Chapter 47

“That’s a relief!” Beatrice said in response to Number Twenty-six’s declaration of killing intent. Although she was already no stranger to taking a life, it somehow was easier to come to terms with killing another when she knew that they had the same intention.

Proactive self-defense? Beatrice wondered how her mind rationalized when and how it was fine to take a life, even if she was the one who arranged the circumstances for such a situation. Even back in the Shadow Woods, surely a solution could have been reached for dealing with the murder-rapist bandits without acting as the judge, jury, and executioner. And yet, Beatrice acted without hesitation.

But there was no time for such moral dilemmas right now—Beatrice was about to tango with her first opponent in these Games.

“Relief? Did I hear you right?” Number Twenty-six asked in disbelief, astonished and insulted by Beatrice’s easygoing demeanor. “What’s with that carefree, daydreaming attitude? You’re taking this way too lightly.”

“Same goes for you. Or did you forget that of us four only one person is supposed to survive?” Beatrice pointed out. “Even if you kill me and your wife wins her fight, you’d still have to fight each other to the death.”

“You’re worrying about the wrong thing,” Number Twenty-six said.

“Oh? And what should I worry about?” Beatrice asked, preparing to fight as she sensed an approaching end to this conversation and saw her opponent slowly change his stance.

“About what I’ll do to your body for insulting my wife!” Number Twenty-six shouted and interlocked his fingers. “Power of Body!”

Number Twenty-six suddenly bulked up. His muscles grew in size and density as if he compressed two months’ worth of weight training into a single second. And he wasn’t done.

“Leg Double-up!” the man shouted. A moment later his leg muscles grew even bigger, pressed against his skinny pants, and tore them up in several places as the leg muscles worthy of a track cyclist could not be contained.

The next second, Number Twenty-six sprinted toward Beatrice with a battle cry, one hand in front of him, the other at his hip. The moment he was within range, he unleashed a powerful punch aiming it right for Beatrice’s solar plexus.

The punch connected perfectly.

Huh? Beatrice looked down, past her breasts, at the straight muscular arm that still pressed the fist against the skin of her abdomen.

“Huh?” Number Twenty-six blinked twice.

-30 HP

“That’s it?” Beatrice asked.

“WHUOAH!!” Number Twenty-six jumped back, flabbergasted at what just had transpired. He landed several yards away from the big-breasted bimbo that just took his all-out attack as if it was a punch of a child. With his glasses sliding off his nose, breathing heavily, the man tried to figure out what was going on as cold sweat formed on his forehead.

Beatrice looked at her poor, confused opponent while replaying in her mind what just happened. Nothing at all, really. Even though the succubus saw the beefed-up man charge at her at full speed, and could comprehend that he charged at her at full speed, it somehow felt like she had to patiently wait for him to reach her.

Even as the clenched fist flew directly at her, Beatrice kept changing her mind whether to simply step aside or to deflect it, or to catch it or to break his arm. In the end, the attack seemed so underwhelming that Beatrice could not conceive a reality in which it could possibly do any serious damage. So, Beatrice decided to simply take it head-on to gauge the maximum damage an undefended attack such as this could do to her.

Just thirty Health Points? Beatrice brought up her Information tab.

Information

NameBeatrice

Age18

ClassSuccubus

Level18 (22%)

Health Points485/500 (+0.88/sec)

Arousal Points73/279 (+0.01/sec)

Stamina Points190/190 (+0.48/sec)

Physical Attack17

Physical Defense22

Magic Attack19

Magic Defense34

Speed17

Not even a tenth of my total points! And half of it is already regenerated!

All this time, as Beatrice continued to level and make gains in her stats, it never seemed like she made substantial progress in her character’s combat power. But now that Beatrice looked back to her few combat experiences in this world, she single-handedly wiped out four opponents, and while her last opponent overwhelmed her in raw power, she still ended up besting him. And Steve was no grunt either, but a unit leader of a powerful organization in this city.

And since Beatrice’s fight with Steve, she gained six more levels and made several noticeable upgrades to her wardrobe which boosted her stats considerably, even without the cloak that Beatrice left with Ember.

When Beatrice took all that into account, as well as the fact that she entered a fighting event whose sole purpose was to exploit the desperate, what hope could her first no-name opponent of these Games even have against her?

What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck!? Number Twenty-six’s mind raced as he watched what little damage he managed to do to his masked big-breasted opponent heal right before his eyes. His attack was meant to—if not outright kill the demented cock-gifting corrupter of women—at the very least rupture her diaphragm, bashing the air right out of her and rendering her completely powerless. Instead, he watched the tiny bruise—that was barely more serious than a hickey—dissipate in a matter of seconds.

Meanwhile, seeing with her own eyes the results of her “test” play out in real-time, Beatrice learned to appreciate just how incredible her regeneration stats actually turned out to be. What at first was a somewhat considerable annoyance when it came to the regeneration of Arousal Points, now proved borderline broken when it came to Health Points.

No matter how much I level up, the Health Regeneration continues to increase along with the additional Health Points I gain from each level up, Beatrice analyzed. The regeneration speed is not affected by the additional Health I gain from items, but even with the bonus Health ... From zero to full HP in under ten minutes!

Unless I fight an opponent that can repeatedly dish out serious damage, I will be favored to win any battle of attrition. And that’s without any serious investment into my Combat Craft! Beatrice was pleased with how quickly her arsenal of potential combat tactics expanded. And while some would foolishly consider stalling strategies cowardly, something within Beatrice enjoyed watching the shock in her opponent’s eyes turn to despair. Who wouldn’t despair if they saw their best efforts erased in seconds? When their life was on the line? A fighter with his spirit broken is already defeated.

Beatrice made mental notes to check with Ember and Samantha for armors with a very specific stat: additional Health Regeneration. Beatrice wanted to find out how far it was possible for her to push this regeneration angle.

“Is that restoration magic?” Number Twenty-six asked Beatrice. Apparently, his line of thought went very similarly to Beatrice’s.

“Do I have any reason to tell you?” Beatrice asked in return.

“Don’t take me lightly!!” he screamed, adjusted his glasses, and went into his combat stance again.

“Alright, I won’t! If you tell me your name!”

“A-are you making fun of me!?”

“Guilty as charged,” Bearice confessed. Anyone who is even remotely genre savvy or at least familiar with basic story structures would know that—usually—unnamed side characters are as low on the threat level as they can get. And while this was not one of those roleplaying campaigns her colleagues used to run, Beatrice was inside her wish-fulfillment world. And sensing any danger from her current opponent evaporating, Beatrice was simply being cute. As if finding out her opponent’s name would suddenly make him stronger!

“I swear I’ll make you regret this if it’s the last thing I do!!” Number Twenty-six screamed even louder as a reddish aura manifested around him. “Berserker’s Spirit! Defense for Offense! Reckless Assault!”

Number Twenty-six kept shouting Skill names and different auras manifested around him, one after another.

Ah, there was a name for it! Beatrice tried to recall the term for when characters temporarily increased their stats in role-playing games. Meanwhile, Number Twenty-six charged at Beatrice for a second time with double the fury and, more importantly, double the speed.

Unfortunately for Number Twenty-six, all this accomplished was that Beatrice didn’t feel like she needed to wait for quite so long this time around for her opponent’s attack to reach her. Still, if the speed increased, the damage must have increased as well, Beatrice concluded. The impact that speed has on kinetic energy is as basic as it gets.

Beatrice did not have any intention of willingly letting herself be damaged for a second time, especially by a stronger attack. Beatrice activated her [Sharp Claws] passive, effortlessly sidestepped Number Twenty-six’s straightforward attack, and slashed at the exposed, vulnerable arm, aiming to cripple her opponent’s attacking power.

“GHUAAAAAAAAARGH!!!” Number Twenty-six screamed as he grabbed his bleeding arm and fell on his knees, next to the several severed pieces of his forearm.

“Ah!?” Beatrice took a step back, taken aback by the brutal amputation that she inadvertent ended up performing.

Eh ... Oops? Beatrice looked at her long, sharp, blood-drenched claws, and could barely hold herself back from apologizing for causing such unwarranted, needless suffering. And as the succubus watched the auras around Number Twenty-six evaporate faster than they appeared, she remembered, Buffs!

Should I just put him out of his misery and get this over with? Beatrice wondered as she stood a couple of feet from her bleeding, screaming, one-arm-less opponent. The other duel of her so-called “bracket” was not over either. Beatrice looked at the duel between the snake lady and Number Twenty-five.

Mere minutes ago, Number Twenty-five had the snake lady’s temporary cock in her ass, and mere minutes later one of them would be dead. She still must have the dick I gave her! Beatrice remembered. I wonder if that makes it more difficult for her to move? Must be weird, right? But it certainly didn’t look that way. If anything, Number Twenty-five had more and more trouble keeping up with the snake lady’s speed.

What’s wrong with her? Beatrice wondered when she realized how tired and winded Number Twenty-five had gotten without even doing any serious damage to her opponent. Number Sixty-six isn’t even moving that fast! And yet, despite the snake lady not even exerting herself in dodging the incoming attacks, Number Twenty-five’s attacks seemed to land further and further from the intended target.

Number Twenty-five struck the rocks beneath where her opponent stood a second ago, sending pebbles into the air and damaging her own wrist. Her leg swings flew across the air, creating a refreshing breeze for her opponent. Not a single attack came even close to the promising start when Number Twenty-five took control of the dagger. The same dagger that after all this time still did not have a single drop of blood on it.

The dagger! Beatrice remembered and looked at the four-eyed milf’s wrist. Even through all of the milf’s indiscriminate—bordering on desperate—movements, Beatrice saw it clearly enough: the rot and blisters that spread from the putrid bite wound. Oh, so their fight is over too, Beatrice concluded when she realized the true state of their fight.

Whether it was some Magic Skill or literal poison, the result was the same. The more that Number Twenty-five moved, the more the poison spread, and the weaker she became. Number Sixty-six was literally stalling and waiting for the poison to do all the work for her. And why wouldn’t she?

Healing over time versus damage over time, huh? Beatrice couldn’t help but draw a parallel between her own possible stalling strategy and the snaky lady’s. Which would win out? Beatrice saw a blister pop on Number Twenty-five’s wrist, causing her to drop the knife from the sudden pain while yellowish pus spread further across her hand, infecting more skin. Yeah, fuck that! That was Beatrice conclusion concerning the contest between two effects over time. No way in seven hells am I letting that infectious snake near me!

“Argh!” Number Twenty-five grimaced in pain and grabbed her wounded wrist, finally acknowledging the wound that she must have had noticed before. But the moment she touched the festering wound, she screamed in pain as more blisters popped from the slightest pressure on them. She let go of her hand, but already too late. A mix of pus and bleeding skin and flesh tore from the rotting hand and stuck to her healthy fingers, connecting them to the original wound by slimy, bloody, odorous threads of mucus.