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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 45
Chapter Title: Thirty-Six Thousand Five Hundred
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Rimon was utterly dumbfounded.
He might have understood if he'd swung his sword himself.
But he hadn't even lifted a finger—just watched—and yet Park Hyeon-gun was spewing blood and collapsing. He couldn't wrap his head around it.
What the hell? Did his conscience and love for humanity suddenly surge, making him want to off himself?
Lee Cheongi's calm voice dispelled Rimon's confusion.
"Overheat."
"What? He got so pissed from that little provocation he just dropped?"
Rimon asked as if to say, what kind of fragile mentality is that?
Lee Cheongi corrected the misunderstanding.
"I mean the phenomenon that occurs when you stack skills beyond their limits."
"Oh, like yesterday when you slammed a thousand skills at once and nearly keeled over wheezing?"
"Yes."
Rimon nodded in understanding, but only for a moment.
He soon peered down at Park Hyeon-gun with a puzzled expression again.
"But why's this guy's condition way worse?"
And it wasn't just talk—Park Hyeon-gun's state was a complete mess. Blood poured from all seven orifices, his groin soaked in piss and gore, veins ruptured everywhere. Calling him half-crippled wasn't an exaggeration.
Lee Cheongi had managed a thousand skills and still kept minimal mobility.
A few skills, and this was the result?
Lee Cheongi's simple answer explained the difference.
"Park's never trained in multi-skill activation."
Lee Cheongi owed his vast skills to the Absolute Skill Skill Replication, no doubt.
But wielding dozens or hundreds simultaneously with ease? That came from years of relentless training and custom gear.
Even for him, activating them in batches of a hundred required Overload state.
The issue was, Park had stolen only skills and stats.
Not the training behind them.
"No gear, untrained body, firing off my skills like candy. He's lucky he's not dead."
After hearing the explanation, Rimon blankly asked,
"...So this idiot didn't know his limits, stole your skills on a whim, and blew himself up?"
"Pretty much."
It was so ridiculous.
Rimon stared at the writhing Park Hyeon-gun with a face that screamed, what kind of moron is this?
Then he turned to Lee Cheongi with a half-hearted grimace.
"Honestly, I was already baffled you strutted around proud after just skin-deep copying my swordsmanship. Guess you're the reasonable one compared to this."
Should he take that as praise?
Or an insult?
With Park Hyeon-gun as the benchmark of idiocy, Lee Cheongi wasn't sure how to respond. He fell silent briefly before speaking plainly.
"Somehow, I feel like I should apologize on his behalf."
"Nah, players are all like that anyway."
"..."
Lee Cheongi shut his mouth, not even breaking even.
It was just a matter of degree.
Fundamentally, he and Park were the same—overreaching with copied skills and crashing hard. One showed off his unique skill and self-destructed; the other got cocky with replicated ones and lost.
Still, lumping all players with Park felt excessive.
"Why..."
That was when Park Hyeon-gun finally spoke.
He seemed aware of his blunder, at least somewhat.
Using a couple recovery skills, he'd clawed back from wriggling worm to wriggling human. He spat a gush of blood and screamed,
"I... I worked hard! I did!"
Lee Cheongi succeeded effortlessly thanks to his cheat skill.
Unlike him, Park had slaved away with Prestige and Fame, useful only for lies.
While idiots rationalized their mediocrity with talk of simple happiness and peace, he'd thrashed desperately to survive.
He'd even embezzled guild funds for gear and items, risking his life to level up.
"So why should I end up like this!"
That's why Park couldn't accept it.
No, he refused to.
That a lucky bastard who'd become Monarch without trying had achieved what he couldn't.
That he'd self-destruct so pathetically, writhing like a bug.
"This is unfair!"
Park wailed, tears of blood streaming down his face.
This shouldn't happen.
If the world had any shred of fairness, he deserved reward more than anyone.
Rimon's take on Park's outburst of injustice and rage was straightforward.
"Fucking lunatic's throwing a tantrum."
"...What?"
"No clue why I have to spell out the obvious..."
As if too absurd for anger.
Rimon looked down at Park with utter pity.
Then, sighing as if the situation itself drained him, he said,
"The world isn't a game, you moron."
Clear a dungeon, get riches and glory. Level up, get strong. Have money, buy good gear.
Player common sense.
A life where effort naturally yields results.
But that's exactly why players so easily forgot what Rimon pointed out in a languid tone.
"You think reality hands out guaranteed rewards for spilling blood and guts in effort?"
Effort guarantees success?
Failure means not enough effort?
How perfect a load of bullshit that was—Rimon knew all too well from his long life.
There are geniuses who learn one thing and master a hundred.
Silver spoons born to wealth and fame.
Lucky breaks that propel nobodies to the top.
Their very existence debunks effort's omnipotence.
Proof that effort doesn't always pay off, that some limits can't be overcome by grit alone.
"That's why people praise effort and respect those who try."
Effort with guaranteed equal results is just grinding.
They know the world's unfair from the start.
Know rewards might not come.
Know some walls can't be scaled.
Yet they strive to chip at the unfairness, challenge limits despite failure's shadow. That's what makes effort valuable.
So when people say "keep trying,"
It's not "succeed no matter what."
It's "build unbreakable spirit and bold drive to push boundaries."
Only pampered rookies who've never failed despite effort misunderstand, chanting "more effort!" like a cure-all.
"Bottom line: even if you worked hard, it doesn't entitle you to kill, deceive, and steal from others."
Harder than anyone?
Deserve rewards?
Scoff at the lazy?
That's not effort or logic. It's blind fanaticism, cherry-picking beliefs that suit you.
And hilariously, the louder they preach it, the more they overhype their own grind while dismissing others'.
"Hey, if you wanna ignore laws and logic, treat life like a game? Go nuts. Your call."
Rimon smirked.
Kill with PK thrill.
Grind levels for that rush.
Live how you want—freedom's the point of life.
"Just like it's my freedom to smash you and claim blood debt."
One crucial difference, though.
Unlike games where worst case is a ban, reality costs your life.
"Kill...? Me?"
"What, thought I'd drag you to the cops after coming all this way?"
Rimon sneered coldly.
Park felt his blood run ice-cold.
He finally realized: Rimon had come to kill him for real.
And in that instant, grasping he could lose not just his life but everything here and now—
Park screamed with all he had.
"That's murder!"
Whatever crimes he'd committed, judgment belonged to the law.
Killing for personal grudge was straight-up crime. He shrieked desperately.
Rimon's reply was curt.
"So?"
Not playing dumb.
Not mocking.
Like he genuinely didn't get the point.
Tilting his head, Rimon gazed at the frozen Park and drawled,
"You profited breaking laws? Then brace for someone ignoring them to end you. Moron."
"...!"
In that moment,
Park finally got it.
Standing before him was Rimon Asfelder.
The mad dog who'd slaughtered PAB Director and two hundred others for one subordinate's revenge, held the President hostage, and toppled even the Monarch.
A monster no law could bind.
And he understood at last.
What "the world isn't a game" meant.
No system, no GM like in games—just flimsy laws.
No operator to shield him after flouting them for "rewards" from effort.
No, even if there were,
GM, god, constellation—didn't matter.
If they blocked blood debt, Rimon would cut them down, whoever they were.
"M-Monarch! You just gonna watch?!"
Park clung to Lee Cheongi.
Begging the man he'd just tried to kill—he was that cornered.
But Lee Cheongi didn't twitch an eyebrow.
He merely asked Rimon calmly,
"One day enough?"
"Four."
"That's..."
"Four days."
No arguments allowed.
Rimon notified in a languid yet icy tone.
Lee Cheongi met those golden eyes steadily, then closed his own and replied softly.
"No one enters here for the next four days."
"...Monarch?"
Park couldn't comprehend.
The four days Rimon set, and Lee Cheongi's promise of no visitors—what it meant.
As dread surged, body shuddering, Rimon drawled,
"Be grateful. I'm cutting what should be three months and ten days down to four."
"Grateful...? For what? What the hell you planning for four days?"
"Told you already."
Rimon lightly raised his sword.
Then plunged the blade into the writhing Park's body and murmured,
"Gonna kill you."
Squelch.
"Gah?!"
Park's eyes bulged like they might pop.
Not just from the sudden stab ripping flesh, guts, and spine.
The blade's tip hit a precise spot on the spine.
Suddenly, needle-like agony stabbed every inch of his body, searing lung pain and nausea crashing in unison.
"Relax. You won't die for at least three days."
Watching him tremble and seize, unable even to scream properly from the torment,
Rimon continued softly,
"Next to swordsmanship, what I'm best at is the thirty-six thousand five hundred torture arts I picked up fighting the Seven Dragon Society."
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