponent's outstretched arm using a movement skill attempting to reclaim the lost weapon.

Then, Paul clenched his jaw, blood seeping through his teeth. The silver thorns nearly made him pass out from shock with that swing. Still conscious, Paul used his remaining strength to wrap the whip around his arm, tightening it.

He had successfully disarmed his opponent.

But equally, he knew how close to death he was. He had lost too much blood, his reason hanging by a thread like a ship weighing hundreds of tons suspended by a fragile cord.

Paul remembered lessons from David and Kate. Bluffing. Never let your opponent see doubt, fear, or any lack of confidence. Control your facial muscles, eye movements, body language.

Remembering this, Paul forced a smile, maintaining a confident gaze. Though his body protested, he compelled it to relax, leaning back slightly. Arms and legs absolutely could not tremble.

"You!" Paul raised his sword-wielding hand to point. "You're dead for sure!"

Hearing this, the bald man blinked rapidly for the first time, his tongue constantly licking his lips. He looked left then right, thoughts scattered.

This was supposed to be his trophy, not his grave. Everything should have been easy, not like this.

"What's wrong?" Paul tried to make his voice as mocking as possible. "Did Shadow Hounds bite your tongue off?"

"Shut up," his opponent squeezed his fists and shouted.

"Is that all you can say, brat? So, you're proud of your skill set? Without a weapon, the coming monster wave will have quite the feast."

Paul swore he could see the opponent's short hair standing on end, as if trying to tear away from the sweat-drenched scalp.

He shook his head, appearing pitying. And truly, he felt that way. This bastard was no different from those who had bullied him and Michael. Once confronted and beaten, shown their place, they would cower trembling in a corner.

But now there was nowhere to hide, danger lurking on all sides.

Without a weapon meant a death sentence for the final day's survival. No matter how strong, fighting monsters bare-handed was suicidal.

Understanding this, the disarmed man had to attack, reclaim what was once his. His skill set would be useless without the whip. So he faced a flash from his opponent's hand. Having anticipated it, he luckily closed his eyes in time. The sword strike also missed as he dodged, leaving only a scratch on his shoulder.

Now he realized Paul was on his last legs, ready to collapse at any moment. The inaccurate attack confirmed this. He wanted to scream when he understood he'd been tricked. He only needed to wait for Paul to die, and the whip would be his again. Yet now he was within striking range.

Paul grinned widely. Though he couldn't do much more, the light points released from [Daybreak Executioner] and the phantoms from [Crimson Echo] were enough for him to claim victory.

A human arm flew past his eyes. Blood splattered across his face. A piercing wound in the stomach added to the blood pool below.

But his enemy wasn't dead yet.

Because like Paul, he had [Last Stand].