Chapter 68: The Spear Against the Shield

At this moment, even Mishus, who had stood aside and witnessed more than a hundred challengers enter this place over the course of ten thousand years, could not help but be moved. What kind of strength had sustained him until now? He had been battered again and again by the puppet, knocked out of the ring like a sandbag, yet each time, he struggled to his feet and returned to the fight. In this regard, he had truly achieved the standard of “fighting like a warrior.” Perhaps only a love as deep as that for one’s family could give rise to such indomitable fighting spirit. The outcome of today’s battle might not change, but the image of Rollin was already deeply etched in Mishus’s memory. He would remember this man, who, knowing full well that he could not defeat the puppet, still rose again and again, staggering back into the fray without a hint of hesitation.

To some, this might seem utterly foolish, but in this world, there exists a kind of loyalty called “doing what must be done, even in the face of certain failure.”

Warriors, risking everything, rush into dense enemy ranks to recover the bodies of fallen comrades.
A husband desperately presses the last drops of his blood to the lips of his gravely injured, bleeding wife.
The mother of a low-level magical beast, seeing her offspring snatched away by a more powerful creature, disregards the vast difference in strength and hurls herself at the foe in a frantic bid to save her child.

Such “foolish” acts play out every moment on the continent of Aragon. Whether among humans or magical beasts, true feeling abounds; they would rather perish than know regret!

With sheer will, Rollin once more dragged himself near the puppet. It struck again with a forceful blow, and Rollin made no attempt to defend. There was a sickening crack as several ribs snapped. Rollin let out a guttural roar, and like a wild beast, he lunged and bit fiercely into the puppet’s arm, tearing away a chunk of its flesh with his jaw. Though the puppet had no blood, such an attack still caused some of its energy to leak away.

Enraged, the puppet swung its arm and hurled Rollin violently through the air.

“Rollin, stop now! If this continues, the puppet will kill you! In ten thousand years, no one has shown such tenacity as you. You’ve done more than enough—give up now! With your talent and spirit, your future as a mage and alchemist will be unmatched by any other. Why throw your life away?” Mishus, who had lived for millennia, could no longer restrain himself and suddenly called out to urge Rollin to stop.

“No, no… I still have time. I must defeat it!” Rollin’s words, muffled and indistinct, were barely audible to Mishus, but his actions spoke clearly—he climbed to his feet and charged forward once more!

Bang! The puppet’s kick sent him flying again.

“Rollin, less than ten minutes remain! Give up!” Mishus nearly shouted in desperation.

Yet Rollin rose again.

Bang!

Again and again…

“Rollin, there’s less than two minutes left! You have no hope—don’t waste your strength!” Mishus could not understand his own urgency this day; for a stranger, he was exhausting himself in repeated pleas.

Once more, Rollin was sent crashing to the ground. “Less than two minutes? This damned puppet—its attacks are overwhelming, and its defense is monstrous, with no weakness in either. In these last two minutes, I can only muster one more attack. But how, this time, can I break its defense?” His bloodshot eyes, swollen nearly shut from the beating, fixed upon the unmoving, powerful puppet. If this final blow failed, then all the hardship of entering the Maya Mountains for his brother’s sake would be for nothing. How could he defeat it? No flaw in its attack, no flaw in its defense—what could he do?

Wait!

Suddenly, a spark of hope flashed in Rollin’s swollen eyes—an unprecedented glimmer. He had thought of a way to deal with the puppet. In that instant, his nearly extinguished heart flared to life again. “No weakness in attack, no weakness in defense—perhaps that is the greatest weakness of all! Yes, this time I will succeed!”

With this realization, some unknown force surged within him. Rollin straightened and stood up once more. This time, he did not charge blindly, but advanced step by step, cautiously drawing nearer to the puppet.

“What! He’s still going? He heard there’s less than two minutes, knows he has no chance, and yet he goes anyway! Such will, such persistence—if he does not become a sanctuary-level powerhouse within a hundred years, I’ll write my name backwards!” Mishus was utterly convinced by Rollin’s actions, muttering to himself the sort of words only a child would say.

As Rollin reached the edge of the ring, the puppet clenched its fist. The moment Rollin stepped forward, the puppet shot toward him like a streak of light, aiming a vicious blow at his chest.

But Rollin suddenly retreated, stepping outside the ring. The puppet’s massive fist halted in midair. Furious, the puppet watched as Rollin circled to another side and re-entered the ring. Again, as the puppet struck, Rollin quickly stepped out. This infuriated the puppet to no end.

After repeating this three or four times, the puppet was in a rage. Though it lacked subtle emotions, it understood that its opponent was exploiting the rule that it could not leave the ring, making mockery after mockery so that every powerful punch fell short. It was maddening; the puppet longed to tear this human to pieces.

“What is Rollin doing? He’s only making the puppet angrier, but this won’t defeat it. Besides, with all this stalling, there’s less than half a minute left!” Mishus watched anxiously, unable to fathom the purpose of this apparent waste of precious time.

At that moment, Rollin moved. He strode forward in one great step, his entire body entering the ring. The puppet, blinded by rage, saw its tormentor finally within reach and bellowed furiously, channeling all its might into its right fist, which thundered toward Rollin’s head with lethal force. If this punch landed, Rollin would surely die on the spot.

But Rollin had anticipated this move. He knew he could not dodge, nor had he ever intended to. In that instant, his left elbow, which had been poised for just such an opportunity, shot upward with desperate force, smashing into the puppet’s elbow joint!

Struck at that vulnerable juncture, the puppet’s mighty blow abruptly changed direction, its fist veering to crash into its own chest!