Tribal Lord: SSS Ranked Taming Primitive Beauties and The Beasts! Chapter 43
For several seconds, neither side yielded.
A shockwave slipped through the gaps.
Lothar was forced back several meters, his bare feet digging deep into the ground before he finally stabilized himself.
Both of them halted and maintained distance with a rugged breath. Silence fell over the battlefield, broken only by a distant roar of a beast.
Garnak rolled his shoulders once and exhaled slowly.
"That was impressive." He said sincerely, then his expression hardened as he continued. "I’m going all out now."
The ground beneath him trembled as he finally utilized his physique (Earthbound Titan Physique — S Rank), mana surged outward like a rising tide.
Crack!
Crack!
Crack!
Stone erupted from Garnak’s skin, layers of compacted earth bursting forth and wrapping around his limbs, torso, and shoulders. Ancient runes flickered across the forming armor as it fully encased his body.
The pressure doubled instantly.
Garnak took a single step forward.
Boom!
The ground sank beneath his foot as he instantly vanished into thin air.
Before Lothar could fully react, Garnak’s fist was already in front of him.
Boom!
The impact sent Lothar flying, his body smashing through the grass and rolling several times before crashing into the ground.
He coughed violently, blood spraying from his lips.
Garnak appeared above him, throwing another punch again
Boom!
The strike hammered Lothar into the ground, the earth cracking outward in a spiderweb pattern.
Lothar forced himself up and slashed upward desperately.
Clang!
The saber struck the earthen armor, but it barely even left a mark.
Garnak counter attacked as he backhanded him.
Crack!
Lothar was sent flying sideways, crashing into a thick tree and snapping it in half.
Pain surged through his body. Another punch grazed his shoulder and another strike clipped his thigh, numbing his leg.
This time, the gap was obvious as Garnak was completely dominating.
A minute passed.
Lothar fought back fiercely, refusing to fall, but every exchange ended with him being forced back. Blood soaked into his clothes, his breathing growing ragged.
And finally—
Boom!
A full-powered punch slammed into his chest.
Lothar was sent flying dozens of meters, crashing and rolling until he came to a stop inside a shallow crater.
Silence...
Harold clenched his spear tightly and finally contacted Ash. "Tribe Lord, it’s the time!"
Inside the dungeon, Ash responded instantly as he ordered the system. "Upgrade Lothar’s Rank!"
[Ding! 25,000 Tribal Points have been successfully deducted.]
[Ding! Congratulations to the host! Lothar has successfully broken through to the 5th Rank Warrior.]
Lothar’s body convulsed as overwhelming energy flooded into his body. His presence surged outward like a rising tide.
He slowly stood up.
Garnak opened his eyes wide in shock.
"...So that’s how it is," He murmured with a bitter smile, letting out a deep sigh.
’How foolish of me.’ He thought to himself, as he just realized that it was impossible for them to win in the first place.
He clenched his fists, feeling the crushing pressure radiating from Lothar.
Yet, a smile appeared on his face. "But to face a genuine 5th Rank..."
Garnak’s eyes burned with excitement. "This will be my first time."
Lothar vanished.
Boom!
His saber shattered Garnak’s earthen armor in a single strike, then delivered another slash.
Boom!
Garnak was sent flying.
Lothar continued bombarding him with punches, kicks, and slashes.
Each blow landed with overwhelming force, reversing everything Garnak had done moments earlier.
Garnak fought back desperately, roaring as he poured everything into his attacks, but it was useless as the difference between their strength was massive.
Finally, as Lothar raised his saber once more, he was interrupted by Harold.
"That’s enough!"
Lothar stopped.
Garnak lay on the ground, breathing heavily, armor shattered, but his expression was that of a calm one as if he didn’t mind being trashed like this.
"...I lost," he said quietly.
Silence fell over the meadow.
"You guys are shameless." Garnak coughed, getting up with the help of Lothar.
"The game is the game." Harold shrugged with a smug, "Besides there was no rule that you couldn’t upgrade yourself mid-way fight.
Garnak rolled his eyes as he couldn’t be bothered with the reply.
Then he looked at Harold and shook his head. "At this rate, there’s no point in doing—"
Before he could finish his sentence, Harold interrupted. "Don’t worry, we won’t do that again."
"Alright, if you say so." Garnak chuckled lightly before gulping down a healing potion given by someone from his tribe, recovering slowly unlike when people used the healing potion from the system.
Harold contacted Ash that the next game was about to start and told him to proceed to the next plan.
When he heard it, Ash ordered the system once again.
[Ding! 7,500 Tribal Points have been successfully deducted.]
[Ding! You have increased Varsha’s stats to maximum, adding 300 stats in total!]
The meadow had yet to fully recover from the devastation left behind by Lothar and Garnak’s clash.
Cracked earth spread outward like scars, uprooted grass lay flattened in wide arcs, and chunks of shattered stone were scattered everywhere.
Yet there was no time to rest, as Garnak stepped back to the sidelines, supported by a few of his tribesmen, another figure calmly walked forward.
Trojan, he was a heavily built old man, his thick muscles packed tightly beneath skin riddled with scars.
Old wounds crisscrossed his arms, shoulders, and chest, all telling stories of countless battles survived by sheer brutality. His hands were encased in heavy gauntlets, their surfaces worn and chipped from repeated impacts.
Across from him stood Varsha.
The old man’s long, dark hair flowed freely behind him, swaying gently with each step. His posture was relaxed, as if he didn’t take the fight seriously. A sword hung loose at his waist.
He rolled his shoulders once, joints cracking audibly.
The two old men stood face to face.
Trojan inhaled deeply, then made his move
Boom!
The ground beneath his feet exploded, launching himself forward like a cannonball.
His massive frame contradicted his speed as in the blink of an eye, he had already closed the distance, his right fist swinging forward in a brutal straight punch aimed directly at Varsha’s head.
Varsha’s eyes sharpened.
He tilted his head slightly, stepping aside just enough for the fist to pass by his cheek, the pressure alone ruffling his hair.
At the same time, his sword slid from its sheath in a smooth motion.
Clang!
Steel met the gauntlet as Varsha slashed downward, only for Trojan to twist his arm and block with his forearm. Sparks burst outward as the blade scraped across hardened metal.
Trojan didn’t stop there.
His left fist followed immediately, swinging upward toward Varsha’s ribs.
Varsha pivoted on his heel, narrowly evading the blow, his sword flashing horizontally in response.
Clang!
Another block and the two separated briefly before colliding again.
Boom!
Clang!
Boom!
Fist and sword clashed repeatedly as they exchanged blows at an astonishing speed. Trojan’s fighting style was direct, and overwhelmingly aggressive as each punch carried enough force to crack stone, each step sending vibrations through the ground.
Varsha, on the other hand, was fluid. He moved like flowing water, his footwork precise and controlled.
His sword never followed a fixed pattern as sometimes slashing wide, sometimes stabbing straight, sometimes curving unpredictably mid-motion.
To the surrounding warriors, the two old men became a blur of afterimages.
Trojan roared and swung a heavy hook.
Varsha ducked beneath it, countering with a quick slash toward Trojan’s abdomen.
Slash!
Trojan grunted as blood sprayed, but he didn’t retreat. Instead, he slammed his knee upward, forcing Varsha to leap back.
The Urthak warriors sucked in cold breaths because even though the wound was not fatal, it was clean and precise.
As the exchanges continued, a pattern slowly emerged.
Every time they clashed, Trojan was forced to give ground little by little. Not overwhelmingly so, but enough to be noticed over time.
Enough that his sword strikes carried slightly more speed. Enough that his reactions were just a fraction faster. Enough that his counters landed before Trojan could fully recover.
Slash!
A shallow cut opened on Trojan’s shoulder.
Clang!
A parry followed by a slash across his thigh. Blood began to drip steadily onto the grass.
Trojan’s breathing grew heavier, his chest rising and falling rapidly as scars old and new burned with pain.
Yet his eyes remained fierce. "Hah... Hah..." Trojan grinned, spitting blood to the side. "Is everyone in the Ragh’Tal Tribe this monstrous?"
Varsha didn’t respond, as he simply raised his sword again.
Trojan growled and mana erupted from his body, as he used his (Earthquake Knuckle Barrage) skill, the same skill as Garnak’s.
Boom!
He stomped forward, unleashing a relentless storm of punches. His fists blurred as they hammered forward in rapid succession, each strike detonating the air and sending violent tremors through the ground.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
The meadow shook violently. Cracks spread beneath Varsha’s feet as shockwaves stacked upon one another, threatening to overwhelm him through sheer force.
Varsha narrowed his eyes. Instead of retreating, he stepped forward and swung his sword as he activated his (Flowing Steel Continuum) skill.
Mana surged smoothly through his arms and blade.
Slash after slash was swung by Varsha as his sword danced with a beautiful rhythm.
Unlike ordinary sword techniques, Varsha’s attacks had no fixed rhythm. His strikes flowed seamlessly into one another—sometimes fast, sometimes slow, sometimes wide, sometimes narrow, forming a continuous, unpredictable stream of steel.
Each slash didn’t collide directly with Trojan’s fists. They redirected, deflecting them instead.
Clang!
Slash!
Clang!
Slash!
Trojan’s (Earthquake Knuckle Barrage) skill began to lose its momentum. His punches were powerful, but they required rhythm.
Varsha’s technique disrupted that rhythm completely.