https://novelcool.info/chapter/Chapter-487-Vampire-vs-Sorcerer-Elimination-Tournament/13676980/
Chapter 488: Skybound Battle
Three days had passed. After sixty-four intense rounds, under the watchful eyes of Emperor Kai Xiusu of the Ember Empire, the first phase of the Elimination Tournament came to an end.
Half the players advanced. The other half were forced to leave—defeated, humiliated, and forgotten.
Over these three days, the players had unleashed their Supernatural Powers, crafting countless unforgettable Iconic Moments:
- Langli BaiTiao crushed beneath an opponent’s might.
- Great威 Tianlong impaled through the heart by an Ice Spike.
- City in the Rain, riding on the strength of “The Three Families,” pulled off a stunning upset against the Royal Power Deputy Leader.
- Flying Witch unleashed a Seven-Ring Spell Fireball, obliterating her foe in a single burst.
- Singo soared through the skies, defeating another Crimson Scale Conqueror—Dadao—in aerial combat.
And Stuffed Bun? He’d been quietly gathering a massive archive of Video Material throughout the tournament, saving it all for a post-match release. He’d time it perfectly—drop it right after the finals, flood the platform with Traffic, and ride the wave like a seasoned pro.
Even his Lucky Draw Fortune had surprised him—pulling a Common Paladin player. With the Dragon Rider’s Aerial Superiority in his favor, the victory had been effortless.
On the Player Podium, Stuffed Bun stood with his hands on his hips, feigning deep contemplation.
“The world of heroes… truly teems with life,” he mused, voice dripping with faux wisdom.
“Never thought I’d get this far with just a little effort.”
“Singo” shot back without hesitation, icy as ever. “Of the 64 who made it, 90% are Professional Players.”
He pulled several arrows from his quiver, coating their tips with a mysterious, shimmering fluid.
“This time? It’s not about luck. It’s about who gets you in the draw. And if you’re lucky enough to be pulled… well, that’s a top-tier blessing.”
Stuffed Bun bristled. “I’m a content creator, but I’m just as capable as a pro!”
Singo ignored him, turning instead toward the distant Tiefling staff.
“Hey. The next Draw Ceremony’s about to start. Let’s see if you still have that same luck.”
Stuffed Bun puffed out his chest, pointing a finger at his own nose.
“I’ve got real skill behind me. Anyone who comes at me—I’ll fight.”
“Hmph. We’ll see,” Singo said, already rising to join the queue.
Stuffed Bun pulled out his Fire Dwarf–crafted High-Quality Gear, polishing the Watch face until it gleamed like a mirror.
“Maybe… just maybe… I’ll make it to the Final Match.”
Moments later, Singo returned, holding a Copper Medal. His expression was… odd. The usually stoic face looked like it was suppressing a laugh.
Stuffed Bun looked up, curious. “Who’d you get?”
“…Huh? You’re not gonna say anything?”
Suddenly, a chilling thought struck him.
His face froze. Cold sweat trickled down his temple.
“Looks like… my luck’s not so bad after all.”
“Singo” didn’t hesitate. He flipped the medal over.
The inscription was clear:
I’m Going to Eat a Steamed Bun
Stuffed Bun turned pale. His face flushed crimson. He swallowed hard, then finally, after a long silence, muttered two words—
“Wǒ rì.”
As a teammate, Stuffed Bun knew Singo’s strength all too well.
That man spent twenty-four hours a day in the Game Pod. Held a high rank in the Red Scales Garrison. Traveled across the map, hunting ruins, collecting every scrap of loot—absorbing nearly every resource on the entire world.
Even though Stuffed Bun constantly declared himself a Hardcore Player online, spewing venomous rants at critics…
…he had to admit—Singo was on another level.
His Playtime Intensity? Maxed out.
His skill? Flawless.
His Secret Weapons? Endless.
To call him the strongest Solo Player? That wasn’t an exaggeration.
“Me? Hardcore?”
“Seriously? You’re joking.”
It wasn’t just pride. It was shame.
He felt exposed.
Same class—Crimson Scale Conqueror—but Singo had pushed his Riding Proficiency Rank to +19. Mastered countless Air Combat Techniques. Now he stood on equal footing with Career Mentor Alje.
Stuffed Bun? His Horsemanship was still stuck at +14 Wander.
Spent his days patrolling, capturing low-level NPCs, grinding for XP and Contribution Points.
Physically? Singo had explored dozens of ruins, downing giant Spirit Medicines and Body Transformation Elixirs like they were water. Rumor had it his Strength had reached 19.
Stuffed Bun? He’d been playing around, filming comedy skits. His stats were all pumped in via Interface Stat Points.
The only edge he had? Gear.
He’d swindled a few Rare Equipment pieces from the Fire Dwarf—enough to match Singo’s Rare Set… on paper.
But the weapons? The difference was astronomical.
Singo was a notorious Complete Collector.
Every named Special Artifact in existence? He had at least one copy.
His arsenal was as versatile as it was terrifying.
“How the hell am I supposed to fight this guy?”
“I’m getting crushed—completely outclassed.”
The thought crushed him. He slumped onto the Player Podium sofa like a deflated dumpling, eyes vacant.
But wait…
He did have a Secret Weapon.
Stuffed Bun shot upright like a spring, eyes blazing with desperate hope.
“A Hardcore Player?”
“Fine. Then I’ll go all-in.”
Maybe… just maybe… he could win.
And if he did?
The Championship was within reach.
“00325, I’m Going to Eat a Steamed Bun.”
The Referee’s voice echoed through the arena.
Stuffed Bun stepped forward with resolve, waving at the Audience Stand.
“Hmph. This time… I’ll show you my true strength.”
He’d prove it—Mortal flesh, but equal to the pros.
Then edit the highlights, drop it online, and flood his channel with Female Fans.
Imagine the Live Chat:
“Stuffed Bun brother is so hot!”
“Stuffed Bun, you’re my dream!”
“Stuffed Bun, I’m in love!”
He was the most popular Video Blogger on the Ailezegai channel.
But popularity wasn’t loyalty.
Most players treated him like a digital pet—something to watch for fun, a source of casual entertainment.
“It’s Stuffed Bun, the old thief!”
“Wait… he actually made it to the top 64?”
“This is probably his last match. Enjoy it while it lasts!”
“Old pigeon, get back to editing your video! And don’t forget your hidden content!”
“Heavenly King vs. Earth Tiger—Stuffed Bun Charisma 5! Tower’s got the river demon in check! This guy’s wild!”
The crowd roared—but not with support.
Stuffed Bun snapped his head up, indignant.
“It’s Charisma 9, you idiots! Stop spreading lies!”
But the crowd only grew louder.
“He’s getting flustered!”
“He’s panicking!”
“Stuffed Bun’s red in the face! Someone throw him some cold water! Or maybe a bowl of ice-sugar pear!”
“I know you’re stressed, but calm down. Who’s Stuffed Bun’s opponent?”
“…”
No. He wouldn’t let rumors and trolls derail him.
These were just Internet Trolls.
Stuffed Bun walked forward with a pained expression, stepping into his designated position.
“00005, Singo.”
The Referee’s voice rang out.
The arena exploded.
“Whoa—S God?!”
“Haha, now Stuffed Bun’s definitely going back to edit!”
“Stuffed Bun vs. S? Seriously?!”
“S God, no need to say more!”
“Hardcore fans, calm down. This is just a walk in the park.”
“Damn, this Hardcore Player’s luck is unreal. Gotta hope someone else takes him down.”
“Don’t let this guy win, or the Hardcore fans will be jumping for joy all over the place!”
“What’s that supposed to mean?!”
Singo was polarizing.
Supporters worshipped him like a Divine Being—the guiding lamp of the Ailezegai channel.
Critics despised him—called him a complete scoundrel.
But one thing was universal: Singo was strong.
So the betting odds were predictable.
Singo’s victory was expected.
The real-time odds? Gundam 23.00.
Both players had massive followings.
The Announcer perked up, ready for the spectacle.
“Red Side: the famous content creator I’m Going to Eat a Steamed Bun, with over 500,000 fans on Bilibili and videos that consistently go viral!”
“Blue Side: the legendary Guide God, Singo, Professional Player. Just last match, he crushed the heavily favored Dadao.”
“Interestingly, the two are teammates—both Crimson Scale Conquerors.”
“Some say, ‘Meeting a pro isn’t scary. The scary part is when the pro’s bad.’
So… what kind of fire will they ignite?
Let’s Watch and Wait!”
“Match Begins!”
The Referee’s call echoed.
Both Crimson Scale Conquerors urged their Wyverns into the sky.
Stuffed Bun’s strategy was simple: close combat.
If it was ranged, he’d be outmatched—Singo had Archery Mastery as his specialization.
So he had to close the distance fast—overwhelm with sheer aggression.
“Noodles, Charge!”
He roared.
His Two-Headed Dragon flared its wings and lunged forward.
“Hmph. Want to close in on me?”
Singo smirked. He tightened his legs.
His Wyvern responded instantly—wings flared, climbing swiftly to dominate the High Ground.
Singo calmly drew an arrow from his quiver.
With a practiced motion, he drew his Hunter’s Longbow into a perfect crescent.
Aiming across a hundred meters, he locked onto Stuffed Bun’s head.
“What?!”
Stuffed Bun felt it—the Hunter’s Mark burning above his skull.
He knew that mark.
It tracked, it pierced, it killed.
A hit to the head? Instant death.
He ducked, gripping the reins tight.
“Noodles—right turn!”
“Swoosh—”
The arrow sliced through the air.
“Noodles” twisted mid-flight, one wing flaring—just in time.
The arrow whizzed past, brushing the edge of his wing membrane.
Stuffed Bun exhaled—until—
“Boom!”
The arrow detonated mid-air.
Toxic smoke erupted, engulfing both Noodles and his rider.
“Damn it…”
“Cough! Cough! Noodles—fly out!”
“Roar—!”
“Noodles” screamed in fury, beating his wings with all his might.
He broke free from the smoke—but his movements were sluggish, weakened.
Stuffed Bun gritted his teeth.
“We need high ground… we have to get the advantage!”
“Noodles—climb!”
Even weakened, Noodles obeyed, flapping with desperate strength.
Stuffed Bun wasn’t a marksman—but he had a backup.
He pulled out a Pistol, bought from the Battlefield Wheelchair Man.
He loaded it fast, aimed at Singo in the distance, and fired.
“Bang! Bang! Bang!”
Too far.
And Singo didn’t stay aloft.
Instead, he dove, spiraling around Stuffed Bun at breakneck speed.
His velocity was insane—like a crimson wind, twisting, rolling, spiraling.
Aerial acrobatics at their finest.
Even meat eyes struggled to follow.
Stuffed Bun fired blindly—his rifle rounds flying wide.
But Singo? He kept shooting.
“Clang!”
An arrow struck Stuffed Bun’s chest plate—nearly spine-deep.
Only the armor’s Rare-grade durability saved him.
But the plate cracked.
And worse—the spiral-tipped arrow? It was designed to destroy gear.
Stuffed Bun grimaced in pain.
That was a Rare Armor—and it was ruined.
Another arrow, strange in shape, exploded mid-air.
A shockwave sent Stuffed Bun reeling—nearly off his mount.
“Boom!”
Another explosion.
A mushroom cloud bloomed in the sky.
It predicted his escape route—nearly swallowing him whole.
“Damn it!”
Stuffed Bun roared, face scorched, gear torn.
“Getting somewhere… but not enough.”
From afar, Singo landed, shaking his head with a smile.
His eyes, however, gleamed with genuine interest.
“This ending… would be too boring.”
He lowered his voice.
“Let me see… what’s your real trump card?”
He hovered mid-air, drawing his Longsword.
He pointed it at Stuffed Bun, the challenge clear.
“Duel?”
Normally, Singo’s kiting tactics would’ve left Stuffed Bun helpless.
But now? Singo had offered the opening.
And that meant—a chance.
“Alright then…”
Stuffed Bun grinned.
“Then don’t say I didn’t play fair!”
“Noodles—”
“We’re going in!”
“Dragon Roar Charge!”
He locked his legs, leaned forward, pressing his body against the Wyvern.
His elbows clamped around the six-meter-long Stillsteel Spear, its tip gleaming like a blade of frozen light.
“Roar—!”
“Noodles” roared back.
He tucked his wings, tucked his forelegs, stiffened his tail—streamlining his body into a perfect dive.
Like a meteor, they plummeted from the sky.
Stuffed Bun and Noodles—their bond forged through countless charges, etched into muscle and bone.
They shot toward Singo like a storm.
“Swoosh—!”
Singo mirrored the charge.
His Wyvern surged forward, racing through the sky.
In just a few breaths, they closed the distance.
Hundreds of meters. Then tens.
The two Wyverns bellowed in unison.
They could feel each other’s breath—hot, fierce, alive.
“Roar—!”
From behind them, twin Phantoms of the Red Dragon surged into existence—massive, terrifying, unleashing dread.
Collision imminent.
The audience held their breath.
Even Kai Xiusu leaned forward, intrigued.
“Swoosh—!”
A flash of steel.
Blood sprayed.
In a split second, Singo’s Wyvern twisted mid-air—like a crank—avoiding the spear’s deadly thrust.
Then, at less than two meters, Singo slashed upward with his Longsword.
“Snap!”
The blade severed Noodles’ long neck.
The roar died mid-air.
The body began to fall.
The match was over.
Everyone knew it.
In Crimson Scale Conqueror duels, the death of the mount meant the end of the fight.
“Horse first, rider next.”
Without his Wyvern, the Knight was powerless.
The Announcer’s voice rose in excitement.
“Match ending! What a clash! Let’s congratulate Singo—wait… what’s that?!”
A twist.
Suddenly—on the headless Two-Headed Dragon—Stuffed Bun leapt off the saddle.
He tore off the reins.
“If even this fails… then—”
“I’m not human anymore, Hardcore Player!”
His body exploded with crimson scales.
Wings burst from his back.
A tail split from his spine.
He roared—not as a man, but as a Dragonling.
He flapped his wings, stabilizing mid-air, then charged at Singo.
The Announcer gasped.
“Good heavens! Stuffed Bun has transformed into a dragon!”
“This has never happened in any tournament before! Is this his Secret Weapon?!”
“Unbelievable!”
On the High Platform, Tinia scratched her cheek, frowning.
She knew that power… but couldn’t place it.
In the sky, Singo watched the Dragonling approach—his smile never wavered.
“Of course.”
“Stuffed Bun… I knew it.”
He raised his right hand.
From beneath his sleeve—a hidden Wrist Crossbow emerged.
A cross-shaped arrowhead, sharp as death.
Dragon-Slaying Arrow.
Prohibited in the Empire.
But Singo had acquired several via Southern Continent Corporation’s underground network.
He aimed at the Dragonling’s chest.
No hesitation.
He pulled the trigger.
“Swoosh—!”
The arrow ripped through the air.
It tore through the scales, spine-deep, piercing straight into the heart.
“Aaaaaaah—!”
The Dragonling screamed—a sound of agony.
He fell.
Stuffed Bun crashed to the ground.
Singo stood atop his Wyvern, looking down.
“Sorry, Stuffed Bun,” he said softly.
“Arena has no friends.”
“You were tricked.”
He smirked.
“Because I’ve collected every piece of intelligence on you.”
(End of Chapter)
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