Blacksmith of the Apocalypse

it was as if the whole arena had exploded as it sank into chaos. it was a brutal skirmish. Especially the magicians went all out, firing large AOE attacks to wipe out as many people as possible. At this rate, it was only a matter of minutes for the weaker participants to be absolutely slaughtered.

“Ahbatima Huddba;” an old man's voice, clad in a mustard-colored robe cut through the ear-deafening noise. A golden barrier appeared and shielded him and the group of cultivators behind him. Several spells struck the barrier, but couldn't put a scratch on it. Behind him was the golden figure of a smiling fatso.

The dwarf looked at the weird barrier suspiciously and decided to keep his distance. At least one good effect had the sudden appearance of a barrier, Polter and others had the time to strike down the surprised magicians. Their indiscriminate attacks had left less than half the participants, most of the rest were covered in severe wounds.

“Bah! Old monk Tamang, what are you doing here?” A man wearing a set of grass-green robes stepped forward aggressively. He looked like he was in his 40s but he spoke to the ancient monk as if they had known each other for a long time.

“Just helping some young benefactors, “ the old monk answered with a benign smile.

“Hah? And you think I would let you, you corrupt monk?” he asked with a sneer, raising his hand, covered in a green mist. Polter wanted to watch what was happening further, but someone else asked for his attention. it was a rather rude question, as it was asked with a sword flying at his throat.

“ I saw you at the previous event. I had already heard that your midget race is quite strong, but your performance made me really want to fight you. I am glad I had the chance to-” his monologue was interrupted by the axe head that was suddenly lodged in his skull. Silently, the cultivator sank to his knees.

“You talk too much,” Polter said smugly with shrugged shoulders. This was a Battle Royale without rules, he didn't care about honor in this kind of fight. Especially when the others thought they could annoy him with their monologue.

After finishing the sword cultivator, the dwarf looked back at the scene of the golden barrier. With shock he found that the golden barrier had disintegrated and the old monk was kneeling on the ground, black rot was quickly covering his skin and robes.

What kind of magic did the green robes use to do that, when all the spells from the magicians had been deflected with apparent ease?

“Did you really think your barrier could withstand my Five Poison Palm?” he mocked the man, as he painfully died from the encroaching toxins. Shocked, Polter took a few steps back. Such potent poison skills were not common in the system. To be on the safe side, he drank a bottle of Poison Resistance Potion. Since he was at it, he also drank a stamina, mana, and strength potion. more doping was always better.

The dwarf watched as the green-robed man approached the people the monk had protected. the next moment the group and the poisoner were locked in an intense duel. Polter was pondering to join and kill the poison user at an opportune time when somebody beat him to it.

Palms clad in greenish mist suddenly crashed into a chest covered in dark gray scales. Polter's eyebrows shot up, vanishing behind the rim of his helmet. The poison had no effect on the scales of the newcomer.

It was a black lizardman, not the monsters from the dungeon, but the people acknowledged as demi-humans. They were similar to Tijaahk in nature with pronounced reptilian heads and human bodies covered in durable scales. They also had a well-known racial trait.

<Poison immunity>

The lizard sneered maliciously seeing the green mist dissipating on his scales without harming him. The sneer made clear what he was about to do, moments before his fist landed in the stomach of the cultivator. Inexplicably spitting up blood, the poisoner jumped back to mitigate some of the force.

“Disgusting lizard! Face the wrath of my ancestral technique! 10 poison Rainbow Palm!” he screamed domineeringly as he threw his palm forward. it was oozing smoke of myriad colors like those of a rainbow.

Poor bystanders, like the men that had hidden behind the monk, immediately withered to a black sludge, when they were hit by a waft of the terrifying combination poison. however, a reptilian claw met the palm in mid-air, stopping the man's strike with ease.

With crazed laughter, the lizardman started striking the cultivator's face, keeping a firm grasp on his hand, so he couldn't escape., earning him a prominent spot all across the screens in the arena. the audience went bonkers at the pure display of cruelty.

The scaled brawler made a good display of one of the traits of cultivators Polter had picked up on. Although the people of the Voracious Cloud Continent had higher attributes on average compared to players on the same level, they could also be split into two rough categories.

Magicians and Warriors, and despite their higher base attributes they couldn't escape the typical problems of these specializations. The poison user was obviously a magic type and although he had the build of an off-tank, he couldn't compete with the dedicated brawler in close combat. Without the fancy poison advantage, he was completely and utterly fucked.

“hey midget, where are you looking?” a voice reminded Polter that he was still part of this battle. the arena had already emptied, with only a handful of individual battles being fought out. it was another, elegant cultivator. There were really a lot of them, it was like they all shared this weird thing Urthan's called a skin routine.

Also, what was it with their arrogance? This was the second time that someone called him a midget and he was slowly getting pissed. He was actually quite tall and wide for a dwarf, he was a real boulder of a dwarf, and that's what his fiance also attested to him every night.

“Ah, I finally have your attention! My name is Deng Peng. I didn't want you to die without knowing the name of the man who killed you!” he shouted. Unlike the last one, he didn't let down his guard when talking and shouted while charging at the stout foe.

Polter wasn't fazed, but he started to get pissed by their antics. However, he had to admit that this one wasn't all talk. He began to sweat a little when evading and blocking the sword.

“Stop running away, it's ungraceful!” Deng Peng complained annoyed that his sword couldn't strike true on the dwarf he thought to be an easy target. The dwarf grinned inwardly. he doubted this was all the cultivator could do.

He even suspected that he was one of the so-called Sword Cultivators, one of the rare exceptions from the two categories that transcended the specialization with pure talent in the sword. These guys were strong warriors and able to cast magic-like skills through their expertise in sword skills. This made them roughly the same as a great epic class.

“I wanted to save this for the tournament, but you forced my hand, you annoying halfling!” Deng Peng exclaimed annoyed and seemed to cast a skill. Several swords made from energy appeared in the air. This was what Polter had waited for. he was very interested in these exotic skills from the new world.

Unlike magic that would simply shoot forward like projectiles, the swords actually started attacking as if they were wielded by sentient opponents, finally putting some pressure on the dwarf. Still, he wanted to see if there was anything more before he.- Suddenly, Polter felt a heavy hit in the back of his helmet that had him tumble for a moment.

Slightly dizzy he barely managed to raise his shield to block Deng Pengs real sword, while the energy swords left deep gashed on his epic armor set. looking back he found the Lizardman, sneering at him, his fists still covered in the blood of the poison user.

Did he come here thinking he could snatch a kill?

“Despicable Hybrid, how dare you interfere in a duel? I will kill you once we take down the midget,” Deng Peng admonished the lizardman but didn't tell him to stop interfering.

“What a two-faced little bitch;” Polter thought to himself. He was no longer in the mood to play along. When the two attacked him as a team, his poleaxe was covered in dense golden light. With a flick of his wrist, a golden crescent flew at the lizardman who pathetically threw himself on the ground, only losing his tail to the dwarf's attack.

The cultivator attacking from the other side suddenly faced the terror of a shield saint. Once again, the sword clashed with Polter's shield, but this time the shield shone in a bright white light that stuck to the sword as it bounced off.

“Weapon Break,” the dwarf crumbled coldly and the precious sword of the sword cultivators crumbled to shards that fell to the arena floor. he had spent all fight, infusing his shield energy into his opponent's weapon whenever it clashed with his shield. Now he unleashed it.

Despite the shock of losing his weapon, the cultivator managed to evade the rim of the shield, that aimed at his face. He was about to sneer at the failure of his foe, when a strong hand grasped his head, firmly lodging onto that long luscious mane of his.

His head accelerated and the last thing he saw was the rim of a helmet. The last thing he heard was the ear-shattering guttural roar of an angry dwarf, then everything became dark.

There was an audible crack. His skull caved in when faced with the dense forehead of a dwarf.

In terror the scaled brawler watched the dwarf turning to him. Blood and bits of brain dripped from the rim of his helmet. Out of his mind, he tried to crawl away, but he had signed his death sentence with a single cheap shot.

Polter, the shield saint may have a had benign personality, but Polter, the poleaxe demon came for his ass.