Gacha System: Reborn In The Hardest World
Chapter 23: The Venator Reaper

Chapter 23: The Venator Reaper

It only got louder the further he moved through the tunnel. The volume was reminiscent of those crowds during championship games of national sports.

As he reached the end of the walkway, a light filled his vision before he stepped out.

He covered his eyes momentarily as he was immediately swallowed in the noise of the audience.

"What the...?" He muttered.

Moving his hand away, he saw the colosseum he stepped into; a vast, exuberant structure built of pristine gold. Dazzling crystals were embedded into the walls, with hundreds if not thousands of spectators seated.

In the battlegrounds he stood in, the ground was made up of snow-white sand, stretching far and wide.

"A NEWCOMER HAS ARRIVED! WILL THIS FRESH MEAT BE SQUASHED OR REIGN VICTORIOUS IN HIS DEBUT...? PLACE YOUR BETS!" The announcer’s voice boomed.

It sounded like the eccentric speaker had a microphone, even if the technology was surely beyond the fantasy world.

There were many more people in the audience than expected, as though it were a concert.

’This is a bit much, isn’t it...? Guess nobody else has anything else better to do than to watch some fighting,’ he thought.

Amidst the heavy atmosphere, his focus laid on the tunnel opposing where he stood. He knew nothing of who he was slated to face; a complete mystery.

"THE WAGERS HAVE BEEN PLACED! FOR OUR NEWCOMER HERE, HE’S BEEN GIVEN ONE THOUSAND TO ONE ODDS TO WIN!" The announcer shouted.

As the crowd erupted further, a chill ran over his body as he heard what left the speaker’s mouth, almost finding it hard to believe.

’A thousand to one? They’re basically saying it’s impossible for me, then? Who the hell am I facing?’ He thought.

On the other side of the arena, he watched a silhouette emerge from the opposing tunnel. A man of chalky skin, seeming painted white, walked out.

From the black-and-white makeup on the stranger’s face, he looked like some sort of clown. The man wore a black, flared coat, shut by a silver brooch.

’That’s my opponent?’ He thought.

A certain air was felt around the pale stranger; a malice laid in his hollow eyes, the look of a tried-and-true killer.

"IT’S TIME! The "VENATOR REAPER"—RURIK!" The announcer presented the combatant.

A name like that immediately stuck in the young man’s mind. It wasn’t a weightless title; no, even he, ignorant of the world, understood its gravity.

’Venator Reaper? If there’s any truth to a title like that, this guys a problem—no, I’m dead meat if that’s the case,’ he considered.

It almost seemed like an urban legend, something too far out of reality to be true. After all, he’d struggled to even survive against the sparse Venator he’d encountered.

The pale-painted man stood no more than ten meters across from him, intently watching him. In each of the Venator Reaper’s hands, he carried thin, needle-like blades.

"You’re nervous, aren’t you? I can smell it," the words left the lips of the enigmatic man.

Gael breathed in, trying his best to hide it, "What’re you talking about over there?"

"There’s no point in evading the question. When somebody is anxious, it produced a certain pheromone from their sweat glands," Rurik claimed, tapping his own nose.

"What are you, a dog...?" Gael questioned, feeling a shiver run over his skin.

There was something unsettling about the man; an eerie calmness that shrouded his true malice. His remark didn’t reel in a response as the slender combatant quietly flipped one of his blades between his fingers.

"—BOUT: BEGIN!"

The moment it started, he felt the air shift as the crowd thundered with anticipation. None of that was what he focused on though; he could feel the malice of the Venator Reaper.

’Here he comes...!’ He thought.

He hadn’t blinked, yet he found the distance between himself and his opponent already snatched away. Those unforgiving, hollow eyes stared right at him, no more than a meter away—

["Invisibility"]

He vanished, ducking down at the same time as both of the thin blades passed over. At the same time, he manifested his scythe into his hand, sweeping it towards the abdomen of his opponent.

"—!"

Somehow, though he remained unseen, the pale man slipped back as though moving purely on instinct.

’He dodged that—? Does this guy have a spidey sense?!’ He thought in surprise.

"Oh, a user of magic? A spell to turn one invisible—it must be shadow magecraft," Rurik calmly remarked.

The strain of invisibility quickly built up, forcing him to deactivate it, though not before storing his scythe away again.

"Phew," he breathed out.

Rurik turned to face him as soon as the breath was heard, "Ah, there you are."

He saw the man glance towards his hands, as if expecting him to have held a weapon. It immediately proved to him he made the right call in hiding the scythe with as perceptive as the Venator Reaper was.

’This guy is dangerous—incredibly so. He’s different from Dolus...There’s a sharper, more visceral air around him,’ Gael felt.

The cheers of the spectators felt vexing; they were more excited that he managed to survive just a few seconds. It wasn’t a question of him winning; no, it seemed everybody decided that was impossible.

"Come on, then. Let’s not bore the audience," Rurik calmly dictated, flipping his blades between his fingers.

It was with a single step that the distance was crossed between them again. Gael found his breath caught in his lungs, faced down by the pale killer.

All he could was clench his fists, igniting the marking tattooed on his arms, pushing both hands in front—

The air flashed with heat and fulmination, birthing the arrival of the twin dragons.

"LOOK AT THAT, FOLKS! IT SEEMS OUR ROOKIE HERE HAS SOME DAZZLING MAGIC! HOT! HOT! HOT!" The announcer shouted excitedly as the crowd followed.

Of fire and lightning, the ethereal beasts burrowed forward from his call, lunging right for the Venator Reaper before—

Rurik ducked down, continuing his sprint in a forward slide as the elemental dragons passed above.

’Seriously—?! He dodged it?!’ Gael witnessed.

The crackling lightning and swirling flames brushed through the pale man’s hair as he closed the distance. Gael brought his arms back, guiding the twin dragons to suddenly curve around, "C’mon!"

It took all of his strength to redirect the elemental force, curving it upward and turning it back around. He was face-to-face with the killer, watching those thin blades draw near his neck.

Inches? Centimeters? It didn’t matter; they were close enough that the phantom sharpness tickled his throat.

—VROOOM.

The fire and lightning beasts crackled, swooping inward as the pale killer jumped out of the way. A moment later, and his neck would’ve been split open, he felt.

Each of the twin dragons dispersed upon colliding with him, infusing into his tattoos as he immediately spun around.

He watched Rurik land a few meters in front of himself, not wasting a moment drawing in a breath before vanishing into the unseen.

"This trick again?" Rurik questioned with a blank expression, twiddling his blades.

"IT’S GETTING INTENSE NOW! IS THIS ROOKIE ACTUALLY HOLDING HIS OWN AGAINST THE VENATOR REAPER?! ONE MINUTE!" The announcer shouted while the crowd cheered.

He stepped back quietly while unseen, whispering as quietly but clearly as he could, "Temporary Summon: Skill."

[Skill Summoning Initiated | (N): 70% | (R ): 20% | (SR): 7% | (SSR): 2% | (UR): 1%]

[Chance Summoning complete...You’ve obtained...!]