Zenith Online: Rebirth of the Strongest Player



The gnawing feeling intensified in Kieran's heart with each elapsing second and though it no longer caused him anxiety, Kieran's alertness had tripled, bordering on the edge of fanatic paranoia.

But, could it be called paranoid if his instinct were justified and keenly honed. In this aspect, Kieran was no different from a beast in the wild, using his gut to guide his actions.

Roughly two minutes passed after the fall of the mightiest Fallen Gladiator before Kieran was given notice of the next round's beginning.

But unlike the two rounds before, this message this time was bleak. 

〈System: The third round of the «Immemorial Gladiator Trial» has begun. Savage, ruthless and driven by the promise of rewarding victory, the army of unrelenting warriors shall stir the bloody nightmare.〉

'Army?' 

Kieran grimaced, his lips sinking into a darkened frown. 

It didn't take a genius to understand the message hidden, if hidden at all, in the alert before him. This round would quite literally involve an army. But more alarmingly, inside that army was something the system considered to be a threat.

Otherwise, it wouldn't have bothered revealing this prophetic message to Kieran. One that imparted vague and somewhat cryptic information. 

Countless times the previous number of disturbances appeared throughout the War Phantasmagoria, felling several thoroughly damaged knolls that protruded from the rocky range.

Unlike before, the Fallen Gladiators now wielded weapons from the start. They were born ready for battle. Luckily, Kieran hadn't been foolish enough to dismiss his Blood Mania or the Vampiric Blood Encrustation.

Yet this thought didn't matter to Kieran as much as he thought.

He was too focused on another unfortunate development likely to lead to his grave misfortune. The number of mighty Fallen Gladiators present had swelled to ten, each bearing the same distinct, vibrant blue sea of burning resentments in their eyes. 

The lesser Fallen Gladiators had also swelled to approximately 90 in number. Kieran was too preoccupied to confirm this with a patient headcount. 

In the distance, Kieran's gaze fell upon a singular slender Fallen Gladiator wearing a different type of armor.

Complete with a tattered breastplate that revealed veins of bright blood flowing through it, the top was connected to pauldrons etched to highlight a stellar upper physique. 

Kieran brought his eyes lower.

Greaves and sabatons outlined a powerful lower body so thin it was clearly donned to maintain an impressive degree of maneuverability. Draped over its shoulders was a crimson cloak with the War Deity Council's archaic insignia embroidered in the center.

Glimpsing this detail was only possible due to the cloak twisting and blowing to the side. Their appearance had clearly triggered something in the area to produce winds in a previously calm environment.

"You… must fall."

An eerie inhuman voice, oddly reminiscent of the shrill cry of thin, razor-sharp metal grinding together, sounded from the slender manifestation of brutality.

'Enough sentience to speak.'

  If it could speak, it could also manage the agency of its power far better than its lesser counterparts. But a greater sense of understanding was the outstanding issue here.

The Fallen Gladiator turned its helmet toward the area most concentrated with the blue-eyed Fallen Gladiators. A single alarming word echoed repeated from its helmet. 

"Eliminate…"

As if commanded by a deity they could not defy, the burning cerulean flames of resentment billowed, and they charged, viewing Kieran as the only threat to their safety.

This thing wasn't a gladiator like the other Fallen Gladiators, mindless and feverish with the desire to live though dead. It was self-aware, conscious of the fact it served a purpose in this environment.

It was a commander.

Thus, Kieran dubbed it with another name though the system addressed it as the same Fallen Gladiator.

"This thing is a Fallen Commander—a dangerous adversary," Kieran frowned, unmoving as he watched the mighty Fallen Gladiators encroach his position.

Battle was inevitable, and Kieran didn't dread it, but he did come to a realization. 

If he stacked the numbers of each round against each other… it followed a distinct pattern. Though he wished he had realized it earlier, two occurrences were merely a rare coincidence; they couldn't be defined as a pattern.

Hence, he needed this situation to unfold to be sure.

The number of each round increased by a power of ten. But more than that, each round introduced a greater enemy. Following this pattern, passing the fifth round meant he'd have to overcome a staggering 10,000 enemies!

Though it wasn't his first war experience, it was the first time he had to fathom a force that large while stuck as an Intermediate Being. No wonder Veradin urged him to eat and sate his hunger. 

This was a truly endless battle!

'The more I consider it, the more likely it is that the war is the nightmare itself… Maybe I over-thought the meaning of its name.'

Intent on not letting the looming threat grip his thoughts any further, Kieran lifted Crimson Ashrune. To avoid exhausting himself faster than his body could withstand, Kieran refrained from using his more… destructive skills or many skills in general.

Now that his understanding of the trial had reached a rudimentary level, he realized it was all about pacing himself. 'I'll monitor my Stamina at all times. But I'll also have to remain mindful of my mental fortitude.'

Whereas the Fallen Gladiators, whether white-eyed or blue-eyed, approached Kieran at breakneck speeds, the Fallen Commander, as Kieran aptly called it, remained motionless, intelligently overseeing the outcome of its order.

Judging from the calculating light in its eyes, it was hellbent on quantifying Kieran's strength.

These beings were manifested to embody the principle of gladiators at their core, but they were instilled with the crushing valor of war combatants.

Every genuine War Champion had to be at least a 10,000-man Slaughterer. Without this traditional yet ignoble moniker, the War Crest of Champions was considered an article of vanity.

The repeated clangor and sonorous collisions of heavy, resilient weapons fed the Fallen Commander vital information regarding the extent of Kieran's strength, the limits of his speed, and the quickness of his reactions. 

From what it gleaned, the Fallen Commander felt Kieran could and would be eliminated. 

Of course, its information was incomplete. 

Kieran understood the importance of knowledge and its absolute value as a person familiar with war. Like Veradin had warned him, losing the edge of one's unique and definitive agency spelled defeat. 

Keep the opponent from knowing your true strength if it is avoidable.

Though it was difficult to maneuver against nearly a hundred opponents obsessed with swiftly ensuring his demise, Kieran managed. It resulted in trivial wounds to his body, which translated to a decline in Health but it wasn't anything to raise his alarm.

Cut, nicks, and bruises were standard in combat. 

Plus the pain couldn't compare to some of the horrific transformations Kieran had endured. Besides, the Quintessential Aether's auxiliary revealed their remarkable worth.

Minor cuts healed in record time.

While embroiled in battle against these nearly one hundred opponents, Kieran occasionally released a torrential Wrath Eruption to claim a second's reprieve. 

After his breather, Kieran tended to follow up with a Crimson Current.

Nothing like Agrianos or Scar could muster, but it was substantial, roughly ten times the size of Kieran. When a wave that immense came crashing down with a vengeance, not many could remain upright, forced to the ground with additional cracks and dents in their tattered armor.

The austere conditions of this battlefield earned the problematic label Kieran gave them. Several times, his foot destroyed the unsteady ground incapable of handling his reinforced mass. This caused him to frequently lose his footing and defend with a sloppy defensive stance.

These seemingly benign mistakes compiled in the Fallen Commander's inanimate mind, fueling the tinge of disdain that bled into its battle-hardened gaze. In its eyes, this opponent was a blemish on the battlefield, even if he was battling against overwhelming odds.

"Inadequate…"

The Fallen Commander's bone-chilling voice echoed. Its volume was moderate, yet its words triggered an innate fear slumbering in the essence of the Fallen Gladiators.

Slowly but surely, a grueling authority was being manifested amongst these lamented foes. 

Unlike the others that claimed their weapons from the range of neglected, time-worn shards, the Fallen Commander retrieved its weapon from within.

Its helmet opened, creating a repugnant, inhuman mouth that led to an expansive, tenebrous depth.

A two-handed longsword, half its length radiating with deep red light, the other with the cold sheen of a dark metallic substance, appeared. The rivers of blood seemed to weep after its appearance, but it was short-lived, returning to a calm state soon after.

Evidently, this Fallen Commander needed more authority. 

Still, this menacing weapon couldn't be overlooked after seeing what the Fallen Commander could do with it.

From a distance, a ray of strange energy, ostensibly a warped form of Mana, barreled toward Kieran. Upon closer inspection, Kieran realized it was the energy collected inside that commander's blade.

"Seethe Burst!"

Kieran's reaction was swift and instinctive, fostered by the countless usages. When it came to familiarity, no skill in Kieran's arsenal surpassed Seethe Burst. This familiarity was responsible for Kieran's capacity to unleash the skill so fast despite his… limitation. 

The result was almost the same on both sides but the crimson mist left by Kieran's attack was denser and more vibrant. Like comparing old blood to fresh blood.

After all, this War Phantasmagoria had existed for a long time. Perhaps since or before the beginning of the Gladiator Coliseum event.

Yet, Kieran couldn't gloat about his apparent superiority. Whereas he had retaliated with a skill, the Fallen Commander's attack was a casual swing of its sword.

"Eliminate… the inadequate…"

The Fallen Commander's shrill voice repeated, this time carrying a swath of murderous resolution.

With speed akin to it teleporting, the Fallen Commander moved with a broadcasted vengeance. 

A predator had undoubtedly begun to hunt!