There was no movement behind the collapsed wall where Daigan had been thrown.
In the distance, the Doctor, Dottore, stared blankly for a moment.
Scanning the motionless pile of rubble through his mask, he spoke with deep disappointment:
“Is that all?”
Then, as if remembering something, his tone suddenly darkened.
“It seems that because I am a segment from his prime, I held the other slices in far too high regard.”
“To think the segment left in Snezhnaya actually betrayed the God Creation Plan for someone like this.
What wretched, vulgar taste.”
Was this eccentric man—who had acted so abnormally during the council in Snezhnaya, whose true depths could never be scanned—ultimately just a piece of worthless junk with no research value whatsoever?
He was utterly disappointed, though the hypocritical smile remained plastered on his face as always.
“It seems there is no need for a bureaucrat like me to step in, Scaramouche.”
Hearing Dottore’s address, the excitement that had just flared up in the Balladeer instantly plummeted.
Scaramouche turned his head to glare venomously at Dottore’s duplicitous face.
He hadn’t forgotten how this fellow had refrained from helping earlier, clearly wanting to see him suffer.
Although he despised the man, Dottore genuinely possessed the talent to make him stronger.
For now, he would humor him.
“Hmph.
Carrying around this useless piece of junk all day.” Scaramouche landed on the ground, casting a dismissive glance at the iron sword he had just confiscated.
Outsiders didn’t know, but aside from his combat prowess and academic knowledge, Scaramouche’s smithing craft was easily on par with that of a master artisan.
In his expert opinion, this weapon that Daigan had kept at his side and cherished like a prized treasure…
“…is nothing more than cheap street-side junk.”
Tossing it aside casually, Scaramouche raised his foot and stomped, snapping the blade straight in half.
With a sharp *clang*, the novice equipment that had accompanied Daigan for over twenty years finally met its end.
“Then again, a useless man deserves a useless sword.”
Scaramouche sneered, turning to see if there was any movement in the clearing dust.
Suddenly, a familiar figure stepped slowly out of the haze.
[Cutscene Ended]
[Quest: Defeat Scaramouche]
With a sweep of Daigan’s hand, the dust vanished instantly, and a brand-new iron sword appeared in his grip.
“What…
Didn’t I just shatter your sword?”
Scaramouche was visibly shocked as he stared at Daigan, who held a pristine Prototype Rancour without a single scratch on him.
He quickly darted his gaze toward the broken blade on the ground, only to find it still lying there—identical in every way to the weapon currently in Daigan’s hand.
His sharp mind immediately pieced together what was happening.
“You prepared two swords just to play cheap mind games with me!”
“Did you think that would make me hesitate?
How naive, how foolish!”
“I’ve already witnessed your true strength.
You’re nothing more than a slightly larger bug.
Playing the mysterious hero here…
I’m genuinely amused by how hard you’re trying to maintain your fake persona.”
Mocking him, Scaramouche began walking toward Daigan.
Daigan didn’t answer.
He simply tightened his grip on the iron sword; the plain blade hummed softly, bathed in a white glow.
A pair of simple, pitch-black, infinitely deep eyes stared straight at Scaramouche as he approached.
“Ugh…”
Under the weight of that gaze, Scaramouche’s wide stride suddenly froze.
His face INSTANTLY flared with intense alertness.
Something was wrong!
That feeling…
was back.
Whenever he spoke in Snezhnaya, he had been pinned down by this exact same look.
Having been betrayed three times, he was long accustomed to the fear, hatred, or flattery of ordinary mortals.
Those eyes always hid desires and emotions—things he could easily pierce, easily mock.
But this man’s gaze was different.
It did not focus on his arrogance, did not probe into his past, and did not even treat him as an “enemy.”
It was as if Daigan were merely appraising a predetermined “obstacle” to be crossed, or a “deviation” that had to be corrected.
There was not a trace of pity, nor a shred of malice.
Yet this gaze—treating him as a mere object—instantly set off every alarm in Scaramouche’s soul, inflaming the deep sensitivity born from being abandoned.
It was a scrutiny that completely bypassed his defensive shell, reaching straight for the essence of his existence.
It was far more intolerable than any insult.
It was an utterly absurd, inexplicable feeling.
“What are you looking at?!
An ant doesn’t deserve to look at me with those eyes!”
Scaramouche put on a brave front, continuing his advance toward Daigan, though his back stiffened uncontrollably.
“Heh…
What a fool,” Dottore murmured, the corners of his mouth curling into an amused smile as he watched Daigan standing in place.
“The opponent has already turned the tiger into a fish on the chopping block, yet the fish continues to posture for its pride, waddling right up to the butcher who has just sharpened his blade.”
After delivering his commentary, Dottore’s eyes locked entirely onto Daigan.
“So this is your true face?
Being pinned by a gaze like that…
no wonder he reacts this way.”
In Daigan’s vision, there was nothing else.
From start to finish, his eyes contained only Scaramouche.
Even if magma erupted from the ground or a meteor fell from the sky, he wouldn’t so much as blink.
Even Dottore himself was treated as complete nonexistence.
Dottore, who had been subjected to every kind of look imaginable, had never been looked at like this before.
“Ah, Scaramouche…
When targetted by a guy like that, if you don’t resist with everything you’ve got, you’re going to die.”
Dottore chuckled, making no move to warn him.
He realized that the segment back in Snezhnaya might have been right after all—there was an even higher-quality subject of research right here.
[Combat Start]
The second the cutscene ended, Daigan double-dashed forward.
A distance equivalent to roughly one and a half dashes brought him instantly before Scaramouche, auto-lock preventing him from losing his target.
The remaining momentum gave his movement a sheer speed that snapped Scaramouche out of his anger.
Scaramouche looked behind him in absolute disbelief, where Daigan had already swung his blade.
*It’s completely different from before!
How is he so fast?!*
“Damn you!”
Shocked to his core, Scaramouche forcefully overcharged his body, causing his internal elemental power to surge violently.
A purple thunderstorm erupted around him, and Electro vein patterns flared brightly beneath his eyes.
“Get away from me!”
The erupting thunderbolts were enough to knock back any enemy that dared draw near.
However, this was no longer a cutscene.
Under Scaramouche’s incredulous gaze, Daigan precisely dodged every single lightning bolt thrown at him.
The fragile, ordinary iron sword that could normally be snapped with a single stomp now transformed into a divine weapon, slicing cleanly through the barrier of lightning surrounding Scaramouche.
He landed the strike with flawless precision!
*Crack!*
A shattering sound echoed as several droplets of silver-white energy spattered out.
Scaramouche grit his teeth, raising his arms to block.
That single slice carved a gash directly into his indestructible puppet body.
“Th-This…
How is this possible?!”
Daigan didn’t pause for Scaramouche’s exclamation.
The moment his first slash concluded, he instantly chained into his next attack string.
“Don’t even think about it!”
Scaramouche’s eyes widened in rage.
Ignoring his damaged arm, he bent his knees, refusing to retreat and instead forcing himself closer.
Overwhelming mortal flesh with his puppet body had always been his signature fighting style.
At this point, Daigan had already swung his sword back behind him—exposing that familiar, wide-open center guard!
“I see it!”
Scaramouche locked his fingers together, the tips of his left hand radiating a piercing chill.
“Die!”
With a furious roar, he thrust his fingers straight at Daigan’s face like a spear.
Meanwhile, Daigan held his blade with one hand at his side; it was physically impossible for his sword to swing around in time to intercept.
Even if Daigan tried to block with his other hand, his mortal flesh would easily be impaled by Scaramouche’s fingers.
“Hah!”
Before fingers comparable to legendary weapons, an ordinary human’s muscles would be punctured in an instant, their skull shattered, and their fragile brains scattered across the air.
[I don’t care how you found me—today, you leave your life behind!]
The chilling fingertips reached Daigan’s defenceless face in a fraction of a second.
A look of wild ecstasy flashed across Scaramouche’s face.
Yet what happened next caused him to freeze in horror.
The fingertips that could tear open steel armor came to a dead stop right in front of Daigan’s nose, generating a barely perceptible ring of wind beneath the bridge of his nose.
“Wh…
What…?”
Expressionless, Daigan continued his sword swing, his deep black eyes staring straight into Scaramouche’s trembling pupils and quivering eyelashes.
*Clang!*
The edge of the iron sword struck Scaramouche’s face, releasing a burst of white energy.
After a brief flash of agony, Scaramouche was sent flying backward!