16: Chapter 16 The Confidence of the Major Factions

Deep in the northern region of the Magic Sea.

The sea wind carried a fishy smell, raising three-meter-high waves that slapped against the side of a quaint wooden boat house, splashing up white foam.

A blonde woman stood at the bow.

She wore a white corset battle robe, her hair blowing wildly in the sea wind. She held a sword in one hand; the long blade had runes engraved on it that flowed with a faint light.

On the sea surface before her, a sea beast resembling a sea lion but with sharp, deadly claws on its front limbs was surging toward her.

There was no hesitation.

The blonde woman stepped forward, and her blade drew a silver arc.

The slash landed precisely on the sea beast's neck.

Its massive body was split in two, its internal organs and blood pouring into the sea, rapidly dyeing the surrounding ten-plus square meters of water red. Seabirds circling in the distance let out sharp cries and began to dive to snatch their meal.

"Forty-seven."

She reported the number in a low voice, as if performing a daily check-in.

Victoria.

Fog City, Britain.

The long sword in her hand was named "Sword of the Lake," a gold-tier treasure opened from a sunken sea treasure chest yesterday.

The sword's design was not the archaic style from the King Arthur legends, but rather more similar to the form of a holy sword from a certain epic game. However, the warm current that surged into her body the moment she grasped it convinced her that this thing was by no means ordinary.

Two days.

Forty-seven sea beasts; the merit contributed to her faction had long since achieved a Breakthrough into the four-digit range.

She casually cut off the fattest rear fin of the sea beast, and with a flick of her sword, that piece of meat landed precisely into a wooden barrel prepared at the bow.

Lunch was solved.

Just as she was preparing to return to the cabin, a prompt sounded in her consciousness.

[The third-day faction sequence and personal merit ranking have officially opened.]

Victoria's footsteps paused slightly.

She did not rush to tap it open, but instead lowered her head to take a look at the gentle brilliance flowing on the sword's body.

Fog City did not have a large population.

In the early faction point competitions, a small population base was a natural disadvantage. She was very clear about this.

But she was also firm about another thing—

"The final victory will belong to Fog City."

She looked toward the distant horizon, her tone calm, as if stating a predetermined fact.

...

At almost the same moment.

In a certain sea area in the south of the Magic Sea, a crisp gunshot pierced the sky.

A flying fish that had leaped out of the sea had its head blown open in mid-air, and its corpse tumbled back into the water.

"Sixty-four."

On a reinforced iron boat house, a tall man wearing a wide-brimmed hat blew the smoke from the gun barrel, a cigar that hadn't been lit hanging from the corner of his mouth.

Jackson.

Stars and Stripes.

Two silver revolvers were tucked at his waist, and the Stars and Stripes gems inlaid on the grips sparkled in the sunlight.

"Wings of Freedom"—gold-tier dual pistols, infinite ammunition, ballistic correction, dead-point lock, devour to upgrade.

When he opened this, he almost thought he was dreaming.

The moment the System prompt popped up, he whistled and started laughing without even looking at the ranking.

"Sequence ranking?"

He pushed his hat brim up, his gray-blue eyes filled with natural confidence.

"No matter where it is, the Stars and Stripes will only be the strongest. As everyone knows, nobody understands rankings better than us."

...

In a shallow sea area surrounded by coral reefs.

Beside an exquisitely decorated boat house, the remains of a giant octopus floated on the sea surface. Its eight tentacles had been cut off neatly, the cross-sections as smooth as a mirror.

At the bow, a woman with her black hair braided into a French style was wiping the mucus off her thin sword with a silk handkerchief.

Emily.

Gaul.

The "Rose Thorn" in her hand was a silver-tier thin sword, with a rose-shaped ruby embedded in the hilt. Two days, thirty-nine sea beasts, plus she had found three compatriots to form a mutual aid fleet.

The System prompt sounded.

The corners of her lips curled up slightly, her eyes carrying a lazy confidence unique to the French.

"Gaul's wisdom and revolutionary spirit are destined to lead the trend."

She sheathed her thin sword and added: "The top spot of the ranking isn't competed for; it is destined."

...

In a relatively calm sea area.

In the center of a spacious boat house, a shirtless middle-aged man sat cross-legged in meditation, sandalwood Buddhist beads hanging around his neck.

Amit.

India.

He had no weapon. He did not need a weapon.

"Yoga Practitioner."

A talent skill that allows brief communication with marine life. At this moment, three large silver fish were being driven by dolphins to jump onto his deck, slapping against the deck boards with loud thuds.

Free lunch. It was like this every day.

He had already gathered over a dozen compatriots in the surrounding sea area and was preparing to form a fleet.

The System prompt interrupted his meditation.

Amit opened his eyes, his gaze deep.

"With India's population, isn't this Magic Sea ranking custom-made for us?"

He pressed his palms together and chanted scriptures.

1.5 billion people. Relying solely on numbers, he had the confidence to say this.

...

Ironclad boat house. The sound of machinery running.

Fritz.

Teuton.

Thirty-five years old, blonde hair combed back, blue-gray eyes. In front of him was a simple fishing machine assembled from boat boards and metal parts, with a semi-finished seawater desalination device next to it.

He hadn't opened a weapon. He had opened an "Engineering Manual".

But in his hands, this was more terrifying than a weapon.

The System prompt sounded; he put down the wrench in his hand and wiped the oil stains from between his fingers.

"Teuton Chariot."

He only said three words. No more were needed.

...

A boat house decorated with Taegeukgi stickers.

Park Jun-ho took off his headphones; the semi-automatic mechanical fishing rod in front of him was running at a constant speed. In two days, he had modified a broken boat into an automated fishing platform and even pieced together a simple reconnaissance drone.

He possessed the "Mechanical Affinity" talent, coupled with a K-pop idol-like hairstyle.

Eighteen years old.

The System prompt popped up, and his eyes lit up.

"With our powerful national spirit and innovation, the top spot naturally belongs to the Taegeukgi!"

...

Japanese-style boat house. Center of the deck.

Takeda Shinichi was kneeling, a katana laid horizontally before his knees. "Muramasa Replica," silver-tier.

The surrounding sea surface was floating with the corpses of several sea beasts. Fifty-two. Two days.

Wake up at 4:00, train for two hours, hunt for six hours, maintain equipment for two hours, sleep for eight hours. Strict as a machine.

The System prompt sounded, and he opened his eyes.

"In a trial ground that tests unity and patience, Fusang's quality is destined to lead. This time, no one can stop our Great Fusang Empire!!!"

...

Primitive boat house reinforced with animal skins.

Jack. Kangaroo Continent. Bronze-colored skin, holding a homemade spear thrower.

Survival expert. He was a regular on wilderness survival shows before his Transmigration. This kind of environment was basically a vacation to him.

The System prompt sounded, and he grinned.

"Kangaroo people already live on an isolated continent. Magic Sea survival? What kind of test is this?"

...

And in some unknown sea area of the Magic Sea.

The boat house deck was piled with handwritten notes, the pages fluttering as they were blown by the sea wind.

Solomon pushed up the round-rimmed glasses on the bridge of his nose and held a small bottle of iodine extracted from seaweed up to the sunlight.

The dark brown liquid wobbled slightly in the glass bottle.

"It's done."

He put down the bottle and recorded the data in his notebook.

The "Ancient Alchemy" skill book didn't give him any combat power, but it gave him something more critical than weapons—chemistry.

Iodine could be used for disinfection, seaweed could be used to extract nutritional supplements, and fish oil with salt could be synthesized into simple fuel.

On this sea of survival of the fittest, knowledge was the sharpest sword.

The System prompt popped up.

Solomon put down his pen, his gaze calm.

"Surviving in crisis is our national talent. Hebrew will eventually become the best."