Loran was surrounded in less than a second, a spear, an ax, and a sword all flying toward him from different angles. From an outside perspective, their attacks may have looked lightning quick, second only to the likes of Zed, but for Loran’s enhanced senses they seemed almost painfully slow.

‘Alright, let’s get started,’ Loran thought with a smile as the lightly singed players attacked.

Without moving a muscle, the various armaments floating around Loran took action. There were six shields which he moved to intercept the attacking players. Each of their weapons was deflected or blocked, while the remaining shields flew toward their faces.

The swordsman, number 13, tried to dodge but was disoriented when the edge of the shield caught him in the side of the head.

The spear wielder, number 28, raised their own shield to block the attack, only to be taken off guard as Loran moved the shield lower and shoved them off their feet.

The ax wielder, number 17, took the blow head-on and headbutted Loran’s shield to avoid being distracted, using his superior Strength to force his way closer.

Unfortunately, his vision was still obstructed, leaving him slow to respond as Loran sent a pair of weapons flying at each player.

Number 13 clashed with Loran’s own sword while trying to evade a floating dagger, number 28 raised their shield to block an incoming ax while a second ax attempted to hook and pull her spear away, and number 17 was forced to stop his charge as a sword left a deep cut in his leg. He was then forced to his knees as a spear buried itself in his arm.

“17! YOU’RE OUT!” one of the referees announced, causing a few of the players nearby to make space for the eliminated player.

‘So far so good,’ he thought as he watched the injured ax wielder push himself to his feet and stumble away. The damage was significant, but he could still move. Numbers 13 and 28 were still preoccupied as they defended themselves from the weapons that flew back at them no matter how many times they were knocked away. Meanwhile, Loran’s various shields had started circling him again along with his remaining weapons.

‘At least the others aren’t trying to swarm me.’

Even if they tried he knew he could probably handle it. Unlike Moss Wolves or Iron Ant Drones, players needed space to fight effectively. Perhaps they were all wielding spears or some other thrusting weapons instead of swords and axes then it could work, but with such mismatched opponents, Loran estimated that five people at most could attack him.

Many players surrounded him, even those attacking other nearby points were glancing in his direction, possibly searching for an opening now that his shields and weapons had mostly fallen back into position.

‘Alright, these guys are taking too long.’ While Loran was glad that his defenses appeared tight enough to stop the other players from rushing in, the point was for him to get some combat experience, not have a staring contest. ‘I guess I can give them an opening, but how to make it look realisti-’

“LORAN YOU BASTARD!” Loran’s head jerked to the side at the sudden shout. He could see Rika being held back by a few of the other crafters, quite possibly the angriest he had ever seen them. “WHO SAID YOU COULD HAVE ALL THAT GEAR HUH!?”

Technically no one had let him do anything. He wanted his new playstyle to be a surprise for the competition, and on top of that, he just didn’t think he would be allowed to monopolize so much equipment when time and resources were so tight.

“I’ll give them back!” he shouted back as he started ignoring them again. Rika’s outburst had proven to be a perfect excuse to open his defenses, and a player with a ‘7’ on his shirt and a two-handed iron sword charged forward. Letting the attacker through his defenses, Loran hastily turned around and dodged the incoming blade, the edge just barely scuffing the large ‘3’ painted on his shirt.

‘Damn, that thing is big. I didn’t realize the Workshop was putting out projects like that yet.’

Seeing their own opportunity, more players joined the attack. Numbers 13 and 28 finally managed to get past his weapons, only to be stopped by a few well-placed shields and struck from behind.

“13 and 28! DISQUALIFIED!” A referee shouted.

Number 7 swung his sword relentlessly, barely letting Loran have a moment to breathe as they tried to force him out of the circle. Just as Loran was about to take a step out of bounds, a knife flew in, forcing number 7 to stop his assault. However, while Loran expected number 7 to dodge the attack, giving him a chance to attack with his sickles, they instead deflected the blade with his sword.

‘Impressive, but how about this?’

With so many points available to fight over, the number of people attacking him was dwindling rapidly. Currently, Loran was up against a total of three players including number 7, allowing him to devote even more of his equipment to taking them down.

As number 7 swung his sword again, Loran stood still and used three shields to stop the attack. At the same time, two axes and a sword flew in to surround number 7 from every angle. He managed to dodge two of the strikes, but when he tried to block the sword, Loran had the blade turn at a strange angle at the last second.

Such movements would have been impossible if the weapon were being held by an actual player or thrown normally, so number 7 was completely caught off guard.

The flying sword easily cleaved through number 7’s bicep and his dismembered arm dropped to the ground.

‘I guess that’s another one dow-SHIT!’

Loran had expected such a massive injury to remove the player from combat, but technically his HP was still above 30%, so he was allowed to keep going.

“The hell are you doing?!”

“I’m not done with you!” he shouted, awkwardly swinging his weapon with a single hand.

“You’re done dumbass!”

“No, I’m not.”

“LOOK!” Loran gestured aggressively at the severed arm.

Number 7 glanced at it mid-swing before shrugging. “I’ve had worse.”

“You fucking liar!” (1)

Number 7 kept attacking, but while he had the Strength necessary to swing the sword around one-handed, the loss of control made his attacks far more clumsy, and Loran had no difficulty avoiding each slash. After a few seconds, Loran stepped in and slashed at his remaining arm, severing his remaining hand and dealing just enough damage to push their HP to 29%.

“NUMBER 7! DISQUALIFIED!” Another referee shouted.

“Fuck!” the disarmed player shouted in frustration. He reached down to pick up his sword on reflex, only to pause as he looked at his stumpy arms. “Uhhhh…do you mind-“

“Yeah I got it,” Loran sighed at the display, picking up the weapon and the player’s severed hands. He quickly helped them put the items into his inventory before lowering his defenses to let them leave. “Try quitting when you’re ahead next time alright?”

“Nah.” The player calmly walked off.

‘...Okay, two left then.’

Loran turned to face the remaining two competitors, numbers 42 and 31. Both were putting up a good fight against his flying weapons, but by now he barely needed to try defending himself, so they were both clearly being overwhelmed.

Looking at the rest of the arena, it was easy to see that things had gone far more quickly than anyone had expected. Aside from those who already claimed a point, there were only ten competitors left. Most of the other fights had also devolved into one-on-one duals.

‘I guess this is what happens when you have 30 prizes and only 50 people who want them.’ It was more than a little underwhelming, but he had gotten the chance to test things out. ‘Whatever, let’s get this over with.’

Loran focused on his two remaining attackers and was about to take them both out with a flurry of blades and shields, but suddenly Bates dashed in from behind and stabbed number 42 in the back. A moment later, 31 was struck down as Zed’s spear left a huge gash along their back.

“31 AND 42, ELIMINATED!”

Number 42 scowled as Bates pulled his blade out from their back, and number 31 stumbled forward from the force of Zed’s attack.

Loran retracted his weapons and stared at Bates and Zed as the two eliminated players slowly left the arena. “So…can I help you two?”

Bates pointed one of his weapons at Zed, which Loran realized was a pair of Bladed Gloves instead of his usual knives. “You back off. He’s mine.”

Zed paused for a moment before giving them both a toothy grin. “Alright.”

“Don’t give me tha-” Bates did a double take. “Wait, really?”

“Sure.”

“Just like that?”

Zed shrugged. “The way I see it, I’ll still get to fight the better one. Why not?” Zed then took a few steps back to give the two of them some space.

After a moment, Bates turned back to Loran.

“You just had to show off didn’t you?” Bates asked, trying to ignore the presence of Zed. “You already had a hut.”

“I wanted some combat experience,” Loran defended. “Besides, I’ll give up the hut if I end up losing. Also, Bladed Gloves? Wouldn’t those make firing arrows a little difficult?”

“A bit, but I got used to it. Besides, they get bonuses from Knife Skills, so why not?”

“Fair enough, but…are you sure about this?” As Loran asked this, his many weapons angled themselves toward Bates. “Can’t say I’ve seen you fight one on one very often.”

Bates shrugged. “You’re not wrong. Honestly, I thought about getting some of my guys to back me up just to see you lose, but no,” he clenched his fists. “I want to kick your teeth in personally.” With that, Bates charged forward, and the grudge match began.

1) Yes, that whole bit is a Monty Python reference. No, I will not apologize for it.