The Oracle Paths

1205 Why The Hell Is The Treatment Between Us So Different?

From the lofty heights of their podium, the two squads seemed like tiny specks, as the arena was a vast expanse for twenty warriors. The regular troops in the front rows wouldn't catch much of the action, let alone those further back. Still, the tension was palpable, reaching a fever pitch as the two groups of warriors advanced toward each other.

None of the fighters rushed to engage; both teams held tight formations, sticking close as if drawing comfort from their comrades-in-arms. But even now, it was clear the two squads weren't evenly matched.

The Dusken Throne's squad lacked cohesion; its members kept their heads down, none eager to step into the spotlight. The Underworld Barbarians were a race of muscle-bound giants compared to Earthlings, but they seemed like runts next to the natives of the Lustra Plains, who cultivated Life Lumyst.

By contrast, the Light Warriors had already split into two ranks of five. The back line had swapped their spears and swords for hefty bows, while the front line took up large rectangular shields, forming an impenetrable barrier.

Spectators from both armies held their breath, eyes locked with intense focus and hope on their champions—even if they were weaker than themselves. The time it took the two groups of rookies to march the three kilometers between them made the wait feel endless.

At last, the moment the squads breached the invisible boundary—a distance equal to a football field—the pent-up ferocity and killing intent from both sides erupted, like tossing a juicy prey between two rival wolf packs.

Whoosh!

The shield-bearers crouched low, grounding themselves and planting their shields firmly into the earth, while the archers behind unleashed arrows drawn to the max. The Underworld Barbarians broke into a scattered sprint, charging forward with savage war cries. Two of the Wargod Raiders retaliated against the enemy's arrows by hurling their own hatchets, never breaking stride.

Weak as they were for recruits, they were still beyond ordinary humans. They closed the gap in less than a heartbeat. The projectiles hit their marks much sooner.

Two Wargod Raiders took enemy arrows head-on, dodging just enough to catch them in the collarbone instead of the skull. They hadn't been picked at random—they were the two shirtless fighters. The impact was so forceful that they were hurled backward, ending up pinned to the ground, wind knocked out and heads reeling.

Of the three other arrows, one was dodged by a third Raider, a fourth struck the breastplate of another, and the fifth pierced the skull of one of the barbarians already pinned down, as if it had been premeditated. None of Jake's squad members had been targeted.

"Seriously... With gear that shitty, they might as well have painted targets on their backs," a general sighed heavily.

That remark triggered a third wave of unforgiving glares aimed at Sheanu. The Great General, usually unfazed by universal disdain, suddenly didn't know where to hide and rubbed his nose to mask his embarrassment. As soon as this battle's over, I'm throttling whoever's responsible.

With half the distance closed, the second volley was unleashed. The other pinned Wargod Raider, struggling to pull out the arrow, caught another shaft right in the eye, his head bursting like an overripe melon. That spoke volumes about the power of those projectiles.

The Light Warriors were top-tier Pulsars, their coordination impeccable. After the first volley, they'd pinpointed the easy targets and adjusted their second salvo accordingly.

Of the four arrows left, all zeroed in on the Wargod Raider who'd dodged earlier. Just like before, he expertly sidestepped the arrow aimed at his head, but to his horror, his move had been predicted. With a furious roar of indignation, he tried to deflect a second arrow with a saber swing, but his blade exploded on impact, the projectile barely losing speed. The difference in quality between their artifacts was like heaven and earth!

The other two arrows were right on cue. They plunged simultaneously into his lower belly and throat—one shredding his guts, the other neatly severing his head. His body crumpled lifelessly, his decapitated head rolling on the ground, face still twisted with regret and injustice.

A fourth wave of silent death stares followed, all aimed at Great General Sheanu. Even Cho Min Ho's doppelgänger was holding himself back from slapping the man senseless.

The remaining squad members survived both barrages and finally reached melee range. The enemy archers stowed their bows in perfect sync, unsheathing their longswords with practiced calm.

The two surviving Wargod Raiders, mourning their fallen comrades, were the first to dive into the fray—leaping forward, weapons ready, hungry for blood. They were the most skilled and best-equipped of the group and, to everyone's surprise, managed to shove a shield-bearer aside and behead the swordsman behind him before he could react. The honor of their legion was restored!

Ekho, Claire, and the other Soul Clones joined the battle moments later, attacking with precision and methodically, resisting any urge to rush. Jake and Hephais's influence had served them well. The Light Warriors defended with their shields and countered with their lances just as professionally.

Their weapons smashed into the enemy shields with force, only to be easily deflected, while the heavy lances and halberds of their foes aimed for their armor, intending to crush the metal and the rib cages underneath. Or at least, that's what would have happened if they were wearing standard gear.

Instead, the enemy lances splintered against the black steel, their metal tips disintegrating with a piercing screech. The same black steel composing their weapons sliced through the Light Warriors' shields like a hot knife through butter. The tender flesh of the shield-bearers fared no better—they were unceremoniously cleaved in two.

All five shield-bearers—including the one the Wargod Raiders had shoved aside—were obliterated in a single, synchronized strike.

A heavy silence blanketed the arena. Every surviving duelist paused momentarily, even the ones responsible for the massacre.

Holy shit! I thought their shields would be tough to break, but they're as flimsy as paper, Ekho thought to himself, before erupting into a fit of manic laughter.

The two surviving Wargod Raiders were even more flabbergasted—astounded and envious. Why the hell is the treatment between us so different?! If they'd given me armor like that, why would I have bothered becoming a pillager?

Ekho's deranged laughter echoed across the arena, his sheer disbelief resonating with everyone present. For the Dusken Throne, it was a moment of elation; for the Radiant Conclave, utter humiliation. Seeing this, the four Saints grew grim, their silence only amplifying their menace.

"We concede defeat... for this round," Master Eldrion declared in a resigned tone ten seconds later, opting to spare the lives of the remaining Light Warriors.

In a single clash, he'd realized the disparity in equipment was an insurmountable hurdle. Honor be damned, his compassion wouldn't allow him to send brave soldiers to their deaths for no reason.

His voice was barely louder than a whisper, but by some unknown sorcery, it echoed all the way to the opposing bleachers, his surrender of the first duel reverberating to the back lines like a thunderclap. Upon hearing his concession, Jake didn't hesitate; with a single thought, he telekinetically pulled the surviving fighters apart.

His timing couldn't have been better; at that very instant, one of the two Wargod Raiders was about to be beheaded, while his attacker wore a glassy stare, his soul irreparably damaged by the remaining Wargod Raider's Spirit Lumyst Aura.

Once the news of the victory sank in, the Dusken Throne army erupted into cheers that made the ground quake. That's what you got when a billion barbarians roared with pride all at once. Jake suspected quite a few of them would be deaf by day's end.

Still, he had no intention of stopping them. Anything that crushed the enemy's morale was a win in his book. Unfortunately, Master Eldrion wasn't born yesterday, and his voice rang out once more, drowning out the celebration.

"Let the second round begin!"

He had zero intention of giving them a breather.

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