Atticus's Odyssey: Reincarnated Into A Playground - Chapter 1343: Blood Sun

Chapter 1343: Blood Sun

Nerrot looked like he was trying hard to take a shit.

He was sweaty, veins crawling up from his neck and onto his paint covered face. His eyes were squinted, and they trembled as the seconds passed.

But Nerrot wasn’t trying to take a shit. He was trying hard to comprehend reality.

“Baron Nerrot. Are you ready?”

As the furry creature asked for the third time, Nerrot was finally brought out of his thoughts. He nodded shakily, causing the furry creature to clap loudly.

“Let the third round begin!”

’The third round…’ Nerrot couldn’t help but gulp.

It was the last round in this accursed game. In all honesty, the winner had already been decided and this third round wasn’t needed.

He could feel the seething anger of his father and the count burning deep into his soul. He had lost.

The events so far had been some of the most disbelieving things he had ever witnessed in his centuries of life.

Nerrot thought he’d seen all.

The will of the viscount that seemed to burn even flames. The massive searing world of a count.

He’d hoped he could see more by moving up the verge. But Nerrot doubted if he would ever feel the same shock he currently felt, even in the face of a marquis.

The first round of the game had caught him off guard. He’d taken himself to be the winner already, unleashing a complicated Willart that no new god should have any business being able to replicate.

But the opposite had happened, and he’d lost.

In the second round, he resolved to fix his earlier mistake. The child god was more than he seemed, that much he knew now.

Nerrot had unleashed an even more complicated art.

It was a high speed flaming spear set to split into an incalculable number of copies just before reaching the middle line.

Each of these copies would then turn into ice, then earth, then air before converging into a tornado of roaring winds.

Once more, Nerrot had been assured of his victory. In a fair world, a new god replicating this should not be possible.

But once again, Atticus had done the impossible.

He replicated it even before Nerrot could fire it. The attack had moved at the same time, and in moments, twin tornadoes formed in the vast expanse of space, their forms soon dispersing.

Nerrot had stared wide eyed, disbelief etched into his face. For a second, he thought reality was a lie. In his daze, the furry creature called the opposing team to attack.

Nerrot fixed his gaze on a man that was unusually golden in color. The only ones he knew with such a radiant hue were the Willguard.

This man clearly wasn’t amongst their divine ranks. But he was far from the worthless man Nerrot had once thought he was.

In the first round, he’d formed a ball that Jargon couldn’t replicate even with his family’s secret Willart.

In the brief moments before the balls met, Nerrot had used the embergaze to take a glimpse at it, and what he saw had chilled his heart.

The sheer magnitude of the Willart had made him freeze. The result was simple, but the process was far from it.

It was as though trying to write a simple code for adding two numbers that should take at most half a page, but instead writing an encyclopedia length code instead.

Nerrot struggled to comprehend the sheer magnitude of processing power needed. Just who the hell was this man? The fact that he was clearly not a god made him even more cautious.

As expected, Jargon had been unable to replicate the art and lost. The ball hit and painted his face red.

In the second round, Ozeroth had used the same art. And the same ball hit him as Jargon failed to replicate.

Now, the red paint plastering his face had mixed with the new yellow. It was clear the man was trying to humiliate him.

’Last round.’ Nerrot repeated to himself once more as though it was supposed to mean something.

The game was best out of three. He’d lost twice, but unfortunately, the game couldn’t end because the verge simply wouldn’t allow it. He had to see it to the end.

’I must win this.’ Nerrot clenched his fists.

The weight of his father and count intensified by the moment. He couldn’t help but consider the number of people currently watching the scene.

Even if he survived this, he would be a laughing stock for centuries to come.

’I have to get one strike in.’ The thought burned in his mind. It was the only way. Though he already lost, if he ended this game without getting a strike in, his life was all over.

And so, as the furry creature reminded him to begin his turn, Nerrot’s eyes blazed and he used a technique taught to him directly by his father.

Nerrot knew it was supposed to be a secret. It was a viscount ranked art, meaning only viscounts were allowed to use it. His father could be punished, he could be punished, but Nerrot did not care as the three words rolled out from his mouth.

“Blood Sun Genesis.”

He slit his wrists, and the blood that gushed out ignited with his will.

It was as though a supernova had just gone off in space. Nerrot erupted in a burst of blazing light that surged upwards until it formed into a star of blinding light. It was as though a sun had been unleashed.

In unison, the wall of guards behind Nerrot hit their chests with a loud bang before sinking onto one knee in reverence. Jargon was no different.

“My liege!” he intoned, voice filled with worship.

Hovering in the middle of the divine light, Nerrot looked like a god of flames. He looked to Atticus, gaze cold like ice. It was a viscount ranked art, he dared the bastard to copy it.

And copy it Atticus did. A spurt of blood, and a sun that outshone even Nerrot’s blazed to life.

“What!?”

Watching through the screen, the viscount shot up from his seat, eyes filled with shock. He had copied it? He had actually copied it!?

The count was more composed, but his eyes couldn’t hide their shock. What had just happened?

But of them all, Nerrot was the only one who went through an existential crisis. Just… who the hell was this child?