[1.00s]
[0.5s]
[Beep! Beep! Beep!]
[The 1 hour safe zone has ended]
[The Hunt for the token has officially begun]
[The Defensive Barrier will now be uplifted]
[Aspirants should check their boxers for a black wristband. The wristband will serve the function of assessing every single piece of information about the individual.]
[Aspirants are advised to strap it to their wrist and never let it loose.]
[Good luck in finding the token.]
The automated voice echoed around the entirety of Bermutha Island, its mechanical tone reverberating across the dark skies and dense terrain for almost a full minute before gradually fading into thin air.
The moment the voice disappeared, the blue defensive barrier that had been protecting Bermutha Island shimmered faintly—like glass under pressure—before suddenly unveiling itself and vanishing completely, exposing the island to any external threat lurking beyond.
Unfortunately for the aspirants, there was already an external threat patiently waiting for this exact moment.
The debris of the Bronze Battleship—massive chunks of scorched metal, broken cannons, and shattered hull fragments—began falling after being suspended midair for a long time, as though gravity had only just remembered its duty.
This caused the aspirants to scatter in all directions, boots crunching against gravel and grass, not daring to remain in one location for fear of being buried beneath the impending explosions and falling wreckage.
Surprisingly, the descent of the debris was very slow... It was as if they were not moving, yet they were moving—drifting downward in a haunting, unnatural motion that distorted the sense of time itself.
This gave the aspirants ample time to maneuver through the chaos while searching for the token. They also retrieved their wristbands from their boxers and attached them firmly to their wrists, some fumbling slightly under pressure.
Many paused briefly and checked their basic information, which included every item currently on their bodies, their stats, and other system-provided details that now hovered before them in faint blue holographic screens.
The same applied to Mr. Jaggers and Socrates, who had just retrieved their wristbands.
"How come I never knew about this wristband?" Mr. Jaggers stroked his beard thoughtfully, his brows furrowing, before pressing on the wristband. Instantly, a blue system screen materialized in the air before him, casting a faint glow on his rugged face and revealing all his information.
"Come take a look Boy .. Come and know more about this seat." Mr. Jaggers urged Socrates to check out his information..
...
[Aspirant Information]
Name — Jaggers
Age — 42
Height — 6'1
Background — Undisclosed
HP — 100/100
Candidate no — 160
Cultivation level — Peak Stage Apprentice Realm
Current Location — Northwest Bermutha Island
Equipped items:
Black Helmet
Night Vision Monocles
Thompson
Bulletproof vest
Black Leather Pants
Twin execution axes
AK47
Arm guard
Silk black boxers
Digital wristband
Inventory:
— Med Kit ×3
— Gloo Wall ×2
— UMP-3 (SMG) + 90 Rounds
— Smoke Grenade × 1
Partner — Candidate 220
...
"Haha.. I look fully prepared for this hunt." Mr. Jaggers chuckled, a confident grin forming on his face as he turned to Socrates.
"You're a really amazing Senior.. You just need a push to break into the next realm." Socrates was amazed by Mr. Jaggers stats.
"You jest kid.. I'm just an average human and this is the level only an average human could reach. The next realm is stepping into the path of a Cultivator.. Condensing one energy and being able to release it as I will."
"I thought everyone that could use this energy can be a Cultivator.."
"No Kid.. The system doesn't work that way.. An ordinary human can't even sense this energy.. An average human could at least reach the peak of the apprentice realm but only a miracle can take that average human to condense this energy.. Without condensing this energy, one can't be a Cultivator.
I've tried condensing this energy for a very long time but I've never been able to fully condense it.. That's the reason why I chose the Gladatior's path."
"Go on, boy.. Let's see your information."
Socrates nodded as he tapped on his own wristband, his fingers slightly tense, which revealed his information in a faint blue glow that reflected across his youthful face.
...
[Aspirant information]
Name — Socrates
Age — 17
Height — 5'8
Background — Son of Trueblood
HP — 100/100
Candidate no — 220
Cultivation level — Average Human, Broken Meridians
Current Location — Northwest Bermutha Island
Equipped items:
Black leather robes
Night Vision Monocles
M16
Blue tunic shirt
Green camouflage trousers
Twin Antler Daggers
Freeze grenade
Elbow guard
Silk black boxers
Digital wristband
Inventory:
— Med Kit ×3
— Gloo Wall ×5
— UMP-3 (SMG) + 90 Rounds
— Smoke Grenade × 1
Partner — Candidate 160
....
Mr. Jaggers and Socrates stared at the floating screen for a while, the soft hum of the interface filling the brief silence between them, before they both turned to each other.
"You know, before now, I wondered what the Son of Trueblood is doing here.. I think I understand now. You're here because your meridian is broken.. You're here for the Gladatior's path too"
Socrates nodded and then opened his mouth, "Senior, is there a way to fix a broken meridian?" he asked, his voice carrying a trace of urgency beneath its calm surface.
"Yes. There's a way to get your meridian fixed," Mr. Jaggers replied without hesitation.
"And which is?"
"By consuming a Fifth-tier pill," Mr. Jaggers answered, and Socrates' eyes widened instantly.
"A Fifth-tier pill.. That can only be refined by a fifty-rank alchemist, and there's only one such alchemist in the whole of the Hellenic Republic," Socrates retorted, his tone tightening as the weight of that reality settled in.
"So what do you learn from your explanation, boy?"
"Consuming a Fifth-tier pill is impossicant.. Doesn't that mean my meridians will forever be broken? I won't be able to cultivate.."
"Well.. Cultivation isn't the only path.. The path of the Gladiator allows one to temper their physical body..." Mr. Jaggers said, his voice lowering slightly as he folded his arms. "Probably, if you manage to survive in this harsh world of Gladiators and temper your body to the point you can contest with a Cultivator.. Maybe—just maybe—you might really be lucky."
Mr. Jaggers patted Socrates' shoulder firmly, grounding him. Socrates nodded his head slowly, determination flickering in his eyes.
"I won't give up then."
"That's the idea, boy.. Never give up."
Mr. Jaggers then turned and grabbed his Thompson with both hands.
The Thompson was a type of gun with a wide barrel and needed to be wielded with both hands. It was long, but not excessively so, and carried a rugged brown and black design, its metallic surface faintly reflecting the dim light around them.
Socrates, on the other hand, was holding a sleek black metal weapon, slightly shorter but more refined and polished. It was an M16, and he gripped it tightly as if his life depended on it—which, in truth, it did.
"Let's move, boy.." Mr. Jaggers beckoned as he dashed forward, his movements swift and practiced, while Socrates naturally followed from behind, trying to match his pace.
The two partners navigated through the night, heading towards the center of the island.
With the aid of the monocles, the darkness posed little threat. The world appeared clearer, outlines sharpened, and movement became easier to track as they advanced with precise and calculated steps.
This went on until they crossed the northwest district, when a sudden whooshing sound tore sharply through the air.
The sound traveled at a terrifying speed, slicing through the silence of the night—and the moment it whooshed past Mr. Jaggers' ear, he became instantly aware of what could produce such a sound.
'Oh no. It's a bullet.'
Before he could turn and alert Socrates, the bullet tore through the air, bypassing his own shoulder and heading straight for the boy's forehead with lethal precision.