Awakened Talent: 10,000 Exp Converter!

[Looking for a match… Please wait patiently.]

Soon, the voice declared:

[Match Found!]

Vynco Vynk

Tier 1 (5★)

2 Wins - 0 Losses

His next opponent was also a newbie like him, already boasting two wins and no losses.

'He might be stronger than Bjor Palku,' Vincent thought, but he wasn't worried.

Unlike his previous match, this time he wasn't offered the choice of a battle map. Instead, the surroundings around him were distorted, and his vision blurred.

[Your opponent has chosen the Swampy Field as the Battle Arena!]

"It seems it's not my turn to choose the map…" he thought as he vanished from his previous location.

Moments later, he materialized in an uneven swampy area. The atmosphere was damp, heavy with the pungent smell of stagnant water and mud. Thick mist curled around the field, obscuring some parts of the terrain. In the distance, Vincent's sharp eyes spotted the silhouette of his opponent.

As the mist parted, his opponent's peculiar appearance became clearer.

The figure before him had a distinctly frog-like head with two large, beady eyes that seemed to glisten unnaturally in the dim light. Its green, sleek skin shimmered faintly, covered in a sheen of moisture. Despite its amphibian-like features, the creature stood upright, its posture resembling that of a human.

It was clad in loose white pants that billowed slightly, exposing its bare upper body. In its webbed hands, it gripped a six-foot-long iron-silver rod.

His opponent belonged to a race known as the Wetskins—a neutral, amphibious species widely recognized for their exceptional martial prowess and unique combat techniques.

Vynco Vynk, as the voice had announced, cupped his webbed hands ceremoniously and spoke in a hoarse, gravelly tone that echoed across the swampy field.

"My name is Vynco Vynk. My martial name is Croaker. You may address me in whichever way you prefer. Please enlighten me with your skills."

Vincent raised an eyebrow at his opponent's overly formal mannerisms, momentarily caught off guard by the display of respect.

"Did their ancestors watch too many kung fu movies for their descendants to turn out like this?" he wondered to himself, a hint of amusement flickering in his mind.

Despite his internal musings, Vincent didn't dare to respond disrespectfully. The opponent's tone and attitude demanded a measure of dignity in return.

Rather than mimicking the introduction, Vincent kept his response succinct and to the point. With a curt nod, he simply stated, "Magnus."

The brief exchange of introductions ended, and silence settled over the arena for a fleeting moment.

Without warning, Vynco sprang into action. The Wetskin began hopping forward, his sleek movements fluid and precise. He gripped the iron-silver rod tightly as he moved, the water beneath his webbed feet splashing audibly.

Tap! Tap!

The sound of Vynco's agile hops echoed through the swampy terrain.

Vincent remained rooted in place, his sharp gaze locked onto the rapidly approaching figure. He knew that this arena was deliberately chosen to give his opponent the upper hand. Yet, he didn't show any sign of panic or hesitation.

The Wetskin darted from left to right in erratic zigzag patterns, clearly attempting to throw Vincent off balance and obscure his line of attack.

When Vynco was about 13 feet away, Vincent finally moved. The moment Vynco thrust his weapon, Vincent ducked his head and launched himself forward.

Splash!

Water sprayed into the air as his feet kicked off the ground.

Whoosh!

In an instant, he closed the distance, evading Vynco's weapon. As Vincent swung his sword toward his opponent's exposed belly, Vynco's tongue shot out unexpectedly, forcing Vincent to retreat several meters.

Vynco also stepped back, faintly surprised by Vincent's speed. He had chosen the map for an advantage, expecting his opponent to struggle in the swampy terrain. Yet Vincent maneuvered with remarkable ease, thanks to his recently acquired Sixth Sense skill, which heightened his awareness.

In that brief exchange, Vincent had instinctively stepped only on the drier, firmer spots of the field.

"A frog is still a frog," Vincent mused after dodging the sticky tongue.

Both combatants now had a rough measure of each other's speed.

Vynco crouched slightly, muscles tensing, and with a sharp grunt, propelled himself forward with astonishing speed.

Clap!

He launched himself into the air, gripping his weapon overhead with his webbed hands.

Vincent reacted swiftly, preparing to slash horizontally. But just like before, Vynco's tongue lashed out, coiling around Vincent's sword and neutralizing it.

Taking advantage of the moment, Vynco let out a loud grunt and brought his iron-silver rod crashing down toward Vincent's head.

But Vincent smirked beneath his mask. He released his sword and swung his right arm upward to intercept the blow.

"Initial Wave Strike!"

Clang!

The sound of metal clashing reverberated as Vincent's fist met Vynco's weapon.

A powerful force rippled through the rod, sending Vynco flying several meters before tumbling across the swampy terrain.

Vincent felt only slight numbness in his fist, which quickly faded. Glancing at his hand, he noticed a subtle silvery sheen—evidence of the Sterling Silver Body, a skill he had recently learnt.

The strike that overwhelmed Vynco was the first phase of his Five Wave Strike skill. Despite being in the beginner stage, it had proven potent against an opponent like Vynco.

On the other side, Vynco scrambled to his feet, uninjured but visibly shocked. His wide, beady eyes now seemed even larger.

"What kind of body do you have? Are you a Crystallian?"

"No, you don't look like a Crystallian…" Vynco muttered, answering his own question.

He eyed Vincent thoughtfully.

"You don't resemble a Thrygian either. Those madmen would never bother hiding their appearances..."

As he pieced things together, Vynco's expression brightened.

"The only race I know that matches your appearance is the Human Race. You must be human!"

Vincent was speechless. His opponent had gone from respectful martial artist to amateur detective. Ignoring the speculation, he asked flatly, "Do you still want to fight?"

Vynco quickly hid his weapon behind him.

"Oh, hell no. I might be a martial artist, but I'm not stupid. I know when I'm outmatched."

"So, are you conceding?"

"Yeah, but can we talk for a while? It's been so long since I've spoken to anyone. Lately, everyone I approach either runs away or ignores me. I can't tell if it's because I'm boring or if there's something wrong with—"n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

Before Vynco could finish, a gust of wind swept past him, accompanied by the sharp press of a blade against his neck.

Vincent held his sword, his voice cold.

"Are you going to concede, or do you want me to make you?"

Vynco gulped nervously. "I-I concede!"

Whoosh!

Digital light enveloped Vynco, and his figure vanished.

[Victory for Challenger Magnus!]

[You have gained +100 Tower Points!]

Talent Activated!

+1,000,000 Tower Points!

"Another million tower points," Vincent muttered, satisfied.