Clearing the Game at the End of the World Chapter 310

Chapter. 15. Can someone who has seen the end of the world plant an apple tree? (15)

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“Hmm….”

“Why are you doing that? master.”

“No… it’s nothing. You have proven yourself well as a warrior. Well done Saladin.”

In response to the praise of the Rakshasha disguised as a shaman, the professor bowed down before him like a blunt and loyal slave.

To anyone who sees it, it appears to be a conversation between a brainwashed slave and a shaman. The two were not in front of Kauladi, but in the slave training grounds that clung like barnacles to his majestic abode.

Of course, there was no way a strong warrior could be promoted to Kauladi’s entourage just because one shaman proved it. In the end, all the shaman who met with Otman was doing was confirming whether the slave named Saladin was a spy or an assassin.

From then on, the shaman who proved that the slave Saladin was not a spy became the guarantor, and a full-fledged verification was being conducted as to whether he was a suitable person for Kauladi’s slave warrior group.

At least it looked smooth to me.

First, check your physical fitness. Move sandstone the size of five adult men over a certain distance on a soft sandy floor.

I passed by throwing the test sandstone block to the passing point on the spot.

Next quality verification. Because the rulers of this region compete on how good slave warriors they have, it is said that slaves should not have hunched backs, excessive loss of teeth, or any other defect that catches the attention of other rulers.

Perhaps thanks to the recent surge in hero points, he barely passed the award thanks to his face that changed from the ‘vicious bandit killer leader’ to the ‘rogue with a story’ award and his well-tanned skin that would make even a sailor nod his head.

And finally. I was in the process of proving my abilities as a warrior through three battles.

The second battle was completed by simultaneously fighting and winning eight slave soldiers made up of people who had been recommended to the Slave Warrior Corps in the past but were eliminated, but the Rakshasha’s expression was not good for some reason.

As I slowly approached him on my knees, pretending to bow my head, the Rakshasha whispered to me, wary of the shaman wandering around infrequently.

“Hmm, I don’t think this will work?”

“….why? Should they have taken the entire limb off instead of breaking it? “Was your performance a little weak?”

“It’s not a matter of combat power… Is it because that fighting style doesn’t fit our culture?”

“culture?”

What does this mean again?

“yes. culture. It is said that the warriors of the desert carry their soul and the souls of those they have defeated in the weapons they hold. But you know…”

“Bare hands.” “Oh my…”

“I’m sorry. “As we put so much effort into infiltration and escape routes… we failed to take this little detail into consideration?”

In short, he won the previous two battles with overwhelming fighting power. This means that there will be people who find it very uncomfortable to see me, as a warrior, swinging my bare hands without a weapon containing my soul.

‘no wonder. judge? Quality inspection? I heard that the shamans who came to do the same thing had a bad look on their faces. ‘I guess it was because I, who had no weapons, did not fit in with Kauladi’s slave warriors.’

The good news is that Rakshasha quickly noticed and informed me.

As she said, since it was a minor problem, it wasn’t that difficult to solve.

“Well, for the final battle, you can just pick any one, right? “You said the third battle would be 1v1 with the Desert Scorpion, right?”

“yes. They are the ones that shamans tame to use as war weapons, but since the magic is so difficult, it often fails, so they say that there are some that are set aside like this? Since they are being slaughtered anyway, they are being used for these warrior tests. “If you just hit it with a weapon that suits your hand, I think the rest will happen.”

“Hmm… let’s push towards the warrior’s pride. Suffice it to say that I felt it was an insult to brandish a weapon at trash that could not even be touched. Rather, the more expensive it is, the better it will sell.”

“That’s a good idea.”

weapon. Weapons…

Fortunately, there were old weapons not far away prepared for testing. According to the explanation of the slave with a large brand on his forehead, although it was old, it was once an excellent weapon that was used to gallop through the desert with its companion warriors.

“Now that they have returned to the sand, they are just waiting for their turn to be turned back into iron in the furnace. Isn’t it true that a weapon’s life ends the moment a warrior dies? Although the warrior may feel reluctant to hold a weapon with traces of another warrior, if you pass all the tests and are recognized as Kaulaadi’s slave warrior, you will receive a lifelong weapon that fits your hand and body perfectly in his excellent workshop. I will make you a partner, so please bear with me for now…”

“I understand.”

The professor looked around at the weapons lined up one by one, pushing back the blacksmith slave who treated the old warrior man with respect, as if there was a hierarchy among the slaves.

‘then. Are you saying that there are no ready-made desert weapons and that they are all custom-made? ‘This is the height of inefficiency.’

The reason why supplying military supplies is a top priority in general battles is because equipment does not wear out that easily.

When cleaning up the battlefield after a battle, dozens of knives with moderately sharp teeth can be recovered, roughly ground, and passed on to other soldiers.

But these crazy desert bastards, when the owner of the sword dies, they retrieve the weapons one by one, melt them all down, and make them into customized weapons again.

Should I call this sincerity or madness?

I understand that it is precious because it is a town where metal is scarce. Anyway, this is a bit much.

‘Well, it doesn’t matter because I’m in the neighborhood where I can eat and survive. Let’s see… If it were a customized weapon, they would also observe the way I use the weapon in addition to my body shape.’

Although the weapons lined up in front of you have signs of use, they are all luxury items that give the impression that they were made by craftsmen. It is correct to say that a craftsman who produces custom-made weapons like this does not just look at the body shape, but also observes the way the weapon is used.

I am grateful that they are making things that will be useful for a long time to come, but it is difficult for a blacksmith with a keen eye to pick up something and then have suspicions like, ‘That kid’s knives are really poor…’

‘….Even if I hold two bucklers and hit you with my fists, are you going to hit me with a weapon? What if I learn about the martial arts of the Gwangmyeong Church?’

Ultimately, in order to avoid suspicion, it is necessary to show some degree of skill in weaponry.

Since there was no alternative right now, I had no choice but to find a shield and use it.

“…You seem worried. Warrior, if you tell me what kind of weapon you are looking for, I might find it for this lowly bastard…” “

Hmm…”

Even that was a large, round leather shield used in the desert, so as I was wandering through the dusty shelves, I found a pile of javelins. I was able to find an item in the pile that caught my eye.

———

– Jokass: Oh.

– Noru Drug: Should I use that? Didn’t you have some sort of trauma related to that? Even when 3 World first started…

– professor: Uh. I know, but I think things are okay now.

———

This is an item that has been used for a long time so that even people in chat rooms pretend to know about it.

….shake.

“It’s been quite a while…”

It was Dok2.

****

Actually, the professor hated axes. That’s because the weapon that accompanied him through the darkest days of his life was an axe.

To relieve a tantrum that I really can’t do anything about. The place I crawled into because I thought I was going to die like this was GG’s 2nd World.

I don’t know about quests, I don’t know how to search for information, or anything.

A time when the ax was swung purely for the purpose of solving the problem. During the day, I worked hard in the sandstorm-ridden wasteland, digging through piles of trash, and at night, I swung my ax without thinking.

When it comes to play style, it’s… Minor Cheonryuje. The difference between him and me is that he had the ability to cut down every living thing he saw, and I didn’t have one?

I pushed my way to 70% as best I could, but since I had nothing built up, it was impossible to progress after that. Those were the days when if there was a person who started a fight, they would grab him and he would get beaten up so badly that he would hide and run away.

Thanks to this, my 2nd world character ‘Professor Dandu’ was completed as a strange warrior with the highest ax cutting, stealth and escape skills.

Although it was a character that I worked hard to develop. Two NPCs I met in a small cabin in the corner of the city-state union. After finding out that their identity was created from my parents’ data soul, I never accessed that character again, and even in real life, I stayed away from the memories of that day to the point of avoiding anything related to Dok2.

But why? Do you feel that Dok2, which you once felt so repulsed by, is now something you welcome?

[Isn’t that it? They say that when you recall a shitty memory happily, it becomes a memory.]

‘Isn’t it a bit problematic if I suffer from nightmares every day of a mutant that crawled out of my mother’s grave and eat me, and if I live as a memory of a time when I was chained to this world and couldn’t die?’

[Is there anyone in the world these days who doesn’t have problems? Isn’t it because time is short?]

‘Ah. ‘There are many wounds in the world that cannot be healed with medicine.’

I don’t know. What on earth made the pain of the past lessen into memories?

But at least.

“…This is useful.”

What if you meet an NPC made from your parents’ data soul again? It felt like there was more to talk about than back then.

The professor looked at the ax in his hand with a strange feeling of appreciation.

It was a pretty big ax. A heavy and ambiguous ax made entirely of metal from the handle to the head, longer than a battle ax but shorter than a jousting halberd.

The curved handle, covered in slick stains, fits comfortably in the hand, and the head, which is twice the size of an ordinary axe, and the weight, which would make it difficult for an ordinary warrior to use with one hand, seem to indicate that this ax was not made only for dealing with humans. did.

It was an ax made in the desert where there was no need to cut down trees. The purpose of this ax would have been purely to chop down moving objects.

There were strange cracks and dents on the side of the fairly wide ax head, but they did not appear to be caused by any impact. Compared to its ugly exterior, the blade was blue in color, so I thought this was enough.

The professor picked up a long-handled ax and thrust it at the waiting blacksmith slave.

“That guy… might not be a little lacking for a warrior to use… It had a lot of good iron in it, so I tried to melt it first, but the first blacksmith who made it didn’t know what he mixed with it, but instead of melting, the iron burned and cracked, so there was nothing I could do. “I’m the one who left you without.”

“hmm. “Is this the mark?”

“yes. The heat seeped in and I got a little tangled up. If you use an axe, how about using this, which is a little smaller than that guy, and a shield…”

“No, I’ll use this.”

A guy who lived in a fiery pit. I like it more.

As the professor made his decision, the blacksmith slave, who had been hesitant, just bowed his head and pointed to the place where the third test was waiting.

Thump – Kungung –

A shaking sound that can be easily heard from quite far away.

The large cage, which was being transported by two large desert boats connected by chains, seemed to be made of a mixture of iron and wood, and each of the two materials was engraved with magic letters using different colored paint, giving it a very ornate appearance.

What’s inside is a monster that looks like a desert scorpion that I saw while crossing the desert the other day, painted black and then stretched out.

It is said that this animal, whose body size is comparable to that of a desert pear, can run across the desert using the long, stiff hairs on the ends of its legs, so it is tamed through magic and used as a weapon of war.

The third combat test opponent was a giant scorpion that went berserk after a difficult brainwashing spell failed and had to be culled.

All I was given was a small desert boat and a lent weapon.

Since it was quite difficult, I couldn’t help but ask.

“…Do they usually use someone like that for the slave warrior exam?”

“It… depends. If there are any sandworms left, I use sandworms and have also used six-legged crocodiles or Gilauf centipedes. “Most of them are similar to that one or a little weaker, but there is no significant difference.”

“It’s not much different….”

An unexpected answer. I expected an answer like they caught something bigger than usual, but they said that was average.

At least, this means that each individual member of Kauladi’s slave warriors is capable of defeating such a monster.

‘I heard they are very picky.’

Thinking that escaping might be more difficult than expected, the professor pushed the small boat that was stuck on the sandbank and untied the rope that was tied to it.

Although I had only been in the desert for a short time, I was able to float a small boat on the sand thanks to what I had learned from looking over my shoulder during my career as an aviator.

The small boat slowly drifted toward the place where the scorpion’s cage was hanging, even though it had just set its sails to adjust to the direction of the wind.

A sound of chains being released was heard from the side of the large ship, which confirmed that a small white sail had been spread out on the sandy sea, and at the gesture of the shamans’ hands, a sandstorm began to rise, blocking the professor, the small boat, and everything else around from the scorpion’s eyes.

Two large ships and the crew that operates them. Three shamans. Although it is said that culling is necessary, it is a giant scorpion that is equivalent to a strategic weapon.

It certainly seemed clear that Kauladi was giving special treatment to the slave warriors. I can’t believe they invested this much manpower and assets to hire just one close associate.

The professor, looking at the scorpion and his small boat, alone in the cage made of sand, approached the bow and lifted the axe.

Ugh.

Syaaaa –

The ship moves forward in the sandstorm. The scorpion, freed from its bound mind, shook its head up and down, swung its tail, and reacted fiercely when it saw something coming towards it.

Tatakakak! Takkak! Perfect!

A scorpion that raises its body on the soft sand by striking its claws and mouth with a split mouth characteristic of arthropods.

Kuaaaaaaaaaa!

Pop, pop, pop!

The feeling of holding an ax for the first time in a long time was very different from the feeling of swinging a fist. An extension of the body. This feeling of the entire body being pulled like a catapult loaded to deliver power to the tip.

The scorpion finally came to its senses and rushed towards him, and the sound of something being twisted and squeezed sounded from the bow of the small boat.

Kwasik!

The bow, unable to withstand the force of the attack, was completely crushed and at the same time,

blah blah blah!

The sound, like splitting a ripe coconut, was loud enough to be heard from the other side of the oasis.

****

The Rakshasha was anxiously watching the professor’s actions, calculating the time it took for the shaman’s skin to dry.

I hadn’t thought about weapons for warriors, but since I wouldn’t be staying here for long, I believed that with the professor’s strength, I could pick up any blade and pass the test with flying colors and prepare for the next procedure.

“Shaman Eolaki. Did you find something interesting? Such a heavy axe. Isn’t this a weapon not favored by desert warriors? “It may be okay for people who have to deal with guys wearing armor, but desert warriors have no need to use heavy weapons like that.”

Another group of shamans approaches, pretending to know the Rakshasha’s appearance. The Rakshasa was able to easily recall his name from the list of Kauladhi’s subordinates that he had researched in advance.

“Magician Yachin. “What’s going on here?”

“I came here because I heard someone was going to clean up my messed up items. It’s a test for slave warriors… It’s been quite a while. Because of the war, even children who could become great warriors are dying. “Ah, let’s get started.”

Yakin. Among the shamans who serve Kauladi, he is a fairly high level person.

The Rakshasha chose to keep quiet about his interest.

It’s not that her magic is lacking, but if she opened her mouth here, she could have been exposed.

Fortunately, Yagin was smirking as he cast a spell on his eyes, as if he was very interested in what was happening beyond the sandstorm.

“This is the slave you brought in, so you can guess.”

“what. “I don’t know.”

“Of course it’s exam time! No matter how grim it may be, you’ll probably remember that we made this bet every time! It took the warrior Kalmakan three days to fight the sandworm. Leakage lasted three days. Galek… is it four days?”

The shamans enjoy comparing the time taken by previous slave warriors for the third test. While they were arguing about the differences in test subjects and levels.

Blah blah blah-!

A familiar yet unfamiliar noise rang out beyond the sandstorm.

The sound of something breaking apart. However, it is a sound that has never been heard before so loudly that it resonates throughout the oasis.

Hearing that strange sound, each of the shamans cast a spell on their eyes to strengthen their eyesight and cast their gaze beyond the sandstorm.

It rattled. It rattled.

The shattered bow of the small desert boat rattled as it struggled to cut through the sand.

Behind the warrior slave rowing the oars, the sails were not enough. The shaman, who had been speechless as the black, shiny silhouette was revealed in the whistling sand, barely managed to get a word out.

“Eh Eolaki…you picked up some treasure?”

“….yes.”

The Rakshasha looked at the scorpion behind the professor, its shell neatly split from its head to its back, and nodded with an equally fascinated look.

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