174: Chapter 171 Battle
Victoria's voice was not loud, but Oliver's mouth immediately snapped shut.
"The Individual Sequence Contest is your right." Victoria looked at him, her red pupils calm and waveless. "Every one of your battles has its own significance. Every point you accumulate belongs to you alone."
"But you—"
"I do indeed need time." Victoria interrupted him. "But I do not accept charity at the cost of sacrificing your own interests. This is not respect; it is an insult to me."
Oliver's face flushed red.
"Pick up your weapon," Victoria said, "and fight me properly."
Oliver's fingers tightened around the grip of his round shield, then loosened. Tightened, then loosened.
Then he made a move that caught Victoria off guard—he lowered his shield and pressed one hand against his chest.
The suicide surrender posture of the Sequence War.
"Then I'll just—"
"Are you sure?"
Victoria's voice suddenly turned cold.
Oliver's hand, hovering above his chest, froze.
"From the moment you entered the combat space until now, you have spoken with me for thirty-seven seconds." Victoria said, enunciating every word. "If you had raised your shield the very first second you entered, I could have ended the battle the very same second I drew my sword."
Her speaking pace was not fast, but every word was like a nail.
"You say you want to help me save time. But you've dawdled until now, wanting to talk to me, wanting to surrender by suicide—do you think you are saving my time, or wasting it?"
Oliver's hand remained frozen in mid-air.
"You are merely indulging in self-moved sentimentality." Victoria said.
When those words landed, Oliver's face turned from red to white.
"If you insist on surrendering by suicide," Victoria's voice remained devoid of any temperature change, "you will not receive any gratitude from me. You will only make me feel humiliated."
She paused for a second.
"Is this what you want?"
Oliver stood stunned in place.
His mouth opened, closed, and opened again.
"I... no... that... actually I..."
Stuttering, he couldn't form a complete sentence. The roots of his ears were bright red, his gaze darted around, not daring to look at Victoria. His hands had nowhere to rest; his left hand grabbed his hair, his right hand touched the shield surface, and he looked like a jammed machine.
Victoria watched him for two seconds.
Then her tone softened.
"Now, pick up your shield."
Oliver looked up and met those red pupils. There was no mockery, no impatience.
It was serious.
"Use your talent, fight me with all your might, and then end this battle." Victoria's voice was steady and clear. "This is what you should do. Respect me, and respect yourself as well."
She paused.
"Only then might I admire you."
Oliver's breath hitched for a moment.
The next second, he bent down to pick up his round shield.
The face of the shield lit up with a sea-blue glow. His Tide Shield talent activated at full power, and a triple-layered water curtain barrier unfolded before him, each layer spinning at high speed, with sharp ice fragments mixed into the water flow.
"Thank you for your guidance!"
His voice no longer trembled.
Victoria drew her sword.
The moment the sword of the sea was unsheathed, the air in the entire virtual space stagnated. Deep blue ocean patterns flowed across the golden blade, and wherever the tip pointed, space itself trembled slightly.
Oliver's triple-layered water curtain barrier pushed forward, transforming into a rotating wall of water that surged toward Victoria.
The giant wave, carrying ice shards, came roaring forward.
Victoria took a step forward.
Just one step.
The sword of the sea slashed horizontally.
The golden sword light sliced through the water wall, sliced through the ice shards, sliced through the triple-layered tide barrier—like slicing through paper.
The blade stopped in front of Oliver's throat, less than a centimeter from his panel.
The sound of the water curtain shattering still echoed. Oliver stood where he was, his pupils reflecting the golden sword light, motionless.
Half a second. From drawing the sword to the end.
"...So strong." He murmured.
The notification sound for the end of the battle rang out.
Victoria sheathed her sword and turned around.
"Your shield is not bad." She said without looking back.
In the last second before Oliver's consciousness was ejected from the virtual space, he saw Victoria's silhouette, her black hair fluttering, vanish into the white light.
Victoria continued matching.
Three seconds.
Success.
This time, the person standing opposite was no longer Silver Grade.
A burly middle-aged man. He held a pitch-black war hammer, and the emblem of the Polar Bear Camp was engraved on his shoulder armor. Visible cold air permeated his body, and a thin layer of frost had formed on the stone slabs of the arena floor beneath his feet.
The visible Aura was not that of a Silver Grade Survivor.
Victoria immediately judged that her opponent was a Gold Tier Survivor.
But Victoria was not surprised; the higher the win count, the stronger the matched opponents. During the sprint for the top ten, encountering a Gold Tier was inevitable.
However, relying on the powerful perception brought by her "Spirit" stat of one hundred and fifty, she judged that this Gold Tier was not on the same level as her.
Then, she analyzed his combat style.
The opponent's stance was loose, with his center of gravity shifted back.
His grip on the war hammer favored charging up for a single-point burst, which meant his flexibility was lacking.
Victoria drew her sword.
Sergei recognized Victoria and didn't waste words. He raised his war hammer high, and the power of extreme cold condensed into a blue-white ice storm at the hammerhead, slamming down while carrying a shriek that froze the air.
The ground exploded. Ice shards pierced out from the shattered stone slabs, spreading in all directions.
Victoria dodged the main attack sideways, her toes touching the tip of an ice shard to propel herself into the air.
The sword of the sea carved an arc of light in the air.
Sergei raised his hammer to block. The roar of metal colliding shook the virtual space. His arm muscles bulged, and the power of extreme cold spread along the hammer handle, attempting to freeze Victoria's blade.
As soon as the frost touched the blade, it was vaporized by the energy field of the sword of the sea itself.
Victoria landed, her footsteps not stopping.
Seven consecutive strikes.
Every strike precisely slashed at the weak points in Sergei's defense—the connection of his shoulder armor, the gap in his war hammer's rotation, and the moment his left knee landed to support him.
The seventh strike severed his war hammer handle.
Sergei retreated three steps, just about to condense ice with his bare hands to reshape his weapon—
The tip of the sword of the sea was already pressed against his chest armor.
Thirty-seven seconds.
Battle over.