Chapter Seventy-Nine: Walking Into the Trap

The force behind the Heavy Strike was even more formidable than the likes of copper hammers, bearing down on the Butcher like a mountain. The Butcher, seemingly indifferent, raised his hand, and his long whip lashed out like a serpent flicking its tongue. Yet, since he was wielding fourth-level spiritual energy, his speed was not overwhelmingly superior—far from the lightning-fast strikes he used to punish students, which left no time to dodge. True to his word, the Butcher was restricting himself to fourth-level energy.

Seeing this, Sazot was secretly delighted. He raised his longsword to intercept the whip, confident that with his fifth-level spiritual energy and third-level combat skill, Heavy Strike, he would dominate any head-on clash. Why not take advantage?

At that moment, the Butcher’s lips curled into a cold, sinister smile. The whip suddenly folded in midair, twisting at a strange angle to tap Sazot’s wrist.

No one could have expected that the instructor’s whip could bend during an attack—his mastery was truly extraordinary.

A peculiar force traveled along Sazot’s arm, writhing through his body. On his skin, a leech-like blue energy surfaced, winding and squirming in a terrifying manner. Wherever the blue energy passed, it felt as if hundreds of needles stabbed his nerves, a pain so excruciating it tore at his soul. Sazot screamed agonizingly, his spiritual energy scattered, and Heavy Strike dissolved of its own accord.

The sudden turn of events left everyone astounded. What exactly had happened to Sazot?

Joanna, sharp-eyed and experienced, concluded, “Lily, that’s a Grade A Level Two combat skill—Queen Bee Sting!”

Typically, a skill’s destructive power determined its level, but within each level, further distinctions were made based on quality: F, E, D, C, B, A, and S.

Quality was influenced by speed, coverage, attributes, and special effects. For example, the Level Two combat skill, Great Hand Seal, was average in speed, lacked attributes and special effects, but had a wide coverage, placing it among Level Two Grade E skills.

Another example: the ever-burning Blazing Palm that once tormented Roden—it too was a Level Two skill in terms of damage, but its fire attribute elevated it to Grade B.

A low-level, high-quality skill could often outshine many high-level, low-quality skills in battle. Queen Bee Sting, a Level Two Grade A skill, was a prime example. When powered by fourth-level energy, its damage was not remarkable—perhaps the weakest among Level Two skills. It was akin to being stung by a wasp; even a fifth-level student would not die from hundreds of stings. But its true menace lay in the intense, nerve-searing pain it inflicted, crippling the opponent’s will and morale.

“Perhaps it’s not Queen Bee Sting,” Elijia frowned. “It’s said Queen Bee Sting can only be delivered directly or through rigid weapons like steel. Yet the instructor’s whip is a flexible weapon. This must be a unique, secret skill, perhaps even more potent than Queen Bee Sting!”

Joanna nodded. “Lily, you make a good point. Either way, that student’s luck has run out—he’s facing a master with a secret skill!”

Unable to withstand the agony, Sazot immediately channeled his combat energy to expel the blue force from his arm. He knew it was unwise, but the pain was unbearable!

The instructor grinned maliciously; few could endure this skill’s torment. While Sazot was distracted, the whip lashed out again, striking hard at his leg.

Sazot screamed and collapsed. Things grew worse as the Butcher’s whip landed blow after blow—over a dozen strikes. Sazot’s spiritual energy was entirely spent on suppressing pain, leaving him powerless to retaliate.

After nearly a minute, the Butcher wrapped his whip around Sazot’s ankle and flung him out of the arena.

Defeat was almost a relief; Sazot was utterly shattered. His face was pale, blue energy writhing across his skin. He rolled on the ground, howling like a slaughtered pig, a truly terrifying sight.

Only after a long while did the blue energy fade. Sazot staggered to his feet, strangely uninjured, revealing the skill’s effect was pain rather than physical harm. Yet Sazot was traumatized; his eyes were full of fear. Anyone enduring such torment would be driven mad, and the shame of rolling on the ground before everyone was unbearable. Sometimes, a desire for bravado comes at a high price.

Even the audience was shaken, faces drained of color. The Butcher’s methods were undeniably cruel.

The Butcher laughed heartily. “You’ve got guts, but you’re still too green. Can’t even handle a little pain! Hey, you little brats, anyone else want to try?”

Sazot’s ordeal was a grim warning. The students’ courage evaporated; none dared challenge the Butcher.

Suddenly, a voice rang out: “Instructor Butcher, I’ll do it!”

He strode confidently into the arena. Everyone was stunned—wasn’t this Roden, the cowardly, shameless fellow who abandoned his partner and ran? He was known for fearing death and ranked sixty-eighth in the class, with only fourth-level spiritual energy. Even fifth-level Sazot had been crushed by the Butcher; did this kid have a death wish?

Joanna nearly fainted. Perhaps women’s intuition is sharper; when she heard the instructor was challenging students, she immediately suspected a trap targeting Roden. She dragged Elijia along to observe, but never expected Roden to charge onto the stage. Had he not seen Sazot’s miserable fate?

Clearly, this guy had masochistic tendencies; being tormented by her wasn’t enough—he needed an even fiercer, more terrifying demon instructor to punish him.

But it was too late to intervene; Roden was already on stage.

Joanna clutched her head in distress. “Lily, our warnings were wasted. Is he just a glutton for punishment?”

“Not punishment—it’s the reward,” Elijia said incisively. “With Roden’s personality, he’s easily tempted.”

Joanna sighed. “True. That kid’s so greedy, he’d even fish in Dragonfly Pool to sell for coins. With so many coins at stake, how many fish would he have to catch? But instructor’s coins aren’t so easy to win; even risking his life, he might not get them!”

Elijia smiled. “Let’s not judge too soon. Perhaps he’s improved over the break.”

Joanna scoffed. “Improved? Even if he did, it’s only been a month. Can he turn into Superman? Lily, you’re overestimating him. Just wait—he’ll end up worse than Sazot. He might walk up, but he’ll be carried out. We’d better hurry and notify that stud to collect his remains!”

Elijia nearly fainted. “Joanna, you’re exaggerating! The instructor will just teach him a lesson, not kill him. Besides, he can surrender at any time.”

“Surrender? Did you see the last challenger? He was in such pain his tongue cramped up—unable to utter a normal word for ages, only screaming desperately. Surrender wasn’t even an option!”

By now, Roden stood before the Butcher. Elijia’s analysis was accurate; he was indeed drawn by the promise of coins. Had Sazot not rushed ahead, Roden would have already gone up.

Well, pain is pain. Endure it for a minute, earn a coin—where else could he find such a deal? If he didn’t go, he’d be an idiot. Unlike others, he had no pride left; his reputation had been ruined the moment he entered Blue Emperor Academy. As the saying goes, a dead pig fears no scalding water. The truly shameless are invincible. Even if he ended up rolling on the ground like Sazot, Roden wouldn’t care.

Lovely little coins, wait for me. Soon you’ll be in my pocket. Don’t worry, I’ll cherish you, and put you to the best use.

Besides money, Roden had another motive—he wanted Nicole to gather more combat data for virtual duels. Joanna’s Blazing Palm was no longer enough; direct participation would yield much better results than mere observation.

The Butcher watched Roden, a gleam of satisfaction in his single eye.

The prey had taken the bait.

This reward was designed for Roden. During dinner, the Butcher had someone inquire and learned that Roden was extremely greedy—a fatal flaw in his character.

The Butcher laughed heartily. “Good, another gutsy brat! I’m delighted. Come on, endure for a minute—just one minute—and you’ll get a coin!”

Roden said, “Wait, instructor, I have a question.”

“What is it? Speak!”

Roden smiled. “If it’s a coin for every minute endured, what if I fight back—and hit you?”

His words caused an uproar. Roden’s tone was audacious; did he really think he could counterattack? Who did he think he was?