176: Chapter 173 First Place, Yang Xing, 5,000 matches

"You beat me last time by getting close." Jackson patted the wings of freedom at his waist. "This time, I won't let you get close again. You can't win. If you surrender, you only lose one point. If you keep dragging this out with me, you won't just be losing one point; it'll be ten or twenty."

"What a coincidence." Igor stretched his neck, his joints cracking. "That's exactly what I was thinking. So—you should surrender."

"Fxxkyou."

"Пошелты."

The two cursed almost simultaneously.

Jackson didn't have much patience to begin with. He drew the wings of freedom from his right hand and fired a shot at Igor's feet.

This shot was a warning. It wasn't an all-out attack, but the shockwave still exploded into a three-meter-high water spout in front of Igor. The seawater instantly froze in mid-air, shattering into a sky full of ice shards.

"Last time." Jackson said, "If you don't surrender, I'll start fighting for real. No one is going to chase down the top of the leaderboard."

Igor didn't speak.

He simply lowered his head and looked at the ice surface shattered at his feet.

Then he looked up.

In his grey-blue eyes, his pupils contracted sharply.

The change happened in an instant.

Igor's complexion turned from pale to grey-blue, and his muscles expanded at a speed visible to the naked eye—his arms thickened, his latissimus dorsi muscles bulged, and the contours of his shoulder blades protruded from his back like blades. His breath expelled white mist, the temperature around him plummeted rapidly, and the virtual sea surface within a ten-meter radius froze into solid ice, with the ice layer exceeding one meter in thickness.

The cold air wasn't spreading outwards; it was contracting.

Contracting into his body.

Every inch of his muscle was being infused, tempered, and reshaped by the Power of Causality of extreme cold. This wasn't a normal Awakening release; this was a high-level Gold Tier application of Cold Adaptation—self-adaptive evolution of the Physical Body in extreme environments.

His Essence, Qi, and Spirit values reached one hundred seventy-eight almost simultaneously.

It looked like only thirty-some points higher than Victoria. But the growth of Essence, Qi, and Spirit wasn't linear. From one hundred fifty to one hundred seventy-eight, every point of increase was a condensation of several points from the previous stage. This twenty-seven-point gap, in actual combat, was enough to completely tip the scales of battle.

Igor took a step.

His foot landed on the ice, but the ice didn't crack; instead, it extended from beneath his feet, spreading rapidly from him toward Jackson. A thin layer of white frost condensed on the ice, and the water vapor in the air turned into fine ice needles in the extreme cold, suspended between the two, refracting cold white light.

He charged over.

The moment Jackson saw Igor's invincible Aura and the extreme cold power that froze the space around him, charging toward him while turning the sea into ice, his pupils contracted.

He recognized this state.

The last time he fought Igor for twelve minutes, it was because after the opponent entered this full-power state, his Physical Body strength was despairingly high. Normal shots from the wings of freedom could hardly hurt him; only charged critical hits could pose a threat.

Twelve minutes.

No, Igor in his full-power state was stronger than last time.

This time it might take fifteen minutes.

Or even longer.

Fifteen minutes—a gap of at least ten to fifteen matches.

Jackson's teeth gnashed loudly.

"Idiot! You're sick! Damn it—!!"

He cursed three times.

Then he made a decision that no one could have expected.

The muzzle of the wings of freedom flipped.

It aimed at his own temple.

Bang.

The battle ended.

System judgment: Igor wins.

—

The moment Jackson's consciousness was ejected back to reality, he leaped from the deck, his fist slamming into the mast, snapping the entire mast in half.

"Sonofabitch—"

He took three deep breaths.

Calm down. Calm down.

One point. It was just one point.

He clicked the matchmaking button and entered the next match.

—

Meanwhile, in the battle space.

Igor stood alone in place.

After Jackson disappeared, he was the only one left on the empty virtual sea.

The expanded muscles all over his body receded within two seconds.

His grey-blue complexion returned to pale. The extreme cold Aura dissipated, and the ice stopped spreading. His breathing was steady, his heart rate was normal, and from head to toe, there wasn't a trace of fatigue from his "berserk" state.

The furious, hideous expression on his face vanished cleanly, as if removing a mask.

Replacing it was a playful, mocking smile.

"Inferior Stars and Stripes." Igor whispered in Russian, his grey-blue eyes full of mockery.

"Is this all you've got to try and bluff me?"

He flexed his fingers.

"Do you really think I only have muscles and no brain?"

From beginning to end, he never truly entered his full-power state.

The muscle expansion, the extreme cold burst, the sea turning to ice—it was all acting. The oppressive feeling of his Essence, Qi, and Spirit was real, but that was a level he could release in his normal state, far from his full power.

He was betting on Jackson's personality.

Arrogant. Irritable. Unwilling to make a losing deal.

When an arrogant person judges that "the cost of continuing this fight is too high," he won't hold on. He will choose to cut his losses.

Because in Jackson's perception, voluntarily exiting only loses one point, but a fifteen-minute struggle could lose over a dozen points. Between one point and over a dozen points, Jackson would definitely choose one point.

Igor had been observing since his first fight with Jackson. He was verifying during the second fight. The third time—he reeled in the net.

A free point.

Igor closed the interface of the battle space and clicked the matchmaking button.

There wasn't a trace of unnecessary emotion in his grey-blue pupils.

Matchmaking successful.

White light shone, and his figure disappeared from the battle space.

—

Meanwhile, our great leader of the Individual Sequence Contest leaderboard.

Hans Weber exited from his three thousand four hundred sixty-second individual match.

He won.

The moment his consciousness returned to the deck of his warship, his first action wasn't to catch his breath, but to pull up the leaderboard.

[1st Place: Hans Weber (Teuton), Wins: 3387]

Still there.

He let out a long breath, and the tightness in his chest eased a beat.

Second glance—scanning down.

Yang Hang. Not in the top ten. Not in the top one hundred. Not in the top one thousand.

He quickly typed in the name to search.

[4,230,605th Place: Yang Hang (Yanhuang Civilization), Wins: 1500].

Five days. One thousand five hundred. Unmoving.

The corners of Hans's mouth curled up.

But this smile lasted less than a second.

Because his gaze slid back to the top ten.

[1st Place: Hans Weber (Teuton), Wins: 3387]

[2nd Place: Victoria (Fog City), Wins: 3367]

[3rd Place: Yang Hang (Yanhuang Civilization), Wins: 3366]

[4th Place: Zheng Yuanshan (Yanhuang Civilization), Wins: 3365]

[5th Place: Zhang Haotian (Yanhuang Civilization), Wins: 3363]

Twenty matches.

The gap between him and second place—only twenty matches left.

Hans's smile vanished.

Three days ago, he was leading second place by over three hundred matches. Two days ago, one hundred fifty. Yesterday, eighty. Today—twenty.

And until settlement—he glanced at the position of the twin suns of the Magic Sea—there was still half an hour left.

Thirty minutes.

"Scheiße—!"

Hans slammed his fist against the ship's railing, lightning arcs exploded, and a corner of the wooden board shattered.

"That crazy woman, Victoria!"

He gritted his teeth, his blue-grey eyes filled with irritability.

The Saintess of Fog City. Holder of the Gold Tier sword of the sea. Fighting on two fronts, the Faction Sequence Battle and the Individual Sequence Contest—how could she still catch up to within twenty matches of him?

"You, a person from Fog City, wouldn't it be fine to just stay in second place? Why do you have to fight me for first? What do you gain from it!"

He looked at the third to fifth places again. Zheng Yuanshan. President Shen Qing. Zhang Haotian.

All Yanhuang Civilization.

Hans's eye twitched.

"And you all—Yanhuang Civilization." His voice squeezed out from between his teeth, "The championship of the Faction Sequence Battle is already yours. Two hundred fifty-one points, in your hands, secure, no one is fighting you for it. Are you still not satisfied? You still have to come and snatch the Individual Sequence Contest?"

He spoke faster and faster, his speech rate carrying the unique, stiff rhythm of a Teuton.

"Zheng Yuanshan—a sixty-something-year-old geezer, why not go enjoy your retirement instead of competing with a thirty-two-year-old like me? President Shen Qing—a doctor, go treat your patients properly, why come here to fight in the Sequence Battle? Zhang Haotian—and that most detestable guy who is also called Yang Hang, why is everyone with that name so annoying—"

"Greedy and insatiable." Hans whispered in German, then switched back to English to continue cursing, "An entire greedy and insatiable civilization. They want everything. They have to snatch first place in everything. Back then, the Führer shouldn't have—"

He cursed and grumbled for a while.

But the malice deep in his heart still hadn't dissipated; instead, it burned even hotter in the urgency of the thirty-minute countdown.

He scanned the names further down the leaderboard again. Solomon, Igor, Jack—he cursed everyone he could.

After cursing, Hans Weber actually calmed down.

He took a deep breath.

In his blue-grey eyes, the flame of irritability was suppressed, replaced by a cold madness.

"So what if you chase closely?"

He stretched his neck, his joints cracking.

"There are still thirty minutes left, and I am leading second place by twenty matches. You fight, and I fight; you increase your wins, and I increase mine. As long as I don't stop—you will only ever be able to look at my back."

The Lightning Giant Bear Bloodline surged fully across his body surface. Blue-white electric arcs shot out from his fingertips, shoulder armor, and back simultaneously, casting a glaring light over the evening sea.

"The champion of the Individual Sequence Contest—"

He clenched his fists, "Must be me."

"That cowardly Yang Hang doesn't even have the courage to enter the battle. What Fog City Saintess Victoria? What ten strongest of Yanhuang Civilization?"

His voice grew higher and higher, the last few words almost roared out.

"Today! I will trample you all under my feet! I will trample the pride of Yanhuang Civilization—firmly—under my feet!"

His breathing was rapid and scorching.

"Wait until I take this first place—Talent advancement—Lightning Giant Bear Bloodline breaking through the Gold Tier ceiling—"

Hans licked his lips, something manic burning in his pupils.

"Then who on this Magic Sea is my opponent? Fate Master Yang Hang?"

He sneered.

"Fate Master Yang Hang won't do either."

"Then I will lead the Teutons to win the Faction Sequence Battle. Take everything from Yanhuang Civilization—merits, Talents, resources—"

His voice lowered, low enough that only he could hear, but every word was burning.

"And the Cause and Effect Fate Platform."

"It's all mine."

"It's all mine."

"Ha—hahahaha hahahaha!!!"

The laughter echoed over the empty sea for a long time.

Then he turned and walked into the cabin, and clicked the matchmaking button for the Individual Sequence Contest.

Time back to Yang Hang's side.

The memories synchronized by Yang Hang's Divided Soul unfolded rapidly in his consciousness like a fast-forwarded movie.

Five days.

The 5v5 Faction Sequence Battle had ended—Wall of Despair seven hundred ninety-two matches, Lucky Squad seven hundred eighty-one matches, Yanhuang Civilization swept the championship and runner-up, 251 points. Fog City 250, Stars and Stripes 249.

The 10v10 Faction Battle started the next day, the Revival Society held another meeting, the Clone attended as the Little Luck Technique, was assigned to the absolute defending ten-person group merged from Wall of Despair and Lucky Squad, and after the start today, they crushed everything, the top of the leaderboard as stable as a rock.

These were all fine.

Yang Hang's gaze landed on the real-time leaderboard of the Individual Sequence Contest.

[1st Place: Hans Weber (Teuton), Wins: 3387]

[2nd Place: Victoria (Fog City), Wins: 3367]

[3rd Place: Yang Hang (Yanhuang Civilization), Wins: 3366]

He scrolled down.

Not in the top one hundred. Not in the top one thousand. Not in the top ten thousand.

[4,230,599th Place: Yang Hang (Yanhuang Civilization), Wins: 1500].

"..."

The first glance Yang Hang took told him, no need to think, the Fate Platform must be in an uproar right now, this was also his mistake.

He didn't expect that a simple in-depth study of a Talent would take five days. It felt like only a moment had passed in his perception.

The Flash of Inspiration Talent was still too strong. This also gave him a hint.

Talents are not like skills; they lack systematic theory and learning logic, and cannot be easily forced to break the upper limit using the Power of Causality.

The upper limit of a Talent is almost set in stone the moment of Awakening. Forcing a Breakthrough is tantamount to adding weight out of thin air.

It's not that it can't be done, but the cost is very high. Forcing a small Breakthrough is meaningless; a large-scale leap, wanting to mold Gold Tier into Diamond Tier, the cost is too high.

Then, if the Magic Sea can never, ever open a Diamond Tier treasure chest again. What should he do then?

The experience of these five days was the revelation for him. Comprehending and studying Talent rules on his own, augmenting various learning-related Talent abilities, and combining it with the Power of Causality's ability to pull the future into reality, sooner or later, he would be able to study and understand all his Talents into an existence close to the Power of Causality.

He rubbed his temples, stood up from the floor of the training room, and stretched his legs, which were stiff from sitting cross-legged for a long time. He brushed the dust off his clothes and walked to the deck in slippers.

The sea breeze blew in, the salty, fishy smell hitting his face. The twin suns hung high, the light blinding.

The Fate Platform was discussing very happily right now. Seeing everyone so worried, he really had been negligent, but this would be the only time; he had experience now, next time he would arrange it in advance.

He calculated silently in his heart.

Last time he set the number at one thousand five hundred, and now it had been exceeded by over one thousand eight hundred matches.

Then this time...

Yang Hang tilted his head.

How much is appropriate?

Four thousand?

Not stable enough, there is still half an hour.

Then five thousand.

For him, the dignified Fate Master, winning five thousand matches in Nine Heavens was still reasonable.

Yang Hang decided.

He raised his right hand, the Power of Causality surging silently at his fingertips.

The next moment.

The causal line of the matter "winning in the Individual Sequence Contest"—every victory is a causal line—from "matchmaking" to "battle" to "victory," the cause, process, and result all instantly became reality in the past.

Then.

The twenty-third day of the Magic Sea Calendar, 11:31 AM.

On the real-time win leaderboard of the Individual Sequence Contest.

All the Survivors who were checking the leaderboard—whether Yanhuang or foreign civilizations—simultaneously saw a scene that caused their brains to briefly crash.

[4,230,599th Place: Yang Hang (Yanhuang Civilization), Wins: 1500].

This line of text disappeared.

It didn't change slowly. The numbers didn't jump one by one.

The whole line—disappeared.

Then, at the top of the leaderboard, a new line of golden text appeared out of thin air.

[1st Place: Yang Hang (Yanhuang Civilization), Wins: 5000]