Chapter 83: Ambushing Future Enemies with A Hundred Thousand Light Arrows
"Alrighty, today Old Sampo here will be an Arbitrator for a day!" The Masked Fool stood at perfect attention, his chest puffed out with exaggerated pride. "I've never been an Arbitrator of Equilibrium before. This is going to be a breeze!"
If someone completely unfamiliar with Sampo Koski were to look at him right now, they would undoubtedly sense a deeply upright, righteous aura radiating from his brow. He looked absolutely nothing like a shady merchant who would scam an unsuspecting tourist into buying counterfeit relics.
"Just leave everything to me!" he declared, striking a heroic pose.
A mere half-day later, the reality of the cosmos caught up with him.
Sampo literally crawled back into the room, his fingers dragging across the floorboards.
"Arbitrator... so exhausted..." he wheezed, his face planted against the cold ground. "How can the workload... be so high..."
The contrast between the high-spirited swindler from that morning and the deflated husk groveling on the floor was stark.
Rekka crouched beside him. He was still occupying the hijacked form of Phantylia, towering and ethereal. Four ominous orbs of destructive light rotated lazily around his shoulders, casting a faint, menacing glow over Sampo's miserable form.
"How does it feel?" Rekka asked, his voice dripping with dry amusement.
"Exhausted... I'm completely exhausted..." Sampo's voice barely registered above a whisper. "Even though I mentally prepared myself for a high workload... there are endless matters to handle. Unresolved legacy issues, cosmic disputes, and those absolute maniacs who never stop fighting..."
The poor Fool had been worked to the bone, treated like a literal beast of burden by the relentless scales of Equilibrium.
Rekka stood up, the four light orbs shifting their orbit to trace a slow halo around his towering figure.
"You worked hard today. Tomorrow, you can go back to being a jester. This half-day was just meant for you to experience life."
Sampo rolled onto his back, staring blankly at the ceiling like a salted fish drying in the sun. "Experience life... what exactly did I experience..."
"You experienced the sheer hardship of absolute Equilibrium," Rekka said, looking down at him with a faint smirk.
Leaving the broken swindler behind, Rekka finally returned to the Astral Express.
He had accomplished a massive amount of chaotic work today. He had single-handedly caused a massive headache for the Interstellar Peace Corporation, deliberately sabotaged a critical segment of their capital chain, and left the Marketing Development Department scrambling to put out metaphorical fires.
Considering the sheer, bloated mass of the IPC, Rekka felt it was only fair to fleece them for absolutely everything they were worth.
He raised his arm, watching the flesh turn translucent. The rotational speed of the four destruction orbs circling him had noticeably slowed, their sharp edges blurring into soft, fuzzy halos of dissipating energy.
"...Time is almost up."
The second hand of the wall clock ticked away, the mechanical sound exceptionally clear in the quiet, empty carriage. Rekka's towering, imposing figure began to flicker. Like an old television screen struggling with a bad connection, his edges dissolved into static noise and digital particles.
When the morning light filtered through the Express windows, Rekka found himself walking the Path of The Hunt.
However, he didn't look like a divine Aeon, nor did he resemble a hardened Galaxy Ranger. On the surface, he looked entirely unremarkable. No glowing eyes, no extra limbs, no aura of lethal precision. He just looked like an ordinary person.
"This shouldn't be right. Shouldn't The Hunt be... well, a bit more intense? Anyway, they definitely shouldn't be this easy to talk to."
March 7th circled the completely unchanged Rekka, poking his arm and lifting his hand to inspect his fingers for any hidden claws or cosmic energy.
Unfortunately for her curiosity, she found absolutely nothing special.
"Is your Hunt form just as washed up as your Elation one?" March 7th shook her head, letting out a dramatic sigh.
Rekka ignored the jab. "Lend me your bow."
"My bow?" She blinked, pulling the weapon back slightly. "What are you going to do?"
"Shoot arrows."
"Can you even pull the string in that state?" she asked, eyeing his thoroughly average-looking arms.
Rekka nodded. "I can."
"...Alright, just don't accidentally snap the string and scratch your hand. My bow still requires a decent amount of strength to draw back."
March 7th handed the weapon over.
To her absolute bewilderment, Rekka didn't head to the training room. Instead, he climbed straight onto the exterior roof of the Astral Express, planted his feet firmly against the metal hull, and aimed directly into the infinite void of space.
He reached back. A surge of pure, crackling purple energy materialized between his fingers, forming a perfectly notched arrow. With a smooth, steady motion, he drew the string taut and released.
The energy arrow shot out, vanishing into the cosmic dark without a trace. It hit absolutely nothing, looking exactly as if he were just firing blindly into thin air.
Rekka stood on the roof of the moving train and continued this repetitive motion for four system hours—roughly eight standard hours. During this entire period, his arms moved like a flawless machine. Draw, aim, release. Draw, aim, release.
"Alright, maybe I should take back what I said earlier," March 7th muttered, leaning out of a top hatch to watch him. "At least in your Hunt form, your arms are ridiculously strong."
She glanced at her bow. The weapon was holding up perfectly; it was a top-notch piece of equipment, after all.
"What exactly have you been shooting at for the past eight hours?" she finally couldn't hold back the question. "I see you've been firing in the exact same direction the entire time. Is there something out there?"
"Nothing," Rekka replied, not breaking his rhythm. Another purple streak vanished into the void.
"Then why do you have to stand on the roof of the train to shoot? Wouldn't it be better to just practice indoors?" She crossed her arms, completely failing to understand his logic.
"My target is not the present."
He lowered the bow for a fraction of a second, his eyes tracking an invisible trajectory across the stars.
"But the Future."
It was one of the absolute pinnacle abilities of The Hunt—Effect before Cause.
"When the time comes, the arrows I shot today will already be lodged in the enemy's body."
After a painfully brief rest, Rekka took March 7th's bow right back to his spot on the roof and resumed firing into the universe.
Swoosh. Swoosh. Swoosh.
Sometimes he fired two arrows at once. Sometimes three, or even five, the purple streaks fanning out like a deadly peacock tail before disappearing into the future.
This relentless barrage continued straight until midnight. By the time he finally lowered his arms, he had fired at least a hundred thousand arrows.
One could only wonder which incredibly unlucky bastard would have the absolute misfortune of encountering Rekka in the future, only to instantly take the full, concentrated brunt of a hundred thousand light arrows the moment they met.
Clang. Clang. Clang.
The rhythmic sound of carving echoed through the carriage. Today, the cosmic roulette had spun again. Rekka was back on the Path of Elation.
But today's Elation felt slightly different.
"What are you making? A figure?"
Welt Yang walked into the room, adjusting his glasses. But the moment his eyes landed on the finished piece sitting on Rekka's desk, he gasped audibly, his grip tightening so hard on his cane he nearly whacked the chaotic gremlin over the head with it.
How did this troublesome kid manage to carve a perfect, hyper-detailed figure of the Aeon of Abundance?!
And worse—why was it one of those slightly suggestive, scandalously posed figures?!
"I thought Abundance looked quite good aesthetically, so I crafted a little tribute," Rekka said, casually blowing some resin dust off Yaoshi's perfectly sculpted curves.
He looked up, offering Welt a bright, entirely unrepentant smile. "Uncle Yang, don't overreact. I'm just making some small figures to put on display."
Welt's gaze was ninety percent pure suspicion and ten percent parental exhaustion. This kid was definitely planning something catastrophic.
"This is an Aeon," Welt said slowly, emphasizing every syllable.
"Yeah? Can't an Aeon have a figure?"
"...We usually do not call those figures. We call them statues. Idols."
Rekka's eyes lit up. He snapped his fingers. "Uncle Yang, you actually just reminded me. I get it now."
Welt froze.
Not good!
What do you get?!
He stared at the carving. The kid's craftsmanship was undeniably brilliant. Every detail was flawless. But the sheer quality of the work only made Welt's stomach twist with deeper unease.
"You kid..."
"Uncle Yang, relax. I guarantee this is just a normal piece of plastic with absolutely no special functions. If you don't believe me, check it yourself."
Welt hesitantly reached out and picked up the palm-sized Yaoshi. He turned it over several times, inspecting it from every angle. It felt slightly warm to the touch, and the material appeared to be some kind of high-grade synthetic resin. He stretched out his senses. Nothing. There were absolutely no energy fluctuations.
"Is it really just a figure?" Welt asked, his eyes narrowing.
"It really is just a figure," Rekka nodded, his face a mask of absolute, innocent sincerity.
Although Welt strongly suspected this walking disaster was about to pull another major, universe-derailing stunt, he couldn't say a single word without hard evidence. He set the figure down and walked out, rubbing his temples.
The moment the door slid shut behind Welt, Rekka's innocent smile vanished, replaced by a sharp, mischievous grin.
He placed the figure of Yaoshi carefully on the edge of the table, then grabbed a fresh block of resin to start carving Lan. The style of The Hunt had to be much sharper, all aggressive angles and lethal momentum.
The third one was Qlipoth. A giant hammer, a massive, imposing body of amber.
The fourth was Nanook. Golden cracks running across the surface, radiating an oppressive feeling of pure destruction.
The fifth was Xipe.
The sixth was Ena...
By the time the morning fully passed, Rekka had successfully crafted highly detailed, flawless figures of eight different Aeons.
They sat in a neat row on his desk, silently judging the room.
Of course, Rekka wasn't planning on just displaying them.
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