Atticus's Odyssey: Reincarnated Into A Playground - Chapter 1342: Ball

Chapter 1342: Ball

The countless scales on both serpents exploded into expanding rings of heat that continuously collided. A thick haze formed as the outer flames met the inner cold, but no one focused on it.

Instead, all eyes converged on Atticus.

Nerrot gulped.

’H-he copied it.’ He couldn’t believe what he had just witnessed. Atticus had copied it in less than a second, before he had even fired it.

From the utter silence in the area, it was clear even the wall of warriors were beyond shocked. Nerrot felt a weight like no other slam against his will. He gritted his teeth.

’Father… the Count…’

He could feel their dissatisfaction, like a heavy weight on his soul.

“Team Baron Nerrot failed to land a hit. Team God Atticus successfully defended. Zero strikes for Baron Nerrot.”

“Team God Atticus, are you ready?”

“Yes,” Ozeroth was the one who answered.

“Begin.”

Nerrot was snapped out of his reverie instantly. He sent a firm glance towards his subordinate.

“Don’t fail me, Jargon.”

“You can leave it to me, my liege.” Jargon bowed slightly and turned his gaze towards Ozeroth, eyes cold.

’I can’t fail.’ He repeated it to himself. Jargon knew what was at stake, and had no intention of failing. He would defend whatever attack came, no matter what.

’What will he use?’ He waited for Ozeroth.

Jargon was sure Ozeroth would try something explosive, something insane. After they’d lost their turn, it was the smartest move to make.

’But it won’t matter.’ Jargon was confident. Aside from the fact that Atticus was the only threat here, with the Embergaze, Jargon was certain he could copy anything Ozeroth could muster.

’He’s moving. Embergaze.’

His eyes flashed red as Ozeroth stretched out a palm.

Ozeroth didn’t speak, but his will converged in front of him. In the next moment, a golden ball suddenly formed.

’What is this…?’

Jargon was visibly surprised, even Nerrot. This was the last thing they’d expected. He had been anticipating something explosive and powerful. But this… was a golden ball?

It remained golden and ball shaped for only a moment before its color shifted to white and its shape became rectangular, then green and square.

Jargon’s eyes narrowed. ’It’s constantly shifting.’

Aside from color and shape, it was constantly changing its nature too. Fire at one moment, earth at another, then air.

Using the Embergaze, he tried to see through its nature, only to freeze.

’H-how…’

Its effects were simple, but the process of it’s creation was far from it. It was as though Jargon was staring at a century’s worth of coding. All he could see were numbers, countless, overwhelming numbers.

’I’m supposed to copy this?’

Jargon struggled to process the sheer magnitude of the art. He couldn’t imagine the processing power needed to make something like this.

As he struggled to comprehend reality, the art blasted forward at speed, hurtling towards Nerrot.

“Jargon!”

He was snapped out of his thoughts by Nerrot’s sharp cry. He turned to see his master staring at him with a cold gaze.

Jargon gulped. He was a warrior, a monster on the battlefield. Yet, he’d never felt so small in his life.

’I have to improvise.’ Jargon forced his mind to think. There was no way he could follow Ozeroth’s method.

’It shouldn’t matter, right? The result should be all that matters.’

He reassured himself, taking a deep breath. As long as he made an object that could change shape, color, and nature, it should be fine.

Jargon straightened and stretched out his arm. His will began to gather in front of him as Ozeroth’s attack crossed the quarter mark.

’Shape, color, nature.’

In the next moment, an object of rapidly shifting colors, shape, and nature formed in front of him.

Jargon smiled. ’I can do this.’

The art shot forward, screaming towards Ozeroth’s.

A smile found its way to Nerrot’s face.

’Good.’ He nodded in approval. The arts were basically similar, their colors rapidly shifting.

’After they lose this turn, I’ll win the next strike.’ Nerrot began planning. Though he had been caught off guard in the first round, he was confident the next would be different.

As the arts collided, Nerrot’s smile vanished. His eyes blew wide open.

“What!?”

Rather than the collision they’d expected, Ozeroth’s art tore through Jargon’s, screaming straight towards Nerrot.

There was nothing but disbelief on Nerrot’s face as the art reached him. He couldn’t move or dodge. Though the arts couldn’t harm them, it didn’t mean they wouldn’t feel the impact.

The art transformed into a round ball the moment it reached him, slamming into his forehead. Nerrot’s head jerked back from the force, and the ball dispersed into the air like it had never existed.

He felt no pain from the attack, but he felt something wet streaming down his face. Touching his forehead, he saw what it was.

’Red paint.’

Nerrot stared at his arm for moments without speaking. He momentarily forgot he’d just lost the round, his focus was entirely on his emotions.

Nerrot ground his teeth with such force it looked like they might shatter at any moment.

The humiliation…

“My liege!” Jargon fell to his knees, unable to hide his shame.

“I’ve failed you! I deserve nothing but death!”

Nerrot took in a shuddering breath and turned towards his subordinate. Jargon felt killing intent like no other slam into him. He couldn’t stop himself from trembling.

“Death?” Nerrot seethed. “I’ll give you more than that if you don’t get your stupid ass up. Do you want us to forfeit the game?”

Jargon’s gaze widened as he understood the meaning. “Yes, my liege.”

He gulped and stood up, trying hard to steady his beating heart.

The weight of the Viscount’s and Count’s dissatisfaction intensified as the furry creature announced the result.

“Team God Atticus succeeded in landing a hit. Team Baron Nerrot failed to defend. One strike for God Atticus.”

“Wohooooo!” Whisker’s cheer shattered the silence gripping the space. He clapped loudly, shouting at the top of his lungs.

Every moment of it grated at Nerrot’s pride.

“Team Baron Nerrot, are you ready?”

Nerrot fixed his cold eyes on Atticus and nodded.

The furry creature clapped.

“Begin!”

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