Grand Olympia: Further Horizon - Chapter 18: Stillness
It was not the quiet of peace, nor the silence of relief—it was the oppressive stillness of something unfinished.
The monstrous serpent's corpse loomed over them, its enormous, ruined body sprawled across the battlefield like a fallen god. Its once-terrifying crimson eyes, which had burned with malice and rage, were now dim, lifeless.
The air was still thick with poison, its stench still clinging to their lungs despite the battle's end. Each breath was a reminder that they were still alive—but just barely.
The ground was a mess of charred earth, cracked stone, and deep trenches carved from explosions and desperate struggles. Patches of green serpent blood mixed with human blood and with many monster dead bodies, creating a grotesque mural of death. The land had been defiled by battle—an arena now marked with the wounds of their war.
The wreckage of fallen trees, shattered stones, and discarded pieces littered the area. Smoke curled from burning debris, the scent of gunpowder, blood, and burned flesh hanging thick in the night air.
And among it all—The fighters stood. Bleeding. Gasping. Unmoving.
Each one bore the marks of the battle, cuts, bruises, broken bones, and exhaustion creeping into their very souls. But they survived. They had fought, and they had won.
The battle had ended, yet the wounds of war still lingered in the air. The serpent lay dead, but its poison had seeped into their very bones. The fighters who had fought to slay the beast stood in the aftermath, bodies battered, breath heavy, their muscles screaming for rest—but there was none.
Lapulapu, the warrior chieftain, stood tall, though his body had taken the worst of it. His bronze skin with many tattoos covering his entire body was slick with sweat and streaked with green blood, his broad shoulders heaving as he forced himself to remain upright.
His shield, once pristine, was now cracked along the edges, a testament to the countless strikes he had blocked.
Deep gashes lined his arms and legs, and the serpent's toxic mist had left a faint purplish hue on his exposed skin, a sign that the poison had made its way into his body.
Yet despite it all—his stance did not waver. He had endured worse. He had stood against invaders, against storms, against the forces of nature itself. He would not break now.
Musashi was no better. His white and pink robes were drenched in sweat and blood, some of it his own, but most of it not. His chest rose and fell sharply, each breath a reminder that his body was barely holding together.
The cuts along his arms stung, his muscles burned, and there was a distinct tightness in his lungs—the poison. It wasn't fatal, but it slowed him, made every movement feel just a bit heavier.
His wooden swords were chipped, cracked from relentless use, yet he still held them firm in his grip. He let out a slow breath, feeling the pain radiate through his body, but he pushed it down. He had been here before. The battlefield was his home, and pain was simply the cost of victory.
Yasuke, the towering warrior of iron onyx, was perhaps in the worst condition. His dark skin was marred with deep bruises and open wounds, his white garments torn and stained red. His kanabo felt heavier in his grip, and his arms trembled slightly from overuse.
The poison had settled deep in his veins, his breaths coming in slow, deliberate exhales as he fought to steady himself. Yet, his grip did not loosen. His stance did not falter. A retainer of Nobunaga did not fall so easily.
The three of them—warriors who had faced death countless times—stood against the weight of exhaustion, against the lingering effects of poison, against the pain that threatened to drag them down. They had nothing left to give, and yet, they still stood.
In contrast, Jeanne and Qin Liangyu were in far better condition. Though their weapons bore the scratches of battle and their bodies ached from exhaustion, they had avoided the worst of the serpent's wrath.
Their movements were still sharp, their energy still simmering just beneath the surface. Jeanne, though fatigued, still held her spear with unwavering steadiness. The battle had tested her resolve, but it had not broken her faith.
Qin Liangyu stood with her three-section spear loosely at her shoulders wrapped around her, her breathing controlled, her body ready. Unlike the others, she had not been caught in the thick of the fight for long.
While she had dealt her share of damage, she had also been observing, waiting for the right moment to strike. And now, in this tense silence, she felt her body needed some rest and energy for the next.
High above, watching from their positions, Billy and George remained untouched by the serpent's fury. They had played their role from a distance, providing cover fire, ensuring that the battle did not become a massacre.
They had fought in their own way. And yet, even though their bodies were unscathed, the exhaustion clung to them like a weight on their backs. Their fingers twitched near their triggers, their eyes never leaving the battlefield.
A wave of relief washed over them all, but it was fleeting. There was no celebration. No cheers of victory.
A golden light flickered.
The descent of the golden medallion.
From the air, a soft glow emerged. A single golden medallion materialized, its light warm and impossibly bright against the battlefield's destruction.
It hovered in the air for a moment, as if deciding where it truly belonged, before slowly descending toward the unconscious body of Fu Hao.
Then, the voice came.
[You have obtained a Golden Medallion for being the first to kill a Rank 6 Monster.]
The announcement echoed, a final decree from the unseen force that governed this brutal game. The words hung in the air, heavy and absolute.
And in that instant—Everything changed.
Two figures moved first. Musashi and Lapulapu. Despite their wounds, despite their exhaustion, they reacted on instinct alone.
Musashi lunged forward, grabbing Edward's unconscious body, dragging him back. At the same time, Lapulapu seized Zheng Yi Sao, hoisting her onto his shoulder with ease.
Across from them—Qin Liangyu dashed. She landed beside Fu Hao's unconscious form, dropping to one knee. Her left hand pressed against Fu Hao's body—but her right raised her spear. The deadly tip hovered inches from Fu Hao's throat.
And between them all—Yasuke stepped forward.
His kanabo rested heavily on his shoulder, but his stance was that of a man prepared to strike at a moment's notice. His sheer presence alone was a declaration of war.
At the center of it all—Jeanne. She looked between them, confusion and growing horror on her face. And then—her breath hitched. She finally understood.
The serpent was dead. But the fight was far from over.
"Tsk!"
The sharp sound cut through the silence like a blade.
It was small, almost insignificant, but in this heavy, suffocating atmosphere, it felt as loud as a gunshot. The source was unclear—it could have been anyone. But the frustration behind it? That belonged to all of them. This was no longer about the serpent. This was about something far more human—power. The 'Tsk' had been small, but the tension it left behind was enormous. They're tired and want to rest but the human desire keeps them striving for more like a hungry beast.