Chapter 92: Battle in the Devil's Den

"To be honest, this is probably our fault..." After clarifying the situation, a man whose life was dedicated to dreams spoke to us with sincere gravity. "...If it were just us few, I would have returned this... well... 'precious armor'..." The two words, uttered with such deliberation by the flamboyantly armored Paladin, carried a profound sense of irony. "...to you right now."

"Boss..." He-Xi-Ni immediately shouted in indignation. "...How could this be our fault? I was the one who found the item, why should we give it back to them? It’s not like we can’t beat them; even if we killed them until they logged off, I wouldn't be afraid..."

"Alright, that’s enough..." The Paladin guild leader waved his hand, cutting off the protest. "...Show some self-respect. Making such a fuss over a piece of trash gear—if word got out that over fifty members of the Hammer of Retribution killed six people until they logged off just to seize some junk, would that sound good for our reputation? What do you take our guild for? A scrap metal recycling plant?"

At this point, the seemingly impartial Paladin cast a disdainful look at us, and I was suddenly struck by the profound realization of what it feels like to be a scavenger. It was absolutely ungracious!

"However..." He-Who-Is-Dedicated-To-Dreams changed his tone, gesturing toward his guild subordinates surrounding us, and continued with a look of difficulty. "...As you can see, our guild brought quite a few people this time. I suspect they wouldn't agree to just let you leave, let alone hand over this... well... 'precious armor'..."

Oh, High God above. Please, I beg you, stop saying those two words!

"...to you just like that. Not only would it put me in a difficult position, but I fear they would come after you to cause trouble later anyway..."

His words left us completely confused: it sounded as if he intended to slaughter us to appease the crowd, yet if he really wanted to kill us, he could have done so moments ago without waiting until now.

But on second thought, I had to admit his logic held water: If you had received a distress signal from your guild mates, traveled across mountains and rivers with a heart full of righteous zeal to help, worked yourself into a frenzy, and sharpened your blades to support them and save face, only for someone to tell you right as you were about to fight: "It's nothing, move along," what would you feel?

Perhaps like a piece of burning charcoal thrown into a basin of icy water. In an instant, your burning heart would be chilled to the core, followed by the humiliation of being toyed with by a friend. Perhaps you could restrain your emotions in the moment, but later, when you faced a similar situation, would you still rush to help without hesitation?

When a guild loses its cohesion and mutual trust, it is not far from dissolution. Thinking this, I gained a bit more understanding of the Paladin leader's anxiety.

"Then... what exactly do you want?" I shook my head and asked, feeling somewhat nervous—understanding is one thing, but if he really wanted to butcher me to satisfy the masses, while I don't lack the courage to face a bleak reality, I couldn't help but feel a little terrified inside.

"I do have an idea..." He-Who-Is-Dedicated-To-Dreams negotiated with us gently. "...Since things have reached this point, why don't we have a one-on-one duel right here for this... well... 'precious armor'..."

Hey, you are intentionally using that annoying term to mock us, aren't you!

"...as the wager. The winner takes it. That way, both sides can have a way to step down, and it won't damage our cordial relations. What do you think?"

His friendly and peaceful tone was highly deceptive, nearly making us mistake the situation for one where we actually had a choice. On the surface, this seemed like a fair and good idea. But looking closer, one could easily discern the intense confidence held by the leader of the top guild in the Alliance: his high-spirited subordinates had arrived with the intent to kill and loot. To make them feel they had a "way to step down," he would have to win—a loss would only escalate the conflict and do nothing to soothe the tension.

In other words, the proud Paladin had never even considered the possibility of losing.

However, for us trapped in the encirclement, this was a merciful decision that moved us. If everything went according to the script the guild leader had devised, it could truly be considered a win-win situation: they got their face, and we kept our lives.

...

Soon, news of the duel spread. As expected, it largely dissipated the dissatisfaction of the "Hammer of Retribution hit squad" and fueled their curiosity to watch the spectacle. Before long, shouts cheering for their leader echoed across the clearing.

The Hammer of Retribution Knight Order truly lived up to their name as the top guild in the Alliance—not only were they numerous and strong, but they were absolutely overflowing with talent. In these few moments, the onlookers had already composed countless ornate poems praising their leader's heroism and bravery, whipping the crowd into a fervor.

"Ah, our leader, a warrior of the Alliance, a hero who stands tall, a man made of special material. Where does his grand spirit come from? Because of his infinite love for the people of the Alliance and his bitter hatred for the invaders. In the Hammer of Retribution, there are thousands just like him; this is the pride and glory of our great guild..." a deep, resonant baritone recited loudly.

He-Who-Is-Dedicated-To-Dreams stood tall and proud, as if he could hold up the sky should it fall, making one sigh: why is the battle flag so beautiful, why does the earth always remain in spring...

"Lord Leader, PK, PK, PK! Lord Leader has achieved great merit, Lord Leader must not give his opponent any chance. Our great Lord Leader has inherited the glorious tradition of the PK masters; Jack the Ripper, the Alien, and Leatherface have possessed his soul in this moment. Lord Leader has created our guild's fierce style and tradition; he is not fighting alone..." a bard, clearly of the post-modern beast school, shouted hoarsely at the top of his lungs.

He-Who-Is-Dedicated-To-Dreams smiled and waved toward the direction of the voice, as if celebrating his victory in advance.

"Lord Leader, invincible in PK! Unify the world, live as long as the heavens!" A group of young female mages in short skirts stood side by side, linking arms, cheering loudly while rhythmically performing high kicks, occasionally revealing enticing sights beneath their skirts that stirred endless fantasies...

For some reason, He-Who-Is-Dedicated-To-Dreams turned slightly red, frowned, and looked quite embarrassed.

In the moment he was stunned, someone immediately recited an inspiring verse on the spot: "To practice the divine art, the Lord Leader must wield the blade and castrate himself; if one does not castrate..."

Although I didn't know what "castrate" meant, it sounded like the poem was encouraging others to be indomitable and work hard, implying that one must pay a huge price to obtain final victory. This was indeed a grand and immortal poem, leaving He-Who-Is-Dedicated-To-Dreams feeling stirred, heroic, and combative—with a face that was... cough, cough... iron-blue.

Not to mention the warm-up work of the Hammer of Retribution was in full swing and the audience atmosphere was extremely high. This makeshift arena had undoubtedly become their home turf—and without a doubt, a hellish home turf at that. We, forced to play the away game, could only decide on our representative amidst the piercing provocations and jeers:

"His gear is too good, we really don't have a chance..." Xian-Ge-Ya-Yi carefully sized up our opponent and said, discouraged. "...Besides, they just want to win to save face, so let's just lose..."

Xian-Ge-Ya-Yi’s right-leaning defeatist argument immediately drew a glare from the elven beast tamer, Yan-Zhen: "Look at your lack of backbone, admitting defeat before the fight even starts, you have no manliness at all..."

Under the reprimand of his female companion, the elven marksman shrank his neck in shame. "Who said I admitted defeat? I didn't say I wouldn't fight..." he replied with a blushing face.

"Although the odds aren't great..." Fo-Xiao thought for a moment and said, "...but I don't think we can lose too miserably in this battle. For one, we can't be too embarrassing, and for another, we can't let them feel like we're just humoring them. For example, if we let 'I Am Your Father' go up..."

The bearded monk had a truly strange name; every time someone called him, it sounded like they were taking advantage of them.

"...and he gets smashed to death by two hammer blows, the opponent will think we’re looking down on them, which might cause even more trouble. That wouldn't be good."

I thought Fo-Xiao made a lot of sense.

"Let me go, let me go..." The dwarf believer, Long-Gong-She-Ri, couldn't contain his passion for battle and shouted, "...Isn't it just a fight? A head-sized scar is nothing, whether I live or die, I'll just fight him to the end..."

"Cough, cough..." Fo-Xiao coughed twice, smiling as he whispered a reminder, "...Long-Gong, did I just say that we can't be too embarrassing in this fight?"

"Yeah..." Long-Gong nodded recklessly, "...so what?"

"So, you shouldn't go," Fo-Xiao said, still smiling.

"Oh, okay." Long-Gong was stunned for a moment, unable to grasp the connection between the two things, and could only nod suspiciously before stepping aside.

"Huh!?" A moment later, the slow-witted Highland Dwarf finally understood a bit of what Fo-Xiao meant and asked him with some confusion, "The meaning of what you just said was to mock me, right?"

Fo-Xiao was completely floored. He looked at Long-Gong-She-Ri as if observing a rare animal, struggled to frown, squeezed out a sarcastic smile, and nodded heavily.

"Pfft..." Fo-Xiao's awkward expression was caught by his loyal lackey—the bearded human monk, 'I Am Your Father'. A sense of intellectual superiority arose in his heart, and he couldn't help but laugh out loud. He leaned over and patted Long-Gong-She-Ri on the shoulder: "Brother, you wouldn't really be that slow, would you?"

After saying this, he put on a fawning smile, turned to Fo-Xiao, and asked: "Boss, since that's the case, you're so powerful, why don't you go compete with him?"

As soon as this question was asked, the expression Fo-Xiao had used to mock Long-Gong-She-Ri stiffened, and the muscles on his cheeks twitched slightly. A moment later, he glared fiercely at his tactless lackey and said in a fit of rage: "Are you deaf? Didn't you hear what I just said? We can't be too embarrassing in this fight, so I will absolutely not go up! Understand?!"

'I Am Your Father' was yelled at like that and skulked aside, not daring to make a sound.

A little later, Long-Gong-She-Ri suddenly realized something and asked the human swordsman excitedly: "Fo-Xiao, Fo-Xiao, that sentence of yours just now must have been self-deprecation, right?"

Fo-Xiao gritted his teeth, his face livid, holding back the urge to hack the curious baby in front of him into cutlets, and nodded fiercely...

Thus, 'I Am Your Father', who was under level forty, was obviously not on the candidate list; the dejected Xian-Ge-Ya-Yi was clearly not to be relied upon; Fo-Xiao was just a mediocre third-rate swordsman; and Long-Gong-She-Ri was a part-time cloth-armor berserker who didn't stick to his profession. The only ones qualified to participate in this duel were the young elven beast tamer Yan-Zhen and myself. And any man with a sense of chivalry and strong responsibility should step up at such a time, rather than let a lady put herself in danger—especially for someone like me, who was full of enthusiasm and righteous justice.

Therefore, I was forced to volunteer—I know this sounds a bit strange, but it is the truth—and walked toward the center of the arena, ready to welcome the first significant, yet bleak-prospect, duel of my life.

Of course, the main reason I so readily accepted this responsibility was that in this duel, which played the main melody of friendship and understanding, the loser would also be revived on the spot...