Soul system:Return Of The SSS-Ranked Troublemaker-Chapter 60: Game Of Fate (16) Warmonger.
Somewhere in the corner, phones were recording.
Anogo didn’t care. Gogo just winked at the cameras like they were old friends.
Tonight wasn’t about survival.
It wasn’t about missions, or codes of morality.
Tonight was about one thing:
Being gods—just for a few hours.
And no one did that better than Anogo and Gogo.
---
Time passed. The music faded into memory, and the lights of the club blurred into the dark horizon.
The three of them were wasted.
Stumbling, laughing, nearly tripping over their own shadows, they made their way out of the club and headed back to the beach from earlier.
Their walk was slow and erratic—zigzagging like a broken compass.
Their balance got worse with every step.
"Man... my head hurts," Anon muttered, barely able to keep one eye open.
"Hold it... we’re pretty close now..." Gogo slurred.
His right arm was wrapped around Anogo’s neck, doing his best to keep him steady.
Anogo’s face stayed blank and emotionless, but the flush on his cheeks was unmistakable—his whole face was pink.
The small device beneath Anogo’s ear blinked softly. It had been upgraded recently—now it automatically translated his Japanese into English, with an AI-generated voice speaking aloud whatever he said.
Eventually, after more zigzagging, they reached the beach.
The air was calm, the ocean a quiet mirror reflecting the stars.
Lindsay was already asleep, curled up peacefully.
Anon collapsed into the tent and was out in seconds.
Gogo followed soon after.
Anogo, however, paused.
He gently placed Gogo inside the tent, then stepped back, gazing out at the shoreline.
With a sigh, he lay down on the cool sand, letting the night sky become his blanket.
---
Meanwhile — American Students’ POV
In the heart of the city, atop an old, cracked rooftop, chaos had just ended.
A man in a 1920s-style mafia suit knelt on the ground, clutching his left side—blood slipping between his fingers. Despite the pain, his expression remained stoic, jaw clenched, breath ragged.
"Fucking... orc..." he hissed, forcing the words out as he pressed his right hand to the ground for support.
Nearby, Victor towered like a monolith.
In his massive arms, he held a young blonde woman—unconscious, her revealing outfit now stained and torn from battle.
Victor’s enormous hand gently wrapped around both of hers, his gaze cold and unreadable.
Above them, the wind carried glowing embers.
A black student floated midair—his entire body resembling ash caught in a breeze.
Only his face remained solid, suspended among the drifting fragments.
He looked down with a serious, unreadable expression. Silent. Focused. Unshaken.
Victor stood like a titan.
His upper body was bare—chiseled muscle glinting under the rooftop lights, smeared with blood and ash.
A smirk played on his lips as he glanced down at the unconscious blonde girl in his massive grasp.
With a single finger, he tore through her tattered outfit like it was paper.
"YOU... DONT... DESERVE... ACKNOWLEDGEMENT."
His voice was low, cold, and mechanical—each word forced through heavy breaths.
Above him, the black student’s eyes widened in silent rage.
His sclera turned pitch black, mirroring the ashen swirls drifting from his body.
From his back, two long, whip-like tentacles of solid ash coiled into the air—crackling with red veins of energy along his forehead and spine.
Victor saw them and chuckled.
"Do it," he said, daring him.
Before the tentacles could strike, a massive barrier erupted—glowing and dome-like—created by two of Victor’s teammates.
One, standing with both hands raised, continued forging massive spectral weapons out of ash and anger, launching them one after another at the shield.
But each one shattered before impact, reduced to harmless sparks.
Victor only laughed harder.
The man in the 1920s-style suit—still bleeding on the ground—gritted his teeth and crawled toward the dome.
His fingers barely grazed its surface.
"Void."
The word echoed like a curse.
Suddenly, the rooftop shifted to monochrome—everything drained of color.
Black and white swallowed the battlefield.
Victor’s smirk twitched.
His eyes flicked around, scanning the grayscale world.
"So this is your ability, huh?" he muttered. "I thought that flash was just a bluff..."
Then his gaze narrowed.
The ashes that had once filled the air—gone from his sight. 𝒇𝓻𝓮𝓮𝙬𝙚𝒃𝒏𝓸𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝓬𝓸𝒎
"Oh, I see..." he muttered, tone laced with amusement. "Your ashes... they blend in too well with black and white, huh?"
Behind him, one of his silent teammates—masked, with only his right eye exposed—spoke flatly.
"On your left."
Victor moved instantly.
He raised his left arm, catching the incoming tentacle of ash before it could land.
The impact sent a gust across the rooftop, but Victor didn’t even flinch.
The black student snarled.
His body flickered like burning paper, rage in every line of his face.
"You should’ve known your limits... before disrespecting a man."
The tentacles whipped again and again—but it was useless.
Each strike felt like throwing feathers at stone.
Victor’s left arm remained raised—unshaken. The ash broke apart upon contact, no more effective than crumpled paper in the wind.
And still, he laughed.
Earlier...
Deep in the forest, on the road leading toward Jeju City, Victor and his team walked calmly through the trees. The sunlight bled through the leaves, casting long shadows across their path.
Suddenly, a voice called out.
"Hey... ain’t you the guy earlier who kept yappin’ about honor?"
Victor turned around, glancing down the slope. Standing there was a black student, both hands tucked casually into the pockets of his puffy jacket. His voice was relaxed, but the tone carried a hint of challenge.
Victor blinked once, then smiled. "Yeah. Why?"
The student shrugged. "Honor’s earned, y’know. You can’t just demand respect outta nowhere."
From beside him, a blonde girl in a revealing, overly fashionable outfit groaned dramatically. "Ugh, can we go now? It’s so damn hot I feel like my skin’s gonna fry."
Her voice was whiny, and she waved her hand lazily at the sun.
The third in their group—a man dressed in a 1920s-style mafia suit—remained silent. He stood still, expression unreadable, eyes hidden beneath the brim of his fedora.
Victor turned fully now, facing them. "I know that. That’s exactly why I want to change how the world sees honor. It shouldn’t be something inherited or decided by status. It should be something anyone can earn—even people like us."
The black student raised a brow and tilted his head, smirking.
"What a childish dream."
He took a few steps forward.
"Do you really think an orc—someone your kind—who’s always been stereotyped as dumb muscle... can actually change how the world works?"
He paused, then inhaled deeply like he was trying to smell the arrogance.
"I mean, honestly... I can’t even think of a single field dominated by orcs. So maybe, just maybe—you’ll be the first. That is, if you can."
He grinned smugly.
"But I wouldn’t expect much. After all... you’re just an orc~"
Victor’s smile slowly faded, replaced by a flat, unimpressed expression.
"Well, I wasn’t expecting one of the so-called ’upcoming heroes’ to be wearing an outfit like that."
He gestured at the blonde girl.
"Excuse me?!" she snapped, her voice rising an octave.
The black student laughed.
"Why don’t we settle this, then?" he asked, his smirk returning.
"Unless, of course... the mighty orc prefers to keep dreaming instead of fighting."
Victor’s eyes narrowed. The tension thickened.
Leaves rustled. No one moved.
But something had been set in motion.
Then it began.
One of Victor’s teammates activated their ability in an instant. The world around them shifted in a blink—teleportation.
Before the international students could react, they were transported to an unknown rooftop in the middle of Jeju City. A desolate, concrete structure towering above the city’s neon pulse.
The battle erupted the moment their feet touched the surface.
Victor didn’t hesitate. He charged straight for the blonde girl and the quiet boy in the 1920s suit—his first targets.
---
Current Time
Ash’s body shimmered with trails of dark smoke and burning embers—his ashen form raging against Victor. Tendrils of cursed dust whipped like blades through the air, slicing toward the orc’s massive frame.
Victor didn’t flinch.
He raised his arm, letting the ashes crash harmlessly against his skin like falling snow. His expression was cold, eyes locked onto Ash with disdain.
"You’re still pushing?" Victor asked, voice low but intense.
"You’re clearly outmatched... and yet you keep going?"
The ashes intensified. Ash’s jaw clenched. Still, Victor continued.
"Is that it? You want to earn my respect with this?"
He stepped forward through the barrage.
"Even now—when you’re losing—you fight just to prove a point."
Victor’s smirk vanished.
"I don’t give a damn if you’re losing or winning. You insulted my entire race."
His voice became heavier, fury simmering behind his words.
"Do you know how many people—orc, human, hybrid—died just trying to be seen as equals? People who never even got acknowledged... let alone honored."
Victor’s eyes narrowed.
"You said your name earlier... Ash Warmonger, right?"
He tilted his head slightly, eyes locked on his opponent.
"Your last name alone pisses me off."
He took another step. His tone sharpened like a blade.
"Wasn’t your clan the one that advocated for war? The ones who betrayed the United Nations during the Second Great Earth War?"
A vein popped on Victor’s temple, rage seeping into every word.
"Those who burned cities for their so-called legacy. Is that what you’re fighting for?"
Silence.
Then, Ash’s eyes widened—glowing with rage.
"SHUT YOUR FUCKING MOUTH!"
His voice roared across the rooftop, shaking the air.
"You don’t know a damn thing about my clan!"
His ashes spiraled into chaos—like a storm. The air grew heavier, tension crackling like lightning.
Victor didn’t look away. He just stared, unshaken.
"Then show me."
His voice was calm now—sharp as steel.
"Show me what you think honor really is."
