Roma unsheathed his dual swords with a flourish, crossing his arms in an X as he drew them from across his back.
He gave Yor a quick scan—from toe to head—and felt no real threat from him. Nothing about the masked mercenary gave off danger. Roma smirked, fully convinced this guy was just a conman here to scam Lifa out of her silver.
"Do you have a skill?" Roma tilted his head with a smirk, his voice dripping with mockery.
Yor said nothing—just stared back, the expressionless plain mask hiding whatever emotion he felt.
"What, no skill? Don't tell me the gods skipped you completely."
"Brother, you don't have to do this," Lifa said softly, her voice pleading. She gently grabbed his arm, but he shrugged her off without a word.
Roma raised his chin—and his swords—high. The blades clanged together repeatedly, a signal for the crowd to cheer.
And cheer they did—loud and wild—as they pushed back, widening the rough circle for the coming duel.
Excited voices filled the square as a man moved through the crowd, gathering bets—most of them placed on Roma. After all, he was a 2-star Intermediate. Yor, on the other hand, was only a 1-star Intermediate. The odds were clear, and Roma looked like the easy win.
Most games had numbered levels—grind enough, fill a bar, level up. Easy.
Deimos Online didn't work that way.
Here, progress was measured through Battle Mastery Rank, based solely on a player's battle experience.
No levels. No EXP bars. Just Stars—each divided into: Beginner, Intermediate, Advanced, and Expert.
You climbed by fighting. Real battles. Real danger. The more you fought, the more battle EXP you earned. Weak monsters barely counted—stronger ones pushed you further.
Each stage earned you stat points—small but vital boosts to grow stronger.
The crowd began chanting Roma's name.
All except for one man.
A figure stood off to the side, arms crossed, watching the scene unfold with a faint smirk. His dark green hair stirred slightly in the breeze. Draped around his shoulders was a cloak bearing the insignia of the Leviathan Guild. He wasn't here to support anyone. He was just here for the show.
"This Gummybear guy hid all his info. Only his Battle Mastery rank is visible."
"Right. I can't inspect him."
He knew the key to victory was deception—never reveal your full hand if you want the upper edge.
Sure, his current rank was only 1-star Intermediate, and it was already his fourth day in the game. He just hadn't been grinding like the others. Instead, he spent his time fishing—gathering every kind of fish he could find in the game.
But that didn't mean he was weak. His stats were high, and more importantly, he could adjust them at will. Boosting them to appear powerful or lowering them to fly under the radar—that was the gift the God of Reality had given him.
He just had to keep it all hidden. No one could know what he was truly capable of.
[Duel Start]
Roma glanced to the left—clang!—then to the right—clang!—banging his swords together again and again, riling up the crowd.
Chanting grew louder, whistles and yells filling the air as he marched toward Yor with bold, confident strides—his wide grin plastered on his face like he'd already won.
He stopped clanging, letting the twin blades hang loosely at his sides.
He lowered his head, arrogant eyes belittling Yor.
Yor stood still—no stance, no tension—his sword resting in his right hand like it weighed nothing.
Roma suddenly dashed forward, already casting the moment his feet moved.
"Alice, grant me the strength to vanquish the enemies before me!"
"Frostbane!"
Ice covered Yor's body, sealing him like a statue of blue-tinted frost.
Yor didn't resist—he lowered his constitution stat on purpose, letting the stun take full effect.
Roma spun sharply the instant he arrived in front of Yor. A twin-blade flourish—flashy, deadly, meant for offense and defense alike.
It had done so little damage that Yor felt like it must've been the wind.
Roma's grin vanished. The crowd's cheers died into gasps.
The man holding the bets on Roma gripped his coin pouch so tightly he nearly tore it in disbelief.
Roma snarled, slashing left and right, over and over. Full force. Teeth clenched. Muscles tight. His movements grew more wild—more desperate.
Then—the ice shattered.
And in Roma's eyes… everything slowed down.
In Roma's eyes everything went slow mo.
The blade was closing in—swift, and precise.
Roma saw it coming. His face tightened—eyes wide, jaw clenched, every muscle frozen.
There was nothing he could do. It was almost at his throat.
He was too fast. He couldn't stop it.
Just how strong is this guy?!
In the blink of an eye, the blade sliced clean through his neck—a single, flawless strike.
His head hit the ground with a dull thud, still wearing that twisted look of frustration and defeat.
[Gummybear Wins!]