CHAPTER 153: THE EIGHTH

The arena’s stone floor shimmered again, runes pulsing beneath the rubble as the Dokkaebi floated back into view above it—massive and regal, still adorned in white marble robes with gold-trimmed wind-wings cutting into the light.

With a sharp flick of its hand, the shattered battleground groaned—and began to mend.

Pillars reformed. Debris lifted itself and reversed its destruction. In mere seconds, the battlefield was made whole again.

Jin said nothing.

He stood in the glass enclosure alongside Yujin and Jisoo, his arms loosely folded across his chest, eyes watching everything.

Jisoo leaned against the wall, still slightly winded from Seul’s overwhelming display. Yujin had sat herself down, idly tracing one claw along the glass, watching it squeak with faint irritation.

But Jin remained focused.

The system wasn’t waiting.

Another spin began—two new names selected. The arena adjusted again, presenting a new pair.

This time it was a tall woman with braided hair and an axe of glowing bone against a man in a hooded cloak whose hands sparked with frost every time he moved.

Jin didn’t recognize the names. But he didn’t need to.

The moment they moved, he could tell.

Not rookies. Not untrained. Not lucky.

He watched them trade blows—brutal, fast, refined. The frost-wielder wasn’t just launching attacks—he was guiding temperature like a conductor, using the condensation in the air to redirect visibility, angle shots, shape terrain. The axe fighter was the opposite—blunt, direct, hammering through the frost and ice like it wasn’t there.

They lasted two minutes before the axe finally split through a frozen pillar and cracked the man’s ribs.

He dropped.

No mercy.

The system chimed.

[Winner: Hyeon Mi-ran]

Jin exhaled slowly, eyes narrowing.

"That was the fifth round," he muttered aloud.

Yujin glanced over. "You keeping count?"

Jin nodded. "They’re moving faster now. That means they’re not going to let this run long."

"What do you think they’re waiting for?" Jisoo asked, arms behind her head. "They gonna pick us at random? Or..."

"They want the best ones to rise naturally," Jin said. "And the ones who finish early? They’re either monsters—"

"—or lucky bastards," Jisoo finished.

Jin didn’t smile. He only leaned forward as the next fight began.

This one ended almost too fast.

A man who looked barely twenty raised both arms, light pouring from his palms. His opponent—some kind of energy displacement user—tried to leap back.

Too late.

The light hit like a hammer.

The arena buckled. Not exploded—collapsed. A gravitational strike disguised as radiant force.

The crowd—what little noise they made—let out a sharp breath.

Jin frowned.

"Who the hell was that?" Yujin asked.

"Don’t know," he murmured. "But that wasn’t just skill. That was authority. He’s been pushing his skill long before he got here."

Jisoo raised a brow. "Another solo climber?"

"Probably."

The system didn’t comment. Another spin. Two more names.

This time it was a girl with braided wires woven through her fingers against a broad-shouldered man whose fists shimmered like steel.

Their fight was messy. Brutal. Slower than the last two—but personal.

The girl used magnetism and spatial tweaks to redirect metal in midair—blades and traps. The man charged through them with stubborn tenacity and iron-infused skin.

He fell. She won.

Another chime.

And again.

And again.

Jin watched every fight.

Even when they weren’t impressive. Even when they were.

He cataloged movements. Skills. Reactions. The way people adapted—or didn’t. The way they broke under pressure or flourished when pushed.

Jin wasn’t just watching to be entertained.

He was preparing.

"Each fight tells a story," he thought. "Of how they’ve grown. Of how they’re breaking."

Ten more matches passed.

Then twenty.

The glass box never moved. Neither did their names appear. Not even once.

Yujin began pacing.

Jisoo began napping.

But Jin remained standing.

And finally, the wheel spun again.

It slowed.

Names flickered past.

And then:

Yeong Jin

Jin’s breath didn’t catch—but his body did lock, just slightly.

He looked up. He didn’t move. Just waited.

Yujin stood up instantly. "Finally."

Jisoo cracked her neck. "Go on, Sword Saint. Time to look cool."

Jin didn’t answer.

Not because he didn’t have a response—but because the next name appeared on the screen above them, and every thought scattered in an instant.

[Opponent: Seo Jun-Ho]

The glow of the names was soft. Clean. But to Jin, they hit like a bell ringing from deep inside his bones.

"Wait," Yujin said beside him, voice dropping. "That name—"

"I remember it," Jin said, already staring hard at the second line.

Seo Jun-Ho.

He didn’t know the face. He didn’t know the voice. But that name? That name had burned itself into memory from the earliest moments of all this.

Back when the world cracked open and the system first carved out its twisted vision of order—those early days had shown everyone the same list.

A leaderboard.

Jin had scrolled through it, still bloody, still half-certain he wouldn’t live another day, trying to understand what anything meant. He hadn’t been in the top hundred. Not even close. Most of the people he knew hadn’t been.

But that name had been near the top.

"Top ten?" Jisoo asked slowly, as if pulling the thread herself.

"Eighth," Jin confirmed. "One of the only ones who stayed there."

"Even now?" Yujin asked, frowning. "We’ve done how many quests since then?"

"I checked a few days ago," Jin said. "He only dropped to tenth."

There was a moment of silence. Not awe. But understanding.

Because to stay in the top ten after everything—that wasn’t a fluke.

"That’s not normal," Jisoo muttered.

"No," Jin said quietly. "It’s not."

His name hadn’t moved much. Even after weeks of surviving, leading, fighting, building—he was still in the triple digits. What actually raised someone in the rankings still wasn’t clear. Killing bosses didn’t do it alone. Finishing quests either. The numbers were too volatile. Too curated.

But Seo Jun-Ho?

He’d held position like gravity itself owed him respect.

Jin didn’t know how.

But he was about to find out.

The platform beneath his feet gave a sudden soft jolt. A vibration that wasn’t violent, but absolute. The same kind every other combatant had felt before being lowered into the arena.

He turned to the others.

"I’ll be fine."

"You better be," Jisoo muttered, folding her arms. "I’m still betting on you."

Yujin raised a brow. "Try not to get stabbed through the ribs. You’re not allowed to die looking cool."

"I’ll keep that in mind."

He didn’t smile, but something in his voice loosened slightly. Not relief—just clarity.

The cube platform began to descend.

Muramasa’s weight settled evenly against his back. The hum of the system overhead slowly faded as he dropped lower and lower, his name etched in the air like a quiet promise.

[Combatant: Jin Yeong]

[Opponent: Seo Jun-Ho]

Jin stared straight ahead, the hum of his heart steady. He didn’t know what this Seo Jun-Ho looked like. Didn’t know his voice, his past, or his skill.

But he knew what it meant to be ranked tenth after all this time.

It meant he was dangerous.

Deadly.

And most of all—

It meant he’d survived every other trial the system had thrown at him.

The arena came into view—white stone floor, freshly reconstructed after Seul’s storm of destruction. Clean. Pristine. Marked now by quiet, ominous energy. And already, across the far side, the next cube began its descent.

The moment Jin’s platform clicked into place, the opposing one did too.

And out stepped the man himself.

Seo Jun-Ho.

Lean. Straight-backed. Black jumpsuit with green trim fitted close to the skin, tailored like armor but worn like a second layer of his will. His face was unreadable—smooth, calm. No scars. No marks. No wild gleam.

But his eyes—

Jin caught the stillness in them.

Like a calm lake hiding something heavy underneath.

The system voice thundered across the arena:

"Round Fifty-Two—Begin!"

Neither of them moved.

They just watched.

Measured.

Waiting.

Jin’s fingers brushed the edge of Muramasa’s sheath. Not drawn. Not yet.

He didn’t need to provoke.

He needed to understand.

Seo tilted his head, the faintest smirk playing across his face.

The crowd outside the dome was silent now. Waiting. Watching. So many had fought already. So many had fallen. But this wasn’t just another fight.

This was a statement.

Seo didn’t speak.

Didn’t posture.

He simply waited.

Jin exhaled.

And the dokkaebi’s voice rang out again:

"Go."

Jin dashed forward first—not reckless, but decisive. No wind-up. No unnecessary flair. Just a clean, grounded sprint that closed the distance with terrifying speed.

Muramasa cleared its sheath in one breath.

First Form—Senkai.

A straight-line cut.

The moment Seo shifted his footwork—just barely—Jin adjusted. His blade angled low, dragging through the air like a shadow. He pivoted in, grounded in his stance, and slashed upward.

Clean. Sharp. Absolute.

Steel passed through flesh.

There was resistance—but not enough.

Jin followed through, then stopped.

Seo stood perfectly still.

His right arm slid off at the elbow.

Dropped to the floor.

No scream. No recoil. No twitch.

No blood.

Jin’s breath caught.

Seo just looked down at the severed limb, blinked once, then looked back up.

And smiled.