Chapter 4: No Cool Relics?

Chapter 4: Chapter 4: No Cool Relics?

He looked around.

"How the hell do I leave this place?"

Then he remembered. Transmigration stories involving games always have that.

He willed in his mind STATUS. A screen appeared before him.

"Yes! It works."

[STATUS]

Name: Victor Language

Race: Barbarian (Southern Bloodline)

Level: 0— Newly Awakened

Title: "Air Balloon" (Locked — cannot be removed)

VITALS

HP: 100/100

Stamina: 110/250

SKILLS

- Barbarian Battle Sense (Passive) — Lv.1

- Story Lore (Passive) — Lv. 100

- Berserker’s Instinct — Lv.1

- [In Game Skin synchronization — 0%]

CONQUEST POINTS: 0

[Earned through combat against the Encroaching Darkness]

???: 0

[A resource of unknown origin. Cannot be viewed until first earned.]

It was a lot to take in, and looked just like he would expect at tge beginning of a game, but this was not what he was after.

"Come on, there has to be more, right?"

He scrolled down, and then he finally saw it.

[Log Out]

He clicked on it.

[Caution: Log Out feature cannot be initiated during raids, trials, missions or quests]

"Oh, I’m really fucked."

RAWWWR!!!

The Basalt Dragonic Lizard rampaged, flinging the Babarians in the air.

The crowd roared in joy of the casual deaths.

"Stay away from its tail, and aim for its eyes!" Popo ordered.

And the babarians followed his orders, leading to less deaths.

King Boramo frowned. "That one. He looks capable."

The Shaman at his side leaned in to whisper, "yes. Popo, first son of the former king." His gaze fell on the skull sitting around Boramo’s neck. Rumors have it that he is a real contender for the throne.

Boramo’s eyes brightened a bit. As if to say that he welcomed the challenge.

In babarian culture, children of rulers are believed to inherit that same greatness. And that was why it was always advisable to kill the children of the former king when taking the throne.

But Boramo could not be bothered about killing those he considered convenient annoyance.

His gaze moved to Victor. He clicked his tongue. "Some annoyances more shameful than others."

Victor tried to get on his feet, but just as he took a step, he stumbled on his weight and fell face first into a pool of blood.

He spat in disgust.

This damn body. Is this what it’s like to have muscles everywhere? I can’t find my balance.

He tried to get up again, but the weight of his right arm pulled him down.

Victor’s usual body was big, round, and his sense of balance was much different from this one.

He wiped the blood stain from his face. The fear of dying made him try again.

And again.

And again.

A different heaviness everywhere, but the motivation to preserve his life propelled his adaptation.

If he could not log out, then he should at least try to preserve his life.

Soon, he was walking, and then running.

He arrived at the edge of the arena. The walls were very high(20 meters), and made smooth intentionally.

This was to prevent escape from the arena. Also, on reaching the walls, many in the crowd began throwing huge stones at him.

"Get back in there and fight, you coward."

"Such a disgrace to our great southern bloodline."

"Coward! Coward!!"

They hurled insults at him, and to preserve his life, Victor was forced to back off.

"Dammit! Of course it would be just like the game. This tribe hates cowards. There is no way to escape this place."

When playing as a babarian, Victor had tried a bunch of ways to escape this first match. But it was always fruitless.

The only way out of this was to fight and kill the Basalt Dragonic Lizard.

"Brother LOOK OUT!" Popo screamed.

Victor turned just in time. A flung babarian, several times his size hurled his way.

It enlarged within his pupils as his mind came to one realisation.

If this boulder of a man hits me, I’ll die.

Just when Victor would be smashed, he dove to the side.

He rolled once. Twice—for a lack of control over his body.

The man bounced off the ground and rolled, smashing into the arena wall.

Crack!

Victor heard his skull break as blood spat from his lips.

Still, the walls were intact. But the huge man slid off like wet bread against the wall.

Damn! I really would have died. But how did I move out of the way?

Just as the question popped up in his mind, so did the answer.

[Barbarian Battle Sense (Passive) —level 1]

Victor knew the old him would have never been able to do that. Just getting off the bed in morning was a chore. One time, it took him an entire hour, simply because he could not find the right spot to help roll into.

Popo on the body of the beast gave a sigh of relief. Kiki, his betrothed, showed a disappointed look.

Victor could tell. She would have preferred a coward like him be dead and gone.

Death? No, thank you. I still haven’t done that.

His perverted eyes visibly scanned her body—quickly.

With his barbarian instincts kicking in, his fear had mostly disappeared. And his hidden Otaku nature raised its head a bit.

But such a beauty would never look at his side. Not while tagged a coward.

But what if he defeated such a creature like the Basalt Dragonic Lizard, things would be different.

A strange fire burnt in his heart. Weirdly enough, the desire to survive was not half as strong as the desire to be acknowledged by a beautiful woman.

His eyes fell on the creature again. Over a hundred Babarians had attacked at the beginning of the battle.

Less than half were alive, and even less, screaming from the insufferable pain of broken body parts.

One man only had his upper half remaining as he crawled around in pain. "My legs! Please someone find my legs. It hurts so much. I’ll pay you. Please just..."

Once more fear came knocking.

What the hell am i thinking? Do I want to die just to please a woman?

His eyes navigated to Kiki again. She was hacking into the flesh of the beast. She looked valiant.

Damn it! MUSCLE MUMMY.

Greater men have died for less.

Victor quickly opened his status again. There had to be something that could help him there. Something that gave him an advantage.

His expression morphed in discouragement.

He had nothing. Absolutely nothing of value that could aid him.

"Come on, at least you could have given me something. Middle finger of Atlas. Last spit of a disgusted god. A nun’s blouse. Where the hell are all the cool relics I achieved?"

He fell on his knees.

It’s over. There is nothing I can do. Nothing I can do to help. I can’t get the recognition of a beautiful woman. Hell, I can’t even save my own life.

Just when depression crept in, his eyes fell on it.

[Story Lore (Passive) — Lv. 100]

(Author’s note: Please add book to your library, and I’ll drastically increase the update)