Lackey's Seducing Survival Odyssey - Chapter 1116: Choosing The Ruler: Part-3

Chapter 1116: Choosing The Ruler: Part-3

The ground trembled beneath the thunder of thousands of synchronised boots. A wave of tension rippled through the air as shouts erupted from every corner of the colossal arena, echoing like a storm about to break.

Spears lowered.

Swords gleamed.

Shields slammed together with a bone-shaking clang.

Kaelen moved first.

Like a shadow torn straight from the flesh, he lunged into the mass—no hesitation, not a single breath wasted.

His hands morphed into claws, glistening like sharpened obsidian, curved and glowing faintly with a dark, sinister energy. His eyes locked onto the front line, pupils narrowing as every muscle in his body coiled with purpose.

Then, in a blink—

He vanished.

One second, he was still. The next, he was airborne.

Crack!

The air split with a deafening snap.

He descended like a meteor, claws outstretched, a living weapon of fury and speed.

He smashed into five tightly grouped men, slamming into them with such force that their armour crumpled like tin. Blood spurted from their mouths as they collapsed, unconscious, before they even hit the ground.

BOOM!

Above, a hologram bearing Kaelen’s face blinked from ’0’ to ’5’.

Kaelen bared his teeth in a savage grin, eyes blazing as a low growl rumbled from his throat.

The others—men and women alike—stumbled back at the sight of him.

He didn’t give them time to recover.

With a roar, he leapt again, diving into the next cluster. He slipped between spear tips with inhuman grace, his body ducking, twisting, coiling like something born in the wild. His tail snapped like a whip, disarming attackers, while his claws slashed through armour as if it were paper.

He wasn’t thinking anymore. His body moved on instinct, raw and wild.

This wasn’t a style.

This was nature.

Feral. Brutal. Precise.

’I’ll prove it. Father… you didn’t make a mistake choosing me,’ Kaelen growled in his head, baring his blood-slicked claws.

Meanwhile—

Aria hadn’t moved a step.

Her calm eyes scanned the wave of bodies charging at her.

Hundreds of enemies, all screaming, weapons flashing. But her heart didn’t race.

Steady. Focused.

Her hand reached behind her back, fingers wrapping around the smooth curve of her bow—a weapon carved from rich dark wood, veins of silver running down its limbs like living energy.

She whispered something, too quiet to catch.

Then she moved.

Her fingers pulled.

She released.

The first arrow didn’t just strike.

sssshh!

It split.

One became five, each one curving mid-air with a high-pitched whistle before plunging deep into the knees and feet of the front line.

Thud!

Thud!

Thud!

Thud!

Thud!

Screams tore through the chaos as the injured toppled, and those behind them crashed over their fallen comrades.

Aria turned slightly, already drawing the next.

Another shot—pull. Release.

It split again, this time into seven, slicing through the air like hunting birds.

More screams followed.

The enemy formation faltered.

But Aria was already in motion.

She fired as she moved, her steps light, measured. Her silver hair streamed behind her like a comet’s tail, every movement flowing into the next. Each arrow she loosed danced through the sky, bending unnaturally, directed not by gravity—but by her will.

Within seconds, the hologram below her name shifted: ’0’ to ’20’.

Aria smiled softly. “If I can keep this rhythm… I might just pull ahead of—”

A flash of steel.

An axe screamed toward her face.

She ducked, barely missing the blow—her silver strands sliced clean in the air.

Her hand snapped up. Two arrows shot point-blank, slipping through the cracks in his armour—one in the thigh, the other in the forearm.

He grunted, fell to his knees.

Another attacker came—faster than the first.

She backflipped, mid-air, and released three arrows in one motion. They hit with unerring precision—thigh, shoulder, hand—just as her boots touched the ground.

She never stopped.

Not for a second.

Her hands moved like music, rhythm and purpose. There was no pause between thoughts, no reset between strikes.

She flowed.

Every movement was art—grace bound in danger.

Above, high in the observation platform, Aether leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowed and sharp.

“…They’re doing well,” he muttered, though a frown tugged at his lips. ’But it’s still not enough,’ he thought grimly.

They couldn’t kill their opponents—this was just a control exercise. But it revealed more than strength. It showed discipline, instinct, and timing.

Aether turned his gaze toward Maelona, who stood watching the children with an unreadable smile on her lips.

Aqualina’s eyes narrowed. “I see now… this test—it’s not just about technique. If they keep going like this, they’ll burn through all their energy before the real race even begins, won’t they?”

Maelona’s smile widened, but she said nothing.

And soon…

Kaelen, meanwhile, was reaching his limit.

Two hundred clean takedowns—and his style had become even more ruthless. His movements were feral, vicious. Blood streaked his face. His breathing had grown laboured.

He needed to stop. Just for a second. Just one breath to collect himself.

But the attackers didn’t let up.

They were relentless.

Kaelen’s focus frayed. His vision narrowed. He was starting to lose himself.

With a frustrated roar, he rammed his elbow into a warrior’s chest, bones cracking. He spun in mid-air, landed behind, and dragged his claws in a brutal arc across five more enemies.

“Ha… ha… ha…” he panted, chest rising and falling rapidly. His eyes flicked sideways.

Aria was still at range—calm, deadly, and graceful. Her arrows never missed, dropping opponents like toy soldiers. Her movements made trained snipers look like amateurs.

But she wasn’t safe.

More enemies were circling around, rushing from both sides.

Aria’s eyes narrowed.

She pivoted her foot, just slightly.

Then fired.

Three arrows curved mid-air like they had minds of their own, looping around in wide arcs—then veering back toward the enemy’s exposed backs.

They hit. Hard.

The crowd gasped. Some even stood in disbelief.

“Did she just… curve them back?” an elder whispered.

Kaelen glanced at the scoreboard.

Aria had already doubled his number.

He could not lose to her!

His jaw clenched. Muscles tensed.

“COME ON!!” he roared, fury and pride swelling inside him as he launched himself into the next wave with reckless power.

Liora swiftly moved through the battlefield, picking up the unconscious and wounded with practised grace.

One by one, she tossed them out of the arena’s boundary, where her fellow tribe members stood ready to catch and carry them off to the healers.

This wasn’t just some meaningless brawl for entertainment.

These people hadn’t come here to simply get beaten down. Maelona had made a promise beforehand—those who performed the best would be given a rightful place in the army, a rank they earned through merit. And for those aiming for personal rewards, she ensured they would receive what they deserved. Every move, every takedown was being recorded, judged by her subordinates, who would later decide the fate of each participant.

Soon, the scoreboard began to glow with eye-catching numbers:

Aria Zephyr – 897

Kaelen Drakfang – 645

But both warriors, Aria and Kaelen, were starting to falter. Their bodies trembled with exhaustion. Their breathing turned heavy, shoulders rising and falling with each laboured breath.

Their movements lost their sharpness—strikes slowed, reflexes dulled. Enemies who once fell with ease were now beginning to land hits.

Aether observed it all from above, face impassive, his expression unreadable.

“I just realised something,” Maelona spoke, her tone curious. “You’re not hiding anymore, Aether… Is this really your original form now?”

She tilted her head at him. Until now, she had only seen him projecting illusions—frail versions of himself. But here he sat, comfortably relaxed, no glamour to hide behind. Only his hair seemed changed.

Aether gave a soft hum, nodding. “Yeah. I don’t really see the point in hiding anymore…”

Helena leaned forward, curiosity sparkling in her eyes. “So… what about your position as the victor?”

Aether hummed again, voice quieter this time. “That guy still needs his spotlight…” he muttered vaguely.

“Finally!” Aqualina exclaimed, her fists clenched with anticipation as she watched the arena, “They’ve finally figured it out. They’re teaming up.”

“Took them long enough,” Maelona added with an amused smirk, though her eyes were sharp with assessment.

She knew better—too much time had passed. They had already burned through the majority of their stamina, draining themselves against the endless wave of opponents, each facing the horde alone.

Aether nodded, his voice low but knowing. “I see…”

Helena tilted her head. “I still don’t really get it…”

Aether turned slightly, his gaze gentle as he explained, “You see… Maelona never told them they had to fight alone. That was their assumption. They thought the challenge was about taking down one thousand enemies solo—thinking their raw strength and confidence would be enough.”

He looked at the arena with quiet intensity.

“But time passed. Their bodies grew stiff. The tension crept in. And unlike real combat, they couldn’t kill their opponents.

They had to restrain themselves—to knock them out, immobilise them, without doing fatal harm. That takes more than strength. It takes control. Precision. Discipline. One slip, and they could’ve killed someone with that power.”

“Oh…” Helena’s lips parted slightly as the realisation sank in.

Beside her, Thalia blinked in surprise. Her voice was hushed. “If it were me, I probably would’ve gone all out without thinking twice.”

“Exactly,” Maelona said, folding her arms across her chest. Her voice was calm, but the pride in it was unmistakable.

“This wasn’t just a test of strength. We’ve already tested their ability to kill. This was about something greater—restraint, judgment. Knowing when not to use your full strength. A throne doesn’t just demand a sword. It demands a mind that can weigh every possibility… and…”

Down below, the battle had shifted.

Kaelen ducked low as a massive warhammer crashed down toward him, the steel head missing by inches. Sparks exploded behind him as it slammed into the arena floor. Before the enemy could recover, Aria’s arrow was already flying—slamming into the warrior’s knee with a burst of energy that knocked him down cold.

“Your left!” she shouted sharply.

“I see it—!” Kaelen replied, turning on his heel, claws flashing. He sliced clean through the shaft of a charging woman’s spear, knocking him off balance before flipping over the enemy’s shoulder.

They were in sync now.

Aria stepped closer to Kaelen, placing a hand on his back. As he spun, she used the momentum to leap upward, vaulting over his shoulder. He instinctively crouched, giving her the perfect springboard.

Her boots pressed lightly against his back, and she launched herself high into the air. In one smooth motion, she twisted mid-flight, three arrows already drawn.

They flew in succession, whistling through the air—each hitting with precision, aimed to disarm, not kill.

Three enemies dropped, weapons flying from their hands, stunned by the rapid assault.

Kaelen grinned, heart pounding with new rhythm. For a brief moment, he believed they could win.

But above, Maelona’s voice returned to where she had left off, eyes narrowed.

“…To understand when someone uses you.”

As Aria’s scoreboard flicked to ’1000’, she didn’t hesitate.

She turned and walked away—leaving Kaelen standing amidst a wave of opponents.

“H-Huh?” Kaelen blinked, his expression twisting with disbelief. Horror spread across his face.

Liora sighed quietly, shaking her head in mild disappointment.

“W-Why did she do that?” Helena gasped, voice rising in shock. “Why would she betray him?”

Aqualina chuckled faintly. “It’s not betrayal. It’s timing. She saw her chance… and she took it. I don’t blame her. Kaelen’s faster. If she waited for him to finish off the rest, he might’ve beaten her. So the moment she reached her goal, she left. She used him—smartly.”

She shrugged. “That’s what strategy looks like.”

“T-That’s… wrong,” Helena whispered, her face pained as she watched Kaelen now alone, surrounded, fighting on fading energy.

Aether leaned down and gently kissed her forehead, wrapping his arms around her in a quiet, comforting embrace.

Maelona’s voice softened as she spoke to the Saintess. “It’s not wrong, Helena. And it’s not right either. Aria was nearly at her limit, but she almost reached her goal; Kaelen, on the other hand, was past his limit, and He was still far from the goal. She saw the gap and used it.

Temporary alliance to benefit each other and when it’s over, the alliance were destined to collapse… That’s how you win.”

She paused.

“Sometimes… that’s just how it works.”

Helena didn’t fully understand it. Not yet. But the warmth of Aether’s arms around her calmed her thoughts, and for the moment—she let it go.

Just then, the doors opened behind them.

All eyes turned.

Standing there was Delphine.

She stepped inside, her presence as striking as ever—but her face wore a slightly awkward expression as her gaze landed on Aether, who was currently surrounded by powerful women.

Her eye twitched involuntarily.

“Welcome, Miss Delphine Frostblade,” Maelona greeted her with a warm, knowing smile.

“Thank you,” Delphine replied gracefully. “I came representing Sovereign. She sends her apologies for not being able to attend the ceremony in person.”

“It’s perfectly fine, Miss Delphine. Please, have a seat,” Maelona said, motioning to a chair as one was swiftly arranged.

“Good Morning, Teacher~”

Aether muttered innocent tone.

Delphine’s lips twitched as she ignored him, walked forward and sat down with elegance, crossing her legs as she turned her gaze toward the arena below—her expression calm, unreadable, but her sharp eyes missed nothing.