Re: Apocalypse Game

Chapter 89 Duels

As the acrid smell of gunpowder permeated the air, one undeniable truth settled in the minds of the spectators: Marcus's audacious stance under gunfire wasn't some theatrical display of arrogance.

Beneath that beastly facade, he bore a distinctive ability that neutralized the impact of conventional arms. His resilience and regenerative powers made him an adversary that bullets alone couldn't defeat. The battle had just begun to reach its zenith.

Alan, however, grappled with a pressing dilemma. The familiar weight of his [Luger] seemed lighter, a stark reminder of the diminishing cache of unique 19mm bullets he possessed. Each shot fired brought him closer to exhausting his ammunition reserve, a prospect he wasn't prepared to face, especially not for this singular confrontation with Marcus.

Closing his eyes briefly, Alan drew a long, deep breath. As he exhaled, he addressed the 50 players who observed attentively to the fight. "Consider this your last training session,"

In a move that none had anticipated, Alan unceremoniously stowed his [Luger] into its holster, making his way towards a table laden with an arsenal of weaponry. Every eye followed him, trying to guess his next choice of arms. The crowd murmured, speculating on which high-powered firearm he would opt for next.

But Alan surprisingly reached out and grasped the unclaimed [Wooden Shield], Securing it to his left arm, he drew the [Arming Sword] with his right hand - an unexpected choice that left many puzzled. Before the shock could fully settle or Vicky could voice her concerns, Alan assumed his combat stance, showcasing a blend of defense and offense.

From the midst of the gathered crowd, an incredulous voice exclaimed, "He's lost his mind!"

As if on cue, the once mangled and bloodied form of Marcus began to morph. The grotesque spectacle of his regeneration concluded with him in peak form, ready to initiate the next round of their duel,

Gazing at Alan, Marcus's eyes gleamed with a mix of respect and challenge. "Your actions continue to intrigue me, school teacher," he growled, his voice now echoing an even more primal, animalistic depth.

Anticipation crackled in the air as onlookers awaited Alan's next move. In the previous round, Alan had adeptly darted around, employing hit-and-run tactics. However, to everyone's surprise, Alan rooted himself to the spot this time, firmly grounding himself in a classic sword stance, every muscle tensed in readiness.

The distance between Marcus and Alan diminished in the blink of an eye, as the half-wolf lunged, his predatory speed evident. Yet Alan, his focus unwavering, fluidly sidestepped the lethal swipe aimed at him. With Marcus momentarily off-balance, Alan seized the chance, delivering a swift, low slash to the wolf's legs. The cut wasn't debilitating, but it was a clear point scored.

Quick to respond, Marcus whipped around, claws glistening dangerously under the sunlight, ready to retaliate. But Alan was already two steps ahead. Evading the beast's counter with a nimble maneuver, he positioned himself strategically. And as Marcus unleashed another barrage of swipes with his deadly claws, Alan raised his shield, using it as a bulwark against the onslaught. The shield absorbed some of the brute force but Alan, always calculating, wasn't content with just defending.

With a burst of speed, he pivoted, using the momentum to unleash a powerful arc with his sword, leaving a deep, bleeding gash on Marcus's arm. The sheer precision of the move, the control, and mastery over his weapon left the audience in awe. This wasn't a fluke. This was the result of three rigorous years of mastering swordplay in the virtual realm.

But beyond mere technique, Alan's success hinged on his sharp analytical skills. Through keen observation, he had deduced Marcus's capabilities.

He estimated Marcus's agility at a D+ rank and strength at a C rank. While he couldn't hope to overpower Marcus in sheer strength, agility was where they were nearly matched. Recognizing this, Alan strategically allocated one of his free attributes to boost his agility.

[Agility: D] +1 [D>D+]

As tempting as it was to invest more into agility, Alan had a broader strategy in mind. Rejecting the straightforward path of increasing his agility or strength further, he instead bolstered his endurance, ensuring he could withstand the prolonged combat and demanding physical feats it demanded.

[Endurance: E+] +2 [E+>D->D]

In the heat of battle, raw power alone isn't a guarantor of victory. Strategy and foresight often tip the scales, and Alan was banking on that. On the surface, enhancing his endurance might not immediately amplify his combat prowess, but for the intricate dance of a duel that he anticipated, it was paramount.

Alan envisioned a drawn-out battle - a constant interplay of dodges, ripostes, and parries - which would tax his stamina to its very limits.

The battlefield soon bore witness to this vision. At several junctures, when Marcus's overwhelming strength had Alan backed into a corner, the teacher reached deep within and called upon his [Power Strike] ability. This skill allowed him a brief surge in strength, temporarily bringing him on par with Marcus's formidable power. To further level the playing field, Alan utilized [Lunge Strike], which augmented his agility, allowing him to make rapid, darting movements to both evade and counterattack.

Yet, every use of these skills took a toll. They demanded an energy reservoir that seemed to deplete at an alarming rate.

[Stamina 68/100]

The discerning eye would have noted the subtle signs: the slight heaving of Alan's chest, the thin sheen of sweat on his brow. Yet, what puzzled many was the rate at which Alan seemed to recover.

Unbeknownst to most, Alan's [Scholar Spirit] trait played a pivotal role here. It naturally hastened his stamina regeneration. And with his strategic investment in endurance, Alan was not just holding his ground, but actively dictating the pace and flow of the combat.

[Stamina 55/100]

As minutes ticked by, those spectating began to see a narrative unfold, one that showcased the underestimated power of the sword and shield combo.

Even the most devout followers of the Blood Patriots - who once jeered and mocked - were rendered mute, their taunts dying in their throats. The whispers began, first hushed, then growing in volume and incredulity: "Who in the world is this man?"

[Stamina 39/100]

The subsequent moments of the duel mirrored the dance they'd begun earlier. It was like watching a high-stakes performance where each dancer had something to lose with every misstep. Alan's agility allowed him to weave and dart around the arena, evading the snapping jaws and slashing claws of the half-wolf Marcus. Yet, for all his nimbleness, the force he could muster in his strikes was just not enough to cause substantial damage to the beast.

Marcus's growing frustration was palpable. He had anticipated a quick and brutal end to this fight, and yet, Alan continued to defy those expectations. Every moment that ticked by without a fatal error on Alan's part was a testament to his skill and resolve. Marcus could almost taste victory; he knew it would take just one miscalculation, a split-second delay in Alan's reactions, or the simple exhaustion of stamina to seal Alan's fate. But as the minutes wore on, that decisive moment seemed increasingly elusive.

The onlookers began to shift their perceptions. The more they witnessed Alan's tenacity and skill, the more their respect for him grew. From being an underdog, Alan was slowly but surely becoming a beacon of hope and inspiration for many.

[Stamina 22/100]

Marcus's growl of frustration broke through the charged atmosphere. One was panting its breath, the other was full of blood, it was a battle of endurance.

Before the winner was settled, however, a distant roar of engines grew louder.

A sly smile played on Alan's lips as he said, "Ah, right on cue."

It was A convoy of jeeps and trucks rumbled into the farm, dust swirling in their wake. The emblem on the vehicles was unmistakable — it was the U.S. military. And leading them was a face Alan recognized all too well.

Emerging from the lead vehicle with a stern expression, a man in a crisply ironed uniform shouted, "What the hell is happening here?" It was Dylan, the formidable Sergeant of the U.S. Army.

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