Disaster-Level Player Is Too Good at Broadcasting-Chapter 76: « St.Petersburg Of Russia »

The thousand mouths of the Demonic Arbiter began to gnash in a discordant rhythm, a sound like wet bone grinding against rusted iron. The black fog of mental pollution rolled across the terrace, turning the rankers’ vision into a blurred, flickering film of their worst memories.

Kim Jin staggered, his red holograms flickering like dying lightbulbs. Even the stoic master of mirages couldn’t maintain his core under the weight of a Calamity-rank evolution.

Then, a heavy, metallic click echoed through the gray silence.

Sasha Kim stepped forward. Her white trench coat was no longer pristine; it was scorched at the hem, but her green eyes were burning with a cold, sapphire light. She raised her hands, palms open.

Green pixels began to coalesce in the air. They swirled like a digital storm, snapping into place with the sound of a locking bolt. Two massive, silver Desert Eagles materialized in her grip. They weren’t made of steel. They were solidified narrative energy, their barrels etched with Cyrillic runes that glowed with a faint, sea-blue light.

"Step back, Kim Jin," Sasha said. Her voice was steady, devoid of the panic that had gripped the others. "The ’Arbiter’ has lost its holiness. It’s nothing but a pile of stagnant history now."

She pulled the triggers.

BOOM. BOOM.

The muzzle flashes weren’t orange; they were a blinding, electric blue. The bullets didn’t just travel; they tunneled through the air, creating miniature vacuums in their wake. When they struck the Demonic Arbiter’s patchwork chest, the impact was exponential.

The first shot pierced the black sludge. The second shot, hitting the same micro-millimeter of space, triggered a chain reaction. A sphere of blue flame erupted from the monster’s torso, blowing out three of its interlocking wings and vaporizing the sewn mouths.

"...GRAAAAGH!"

The monster shrieked, the sound of a dozen dead men’s voices merging into a singular wall of agony.

From the safety of a collapsed archway, Kim Yechan watched with wide, trembling eyes. He was huddled beside a massive Russian player from the Siberian Fist—a man named Boris, whose armor was dented but whose posture remained unshaken.

"Is... is she always like that?" Yechan whispered, his voice cracking. "I’ve seen Rankers before, but that... that doesn’t feel like mana. It feels like she’s rewriting the air."

Boris didn’t look away from the battlefield. He pulled a flask from his belt, took a swig, and grunted. "You Koreans have your flashy sword skills and your zodiac shields. But Sasha? She doesn’t just use power. She uses a legacy."

Yechan adjusted his cap, his fingers still shaking. "Legacy?"

"Her Stigma," Boris said, his voice dropping into a low, respectful growl. "She is the chosen of ’The Sovereign of the Great Northern Sea.’ In your history books, you know him as Peter the Great."

Yechan blinked. "The Russian Emperor? The one who built the navy?"

"The very same," Boris nodded. "In the hierarchy of the Tower, he is what we call a Worldly Constellation. A Lesser Constellation, if you want to be technical. These aren’t the primordial gods of the sun or the moon. They are figures who steered the heavy rudders of human history. They changed the narrative of the world through sheer, bloody will. Because they forced the world to change, their ’Story’ became massive. It became a Star."

Sasha dived to the left, her boots sliding across the black tar. She fired three more rounds. Each bullet hit a General-class angel, exploding them into fragments of bone and pixelated dust.

『[SKILL ACTIVATION]: 「THE GRAND EMBASSY’S ARSENAL」』

Behind Sasha, the air rippled. Dozens of spectral soldiers, dressed in 18th-century green coats, manifested from the shadows. They weren’t flesh; they were glowing blue silhouettes holding long bayoneted muskets.

"Fire!" Sasha commanded.

The volley of mana-fire hammered the Arbiter, pushing the massive beast back toward the edge of the terrace.

"So it’s like our history," Yechan muttered, his eyes glued to the spectral army. "Like the Great King of the Joseon era... the one who created the alphabet? Or the Admiral of the Turtle Ships?"

"Exactly," Boris said. "Figures who created such a powerful wake in time that the System couldn’t ignore them. In fact, you have one in your own coalition. The Guild Master of Iron Aegis. ’The Wall.’"

Yechan’s eyes widened. "The Guild Master has a Worldly Constellation as a sponsor?"

"He does. A figure of absolute defense from your peninsula’s history. That is why his shield never breaks. He isn’t just holding a piece of metal; he’s holding a piece of a nation’s survival."

The Demonic Arbiter roared again, its wheel of hands spinning violently. It slammed the staff into the ground, and a wave of black spikes erupted toward Sasha’s spectral line.

"Boris-ssi," Yechan asked, leaning closer to the giant man as the ground shook. "Why do they do it? The Constellations... they brought the Tower. They caused all this death. Why would they support us? Why would they give us their stories?"

Boris looked down at the small porter, a grim smile touching his lips. "Everything in this world is a Story, little bird. You, me, that ant crawling on the stone. Every journey, every tragedy, every choice you make accumulates narrative energy. The Constellations are powerful because their stories are massive, but stories can grow stale. They can be forgotten."

He gestured toward Sasha, who was now reloading her Deagles with glowing blue clips.

"They support us because we are their ’Producers.’ By using their power, we create new stories. We increase their fame, their infamy, their narrative weight. If Sasha clears this floor in the name of Peter the Great, his star shines brighter. He climbs the hierarchy. He consumes the stories we create to fuel his own immortality."

"So we’re just... fuel for them?" Yechan asked, his voice hollow.

"Perhaps. But the reverse is also true," Boris countered. "It is said that the higher we climb, the more we learn. Some believe that if a human accumulates a Story powerful enough—if they conquer the top floor—they can transcend. They can become a Star themselves. But nobody knows how many floors there are. We only know that we must keep feeding the narrative."

Sasha Kim stood in the center of the terrace, her trench coat whipping in the mana-wind. The Demonic Arbiter was wounded, its black sludge leaking into the tar, but it was preparing its final strike. The mouths were all opening, preparing to let out a scream that would shatter the minds of everyone in the Layer.

Sasha dropped her Deagles. They didn’t hit the ground; they dissolved back into pixels.

She reached into the air and pulled out a heavy, ornate compass. The needle was spinning wildly.

"The modernization of the soul," Sasha whispered. "Requires the destruction of the old gods."

『[STIGMA ACTIVATION: LEVEL 2]』

『[NARRATIVE AREA: THE FOUNDING OF ST. PETERSBURG]』

The ground beneath the Demonic Arbiter didn’t just crack. It transformed.

The black stone of the Tower floor turned into a freezing, marshy swamp. Massive, spectral iron piles began to drive themselves into the ground with the force of falling mountains.

THOOM. THOOM. THOOM.

The Arbiter’s legs were pinned by the spectral construction. It struggled, its many mouths shrieking in terror as the swamp began to swallow its massive frame.

"Lore is a weapon," Boris muttered, watching the Boss sink. "And Sasha just turned the entire floor into her Constellation’s greatest achievement."

Sasha raised her right hand. Above her, the gray clouds of Floor 11 parted.

From the darkness of the upper layers, the muzzles of a hundred massive, bronze cannons manifested. They were arranged in a grand semi-circle, aimed directly down at the trapped angel.

The air grew heavy with the smell of black powder and cold sea salt.

"Yechan," Boris said, standing up and grabbing his axe. "Hold your ears. The Emperor is about to speak."

Sasha’s eyes turned entirely sea-blue. She looked at the Demonic Arbiter, which was now nothing more than a struggling pile of wings and mouths half-submerged in a spectral marsh.

"Fire," she whispered.

The first volley of artillery didn’t just hit the Boss. It leveled the entire central section of the terrace. The explosions were a blinding, continuous roar of blue fire and kinetic force. Each shell carried the weight of an empire’s ambition.

『[BOSS STATUS]: CRITICAL.』

『[NOTICE]: THE DEMONIC ARBITER IS ATTEMPTING A FINAL ’REBIRTH’ SACRIFICE.』

The Arbiter’s heart—the pulsing, raw thing in the center of its wheel of hands—began to glow with a dark, ultraviolet light. It began to swell, absorbing the very swamp Sasha had created.

Sasha didn’t blink. She reached out with both hands, her fingers catching the mana-pixels as they formed something even larger. A massive, three-meter-long sniper rifle, its barrel glowing with the white heat of a thousand stories, snapped into her grip.

"Stigma Level 3," Sasha gasped, her skin beginning to crack from the mana strain. "The Window to Europe."

She knelt, the massive rifle resting on her shoulder. The barrel began to hum, a sound so loud it drowned out the artillery.

The Demonic Arbiter’s heart reached its breaking point, ready to detonate and take the entire Layer with it.

Sasha’s finger tightened on the trigger.

"Checkmate."