Scott stared at the vast expanse of rubble surrounding him. Everything that once held life or structure had been pulverized into concrete shards, murky fluids, and drifting dust.

  He slowly lowered his hand, ignoring the fresh system messages. The Veil of Silence had returned the city to a state of stillness and eerie quiet. Despite the fading tremor from his casual display of power, not a single echo remained.

  Scott glanced down at the war hammer again, a slow grin spreading across his face. Who would’ve thought its dormant abilities revolved around gravitational manipulation?

  He stroked his chin with his free hand, still smiling. And to think this is only the tip of the iceberg.

  A low cackle escaped his throat as his gaze swept the destruction. I wonder how many people got caught up in that?

  Right on cue, a familiar chime rang out, and a system notification blinked into existence:

  Oh? Scott stared at the message; brows furrowed. There’s no way I took out four hundred thousand people on my own.

  It was likely many had fallen to others. Still, the number was… sobering.

  His eyes drifted back toward the debris. I wonder if the bloodline vials survived...

  He scanned the wreckage for any trace of the crimson-tainted containers. Nothing but fine dust and crushed remnants of buildings met his gaze.

  Doesn’t look like they made it, he sighed, shaking his head.

  With a flick of his wrist, the war hammer shrank and reattached itself via the equally dormant chain.

  If I can get rid of everyone in the 9th Zone, I won’t have to stay here. That should be the end of my task… right?

  The thought lingered, uncertain and unresolved. Still, Scott moved forward at a slow, unhurried pace.

  Now that I think about it, I sent some judges to scout this place.

  He stopped mid-step and extended his awareness. A silent command reached the faceless judges scattered across the zone. Moments passed—finally answers came.

  His brows lifted, lips parting slightly in surprise. It’s been God knows how long… and none of them reached the city’s end?

  The city’s infinite nature had once seemed metaphorical. Now it was something else entirely. The judges had roamed for years, traversing distinct, ever-changing terrains, and yet—no exit, no boundary. Nothing.

  It might be harder than I thought to trim the numbers down.

  Even if the champions kept fighting amongst themselves, many would survive—especially the experienced ones who had already grasped the city’s infinite design.

  Scott cast another glance around. Those who had lingered within the periphery of the gravitational field had long since fled.

  His gaze narrowed at the temple—the sole building left untouched by the cataclysm.

  Not even a dent… this place is far more terrifying than I—

  Scott’s vision suddenly blurred, and the system chimed again.

  Scott blinked. The ruins were gone, and so were the distant buildings ahead.

  He now watched champions standing at the edge of a staircase—glimmering with otherworldly light—the four elves frozen mid-step. Their surroundings had been devoured by the stillness of the void. They had no path forward, no path back. Just still air and impending judgment.

  They waited like lambs before the slaughter.

  Recognition flickered in Scott’s eyes. Hold on. Isn’t this the same thing I experienced back then? Those eyes I saw back then…

  He recalled eyes that had burned like twin suns; watching him as he once climbed similar same steps.

  So, those belonged to the Prime Target of that round. But now what? What am I supposed to do with these guys?

  Another notification manifested.

  Without hesitation, Scott selected [No!].

  A follow-up appeared.

  His vision snapped back to the destroyed ruins before he could fully process what had happened.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Another alert appeared.

  Scott glanced at the message. His expression remained unreadable.

  Let’s see how many people are left.

  It’s gone down again—but not by much.

  Most people had likely chosen to hide instead of fighting over the vials. A smart move—but one that made Scott’s job a whole lot harder.

  He rolled his neck from side to side until it cracked.

  I should get started. It’s been a while since I summoned them. I wonder if they’ve changed.

  He stretched out his right hand and called forth the Nihilistic Zone.

  Nothing happened.

  What the…? Why isn’t anything happening? His brows furrowed, confusion darkening his expression.

  My connection to the Nihilistic Zone hasn’t been severed, so why isn’t anything happening?

  Scott extended his hand and willed forth the familiar dark portal—but again, nothing.

  Oh? That explains a lot, he mused.

  Suppression. That’s what it was. His lips curled into a wry smile as he nodded, the realization settling in.

  This is going to be a lot harder than I expected.

  He gathered his thoughts and stepped forward, moving through the ruins with cautious eyes.

  Now that I think about it, there’s no real reason for me to linger in the 9th Zone. I don’t even need to assimilate the bloodline to access the 8th Zone either.

  Scott halted mid-step.

  That’s true… I don’t need to do anything to get in. But where the hell is the 8th Zone supposed to be?

  As if on cue, the familiar chime of a system notification rang in his ears, and a blue screen shimmered into view:

  Scott didn’t immediately choose. Instead, another thought crept in. Is it possible that some people have already arrived?

  His brow arched. Ten? Already?

  Not much time had passed since the rewards were distributed, and yet ten champions had already made it through. Even if bloodline assimilation wasn’t impossibly difficult, he doubted ten random contenders could’ve managed it so quickly.

  As soon as I arrive, everyone there will recognize me as the Primary Target. No telling how powerful they’ve become.

  His eyes lingered on the flashing panel, deep in thought.

  I wonder how many of the top hundred in the 9th Zone are even still alive. Should I head to the 8th Zone and eliminate the competition one by one—or stay and thin their ranks further?

  As Scott deliberated in silence, a sharp gust swept across the ruins, kicking up a storm of debris that howled across the landscape—except… it didn’t.

  The Veil of Silence devoured every echo. Not a whisper escaped—not from the wind, nor from the rocks smashing and skipping across the broken terrain.

  Then came the scent. Iron-rich, fresh.

  Blood.

  Scott inhaled. It clung to the air, sharp and undeniable.

  But there’s no one here.

  He glanced at the rubble. Could it be coming from that?

  He shook his head. Too fresh. Too clean. Not mingled with the dust choking the atmosphere.

  His gaze shifted to the far distance—nothing. Yet Scott remained calm.

  He pressed on. One step. Then another. Fifty paces in, he stopped.

  Three figures emerged from nothing.

  Clad in grey cloaks, faces obscured by smooth white masks—no slits, no holes. Their arms, exposed, were wrapped in white bandages with blood splatters. They carried no weapons, but their presence dripped with violent intent.

  Scott studied them.

  Who the hell are these guys? And how did they just appear like that?

  Without a word, the trio began to unravel their bandages—slow and deliberate. The tips brushed the ground without a whisper as they each took position, spreading apart and settling into battle stances.

  Scott didn’t move. He didn’t react either.

  Then—suddenly—they charged.

  In a blink, they were within a foot of him, their bandages whipping through the air. The fabric twisted as it hardened, edges sharpening mid-flight.

  Scott danced between them effortlessly. A slight shift here. A lazy sway there. Every strike missed him by inches—sometimes less.

  The more violently they swung, the more relaxed he became. He almost threw his head back and laughed.

  They’re trying so hard, he thought, grinning.

  Then, just as suddenly as they’d attacked, the masked figures pulled back.

  Each drew a grenade-shaped flask from their inventories, filled with swirling grey liquid. In a synchronized motion, they smashed them against the ground and leapt backward.

  A mist exploded outward, thick and heavy. It encased the area in a shapeless cocoon, then began to harden, trapping everything in its amorphous embrace.

  The trio crept forward; eyes fixed on the fog’s rigid mass. Silent nods passed between them. They retrieved vials of bluish fluid and doused the solid grey, causing it to visibly sizzle and hiss, yet no sound echoed. Thick black fumes billowed out, obscuring everything.

  Still, the masked warriors stood ready—bandages uncoiled, twitching, prepared to intercept whatever emerged.

  One minute passed.

  Then two.

  Then three.

  Nothing.

  But none of them let down their guard.

  Then—the remains of the grey prison crumbled to ash.

  For the first time, the champions lowered their guard.

  A heartbeat later, an almighty force descended—focused precisely on the spot where they stood. Their masks shattered first, revealing strained, bestial features twisted under the sudden weight of gravity.

  They roared in agony, but no sound escaped their mouths.

  Their steeled bandages snapped in half as though made of brittle twine. Then came their bodies—crushed by the unseen pressure. Bones splintered, flesh ruptured. The ground itself groaned beneath them as their remains slammed into it, the gravitational force boring a hole deeper and deeper into the earth—erasing every trace of their existence.

  The trembling ground stilled.

  Scott stepped forth, war hammer in hand, a sharp smile on his face as he gazed into the void where the trio had been annihilated.

  Only a moment passed before he turned eastward.

  There, a procession awaited—more champions, all clad in the same grey cloaks and white masks. These ones were larger, broader, their blood-drenched bandages wrapped tighter, their killing intent palpable even from a distance.

  Scott cracked his neck from side to side.

  I didn’t want to use the war hammer, he mused, but it slipped out instinctively. Thank God these dumbasses decided to show themselves. Let’s see how much my physical strength has improved.

  The war hammer shimmered and vanished, returning to its dormant state.

  Scott rolled his shoulders and cracked his knuckles. Then, with slow deliberation, he peeled off his upper garment.

  He stepped forward.

  The masked assailants mirrored him, each step raising a dust cloud in the silence.

  Then, without warning, Scott exploded into a sprint.

  The champions followed, their blood-soaked bandages whipping behind them as the impromptu battlefield surged toward chaos once more.