Reincarnated Jester: Taming Players-Chapter 127: Humilation

The moment those words left Jung’s mouth, he was pounced on from every angle.

His assailants were the famous and prominent Tier XII combatants.

Some of them even craved his position, believing that he didn’t deserve his place.

Yet none of them mattered to Jung.

As he was surrounded by colors and five to six different magical properties, he smirked and disappeared from the face of the world.

Half a second later, when onlookers were searching for even his shadow, Jung reappeared.

He was standing on the other side of this location, seemingly teleporting into the arena.

"We don’t want to hurt bystanders, right?" he said calmly.

With a single swoosh sound, he startled the entire delegation by escaping their radars.

Also, he was the only one who thought about people and their well-being, winning in the first move and public image simultaneously.

His mocking tone was back.

"Do I have to wait, or can you guys find the way to me?"

His question angered those proud warriors, and they dashed at him with malice.

The first group that attacked consisted of six opponents, all of them representing the government and their untouchable might.

Their mission was to teach the so-called Messiah a lesson and strengthen their already towering status.

Jung’s previous action, when he attacked one of the world leaders, was pure provocation, and they couldn’t just stay still.

Of these contenders, three of them were women with explorer, rebel, and jester archetypes.

As for the remaining three men, they represented sage, hero, and innocent archetypes.

Thus, they neared Jung with unseating outrage.

He was as calm as always.

Materializing two great axes in his hand, he was more than ready to taste some blood.

And the fight began...

Jung was the first one to initiate the attack, and catching his opponents completely off guard, he appeared behind them.

With a single violent swing of his weapon, he formed enough pressure for his opponents to stumble.

They almost lost their footing as his axe descended, aiming to reap their lives.

The nearest challenger was the hero archetype.

Yet despite being the closest to the offense, the poor soul had no shot blocking the attack, let alone dodging it.

All he could do was watch as the death flashed before his eyes.

Before the renowned hero blacked out, he heard a whisper and saw Jung’s sneering lips.

"One loser is down."

His words predicted the outcome, and the guy dropped to the floor, blood streaming out of his unseen gash.

The spectators screamed in agony.

"Viktor is down?"

"How come he lost just like that? He is a war veteran, and I have seen him decimate countless monsters with my own eyes."

"That’s what I don’t understand. This skirmish is Tier XII against Tier XII, right? How can it be finished so soon? As far as I know, those kinds of fights last days, sometimes weeks, as there is no room for mistakes."

"Viktor is no amateur either. Fighting humans and monsters is two separate things, but he is an experienced warrior with more than one victory under his belt."

"You guys are forgetting something even more important. That guy took Viktor down when the other five powerhouses faced him as well."

The last comment made them shudder, creating a deafening silence.

It was small talk between the friends who got the chance to attend this world-shattering event.

"The reason for Viktor’s loss," Nira spoke, sitting beside them. "It is not a lack of talent or experience, but it’s way more superficial than that."

She took a pause, causing people who heard and recognized her to pay attention to her words.

Just as she was content with the timely engagement, she added,

"He lost simply because of his opponent. My husband won’t lose. It’s just impossible... There are no odds against him, and if you want..." Her face inflamed with a mischievous glare, frightening the onlookers. "We can bet on how long they would last," she offered.

As his wife was gambling with his life on the line, after taking the first foe down, Jung stepped over the unconscious man to the back, provoking his five remaining opponents.

He took or offered them a ten-second break, but the already dropped man bled like a pig.

The tension increased.

Nira continued taking bets on the sidelines, and Jung moved again.

This time slower.

His maneuverability was delicate as if he danced on the battlefield, and even though the eyes could keep up with his movement, their bodies couldn’t.

So, Jung flew between them, using a Shifting Cloud and a Heroic barrier to the limit.

He had chances to cut open their naked necks, but instead, he softly grazed them with his hand, as if making fun of their efforts to take him down.

His blatant provocation worked.

The rebel woman roared in fury and she went completely berserk.

She was like a barbarian—rage gave her speed and strength to compete with him.

But it was nothing but a facade.

No matter how many times the woman swung her clenched fists in his direction, Jung avoided them with ease, leaving ample time for him to make faces at her.

Jung’s abdomen was at risk of getting punched.

It seemed like a powerful force as it cut the air with a loud cracking sound.

He was close to her, almost brushing their shoulders, and rather than evading the attack, Jung took it.

The force arrived at his core.

It sounded like metals crashing into each other, but instead of a pained expression, Jung’s face showed boredom.

Unfortunately, the same couldn’t be said about the woman.

She was confident in punching through mountains, but her bones were crushed beyond saving.

"What a fucking disappointment," he said to the moaning woman.

Yet she resisted the pain and was about to strike again when the world spun.

By the time her thoughts caught up, she was on the floor with her head buried in the soft earth.

She blacked out right away.

Another wave of chaos erupted, and Nira happily boasted about her mighty husband.

Four dumbasses even tried to harm her.

The outcome was bloodied half-corpses and countless stares in her direction.

"I am getting more and more forgiving as time goes on. Is it because of the Fracture or is it simply because I have no enemies?"

She pondered loudly, making others think she was some crazy woman.

Jung was in a similar boat.

Both of them were regarded as psychos.

Not that they would care about those trivial opinions.

Jung was countless times stronger since he fought Lilia and advanced.

The archetype’s progress was part of the reason that Shifting Cloud mutated his body to new heights.

It was still far from completion, still demanding flesh for progress.

But after reaching the final tier of his evolution, Jung just found out that he could mutate only a small part of his body with the full force of the Arc.

It was an instant process—hardening, heaving, and reinforcing it solely by a thought.

And armed with his superior senses and already tough physique, he dominated them with no trouble whatsoever.

Two out of six government representatives were down, resulting in a loss of face.

Jung didn’t stop.

He moved again, and in his place, a meteor descended from the sky, setting the arena ablaze.

The culprit was a jester.

But everyone quickly realized it wasn’t a real meteor.

It was more of a fake attack—a trick, one might call it—and the actual attack came from the ground, gripping Jung’s legs.

The moment he was stunned, the remaining opponents threw everything they had at him.

Different colors were mixed, creating a striking spectacle.

Jung was hidden amidst this chaotic glow, unmoving.

Yet the relentless assault continued, and from weapons to magical spells, everything descended on his unprotected frame.

Still, a voice escaped the unseen turmoil—a calm, unwavering, and almost bored voice taunted them.

"Stop torturing me!" he said in pain.

"Please stop; it hurts so much!" He continued, but there was something off about the way he spoke.

The rain of attacks didn’t stop.

Jung got hit again and again and again.

"Is there anyone who can save me from this misery?"

The pained voice didn’t change.

However, the uneasiness that everyone, including the spectators, experienced didn’t fade.

He was too calm, too confident, and too gentle with his words for someone who was in pain and asking for support.

"You guys are weak. Your blades are dull. Your persona authority is pitiful," he spoke in the same manner. "And your chances of surviving or even being useful to me are null."

His words struck.

And it hit really hard.

The moment he finished, the colors were lost in the world, as if he didn’t allow them to exist, and when he reappeared, there was another victim in his hand.

It wasn’t one of the opponents he was fighting against.

It was way worse than that.

"Help me!" roared the bald politician whose finger Jung had snapped only moments ago, and somehow he was still in his good grace, begging for forgiveness.