17: Chapter 17 The Shock of Each Faction
In a remote and particularly frigid area of the Magic Sea.
The temperature here is below freezing year-round, yet the seawater does not freeze.
Igor, shirtless, squatted on the deck. He plunged his dagger into the abdomen of a small walrus with a squelch, slicing through the layer of fat in one swift motion. The entrails spilled out with a wet thud, and the steaming heat rose into the cold air as a white mist.
Seventy-eight.
Two days.
His "Cold Adaptation" talent doubled his strength in low temperatures. While others ran toward warmer places, he insisted on burrowing into the ice zones. There were many sea beasts, and competition was low.
The System notification chimed.
Igor licked the grease off the back of his knife and grinned broadly, his laughter carrying far across the vast, empty sea.
"The Sequence Leaderboard? The name of the Polar Bear Camp will surely be carved at the very top!"
...
Almost at the same moment.
Trials scattered across every corner of the Magic Sea shared the same thought simultaneously.
Separated by a hundred thousand nautical miles, unable to communicate, and lacking information, that inexplicable sense of confidence was universal across the globe.
Everyone felt that their own camp was the best in the world.
Everyone was waiting for the leaderboard to confirm this "fact."
And then—the leaderboard arrived.
...
[Camp Sequence · Day 3 Ranking]
A leaderboard popped up simultaneously on every Trial's information panel.
[1st Place: Yanhuang Camp, Total Merit: 5,126,847,391]
[2nd Place: Indian Camp, Total Merit: 187,523,649]
[3rd Place: Star-Spangled Banner Camp, Total Merit: 96,471,228]
[4th Place: Kangaroo Camp, Total Merit: 37,845,902]
[5th Place: Polar Bear Camp, Total Merit: 24,763,158]
[6th Place: Fog City Camp, Total Merit: 18,624,773]
[7th Place: Teutonic Faction, Total Merit: 16,352,441]
[8th Place: Gaul Camp, Total Merit: 14,289,635]
[9th Place: Samba Camp, Total Merit: 12,847,290]
[10th Place: Maple Leaf Camp, Total Merit: 11,336,874]
[11th Place: Fusang Camp, Total Merit: 10,792,568]
[12th Place: Taegeukgi Camp, Total Merit: 10,225,693]
[13th Place: Hebrew Camp, Total Merit: 10,134,781]
...
(Subsequent rankings omitted, approximately 200 camps in total)
The world fell silent for three seconds.
It was not an ordinary quiet; it was a deathly silence, as if the entire world had been throttled by the throat, holding its breath, with its heart skipping three beats.
The waves continued to surge, and the sea breeze continued to howl, but in the perception of every Trial, it was as if all sound had been drained from heaven and earth.
They stared silently at the terrifying number at the top of the list.
Over five billion!!!
Then, the skies over various sea areas exploded into chaos almost simultaneously.
Tianzhu.
Amit's lotus position completely collapsed.
It wasn't that he couldn't maintain it; it was that he looked as if he had been struck by lightning. His crossed legs jerked violently, his upper body lurched forward sharply, and he nearly tumbled off the bow into the sea. He braced his hands against the deck, his wide eyes nearly popping out of their sockets, staring fixedly at that number.
A population of 1.5 billion. Over 100 million in Merit. Second place.
And that gap—his brain turned like a rusty gear, struggling to process it. 187,523,649 and 5,126,847,391... divided by... multiplied by... Twenty-seven times. Twenty-seven times!!!
"This is impossible! This is absolutely impossible!!!"
Amit's elegance vanished completely. He stood up abruptly, veins bulging on his flushed red neck, his hands flailing in the air as if driving away some invisible demon. "We are the greatest race created by the great gods! 1.5 billion people! 1.5 billion!! How could we lose to... how could we lose to that..."
His voice grew sharper and sharper, finally turning into a roar, "The statistics are wrong! They must be wrong!!!"
He grabbed the prayer beads at his chest, gripping them so hard that the sandalwood beads dug into his flesh. His lips trembled as he recited scriptures, but the Sanskrit he was so familiar with was now a jumbled mess; even he didn't know what he was chanting.
Taegeukgi.
Park Jun-ho's idol-style bangs completely flopped down, sticking wetly to his forehead and covering his eyes, which were widened to the point of tearing. He opened his mouth wide like a fish thrown onto the shore, wanting to scream something, but his throat felt as if it were being throttled by an invisible hand, emitting only a hoarse, wheezing sound.
Twelfth place. Twelve. All the most humiliating numbers in his seventeen years of life combined were not as glaring as this "12."
"Ah—shi—bal—!!!"
Finally, a throat-tearing scream pierced the surface of the sea. He kicked over the automatic fishing rod beside him; the treasure he had spent two days of painstaking effort assembling crashed to the ground, its parts scattering everywhere. He didn't even notice, just stared at the ranking, his eyes bloodshot. "This isn't scientific! This is absolutely unscientific! Our Taegeukgi innovation, national spirit, and my Mechanical Affinity—how could we only be twelfth!!!"
He grabbed a wrench from the deck and slammed it against the gunwale. The sound of metal striking metal echoed across the sea, but it couldn't drown out the humiliation surging in his chest.
Fusang.
Takeda Shinichi slowly closed his eyes.
The katana remained motionless in front of his knees, but veins bulged on the hand gripping the sword like twisted green snakes crawling across the back of his hand. His knuckles turned white from excessive force, and the hilt emitted a faint creaking sound.
That was the bamboo hilt groaning under the strain of his steel-like fingers.
Eleventh place. Not in the top ten.
His breathing became extremely light and slow, as if he were engaged in some painful meditation. A barely audible grunt rolled from deep in his throat; it was the sound of dignity being torn apart, squeezed out from the deepest depths of his Soul.
He didn't speak.
But the remains of several sea beasts around the Houseboat suddenly split apart—that was the mark of uncontrolled Sword Qi.
Gaul.
The silk handkerchief in Emily's hand drifted onto the deck, light and airy like a withered rose petal. She didn't notice at all, just stared fixedly at the eighth-place position, staring at that number for a full ten seconds.
Her lazy smile froze at the corners of her lips. Her elegant confidence shattered into dust.
"It must be a statistical error."
Her voice was very soft, so soft it was as if she were afraid of waking some terrible truth. "It must be... the System made a mistake. Gaul's wisdom and revolutionary spirit... Eighth? Eighth?"
She looked up abruptly, gazing at the sky as if questioning that invisible Dominator: "Eighth?! We are Gaul!!! And that first place... how is that possible!!!"
The rapier "Rose Thorn" slipped from her hand, its tip piercing the deck, but she remained oblivious.
Stars and Stripes.
Jackson frowned tightly, ripped off his hat, and fanned himself vigorously twice.
The movement was as irritable as if he were slapping someone in the face. Third place, total Merit over 90 million, even less than Tianzhu, not even breaking 100 million.
His smile vanished.
"Third?" His voice squeezed out from between his teeth, carrying the harsh, abrasive sound of sandpaper. "If you don't count that absurd first-place Yanxia, we are second! As for Tianzhu?"