Ranking Match
Living alongside the dark-side priests was even more tiresome than he had expected.
Only two days had passed… yet he was already sick of facing these people. Cruel, devoid of compassion, and always wasting time on tedious prayers at the slightest opportunity.
The cramped quarters were the final straw.
Bang!!
Woojin's crown slammed into the ceiling.
Startled, he quickly lowered himself. Sleep vanished instantly. Rubbing his head, he looked up at the ceiling.
A large crack had formed where he struck it. His expression twisted in irritation.
'Ah… damn it. What am I, Mario or something?'
He had headbutted the ceiling. He'd forgotten how low the lodging ceiling was.
He tapped at the cracked surface with his fingertips. Fortunately, it didn't seem to have pierced the floor above, but fine sawdust-like debris kept trickling down.
The room had already been full of flaws—now it was worse. After idly scratching at the crack for a moment, Woojin simply walked out, pretending ignorance.
It didn't matter if the ceiling was damaged. After today, he wouldn't be using that room anymore.
'All I have to do is win the ranking match.'
If he won today and rose to a higher position, he would be assigned a larger and cleaner room accordingly.
He stepped outside the lodging building.
The rest of the routine was no different. He went with the dark-side priests to the grand cathedral and endured the high priest's monotonous morning prayer.
"Endure and wait. On the day His army arrives, the world shall know that the doctrine we believe and serve was righteous. True enlightenment! That alone holds the power to drive out the heretical rabble."
As always, the high priest rambled on with flowery language devoid of substance.
After enduring that trial of patience—
"…He is always by our side."
"He is always by our side!"
Woojin echoed the final line with the believers. The shout resounded through the cathedral. Then he rose naturally from his seat.
Together with the others, he descended into the underground chamber.
Normally, after morning prayer, they would share breakfast in this space. But today, the atmosphere felt markedly different.
The bonfires flickered ominously. The dark-side priests stood close to the walls, leaving a wide empty space at the center of the chamber.
It resembled a makeshift arena.
A priest wearing a silver mask spoke calmly.
"We will begin the ranking match. Those who wish to participate, step forward."
This was the moment he had been waiting for.
Without hesitation, Woojin stepped forward, hands clasped behind his back as he stood before the priest. But he was not alone—several others had also been waiting for this chance. A number of dark-side priests advanced.
There were roughly twenty of them. The priest nodded in satisfaction.
"So many who wish to prove their worth. A blessed sight…"
Murmuring as such, the priest's gaze beneath the silver mask swept across the brooches pinned to their chests, seemingly confirming their ranks.
Then his eyes stopped on Woojin. He stared intently.
'…What's this about?'
Woojin was puzzled.
He hadn't done anything conspicuous. Why was this man fixated on him?
'Has he figured out who I am?'
Perhaps the priest possessed some insight-like ability, allowing him to see through the iron mask and discern Woojin's true identity.
As Woojin quickly considered how to respond—
"…Hey, No. 308."
The priest addressed him directly. Woojin answered in a composed tone.
"You called for me?"
"I did. What wind blew you into participating in the ranking match all of a sudden?"
Only then did Woojin realize why the priest had taken interest.
'No. 308 avoided ranking matches.'
If his rank number changed from the 300s to the 200s, he would be relieved of tasks such as night patrol. But that wasn't something No. 308 had wanted.
He had enjoyed whipping slaves at the work site. Entering the 200s meant being assigned new duties instead of menial tasks. Thus, No. 308 had deliberately refrained from rising in rank.
Apparently, the higher-ups were aware of this to some degree. Quickly assessing the situation, Woojin replied respectfully.
"There is no particular reason. I simply grew tired of remaining in the same place."
"A wise decision."
To serve the Great Outer God, one must strive for a rank befitting such a role. It could be said that No. 308's mindset had grown more devout than before.
With that, the priest declared:
"The first match will be entrusted to No. 308. Name the opponent you wish to challenge."
He would be fighting first.
After a brief moment of thought, Woojin spoke.
"…I challenge No. 209."
In truth, he would have preferred a stronger opponent, but this was the limit. One could not challenge someone more than 100 ranks apart.
The priest chuckled softly.
"How bold. No. 209, step forward."
From within the crowd, a man emerged. Broad-shouldered and massive.
He stood a full head taller than Woojin. His iron mask shifted with each heavy breath, as if his large frame demanded more air.
No. 209 slipped his hands into his pockets. When he withdrew them, a pair of large steel knuckle-dusters hung from his fingers.
Crack. Crack—
He clenched his fists tightly.
Woojin drew his dagger and faced him.
The priest commanded:
"Begin."
As if waiting only for that word, No. 209 kicked off the ground and charged.
The distance vanished in an instant.
Now right before him, No. 209 threw a punch. It carried tremendous weight—like a massive brown bear swinging its forepaw.
Woojin tilted his head to evade the strike and thrust his dagger into the man's flank.
Clang!!
The blade bounced off. Through the tear in the robe, Woojin narrowed his eyes.
'He's wearing armor beneath it.'
Not ordinary armor, either. Plate forged from frost steel. The armor contributed greatly to his imposing bulk.
No. 209 charged again.
Trusting in his steel armor, utilizing the abilities granted by demonic beast inner cores and his enhanced physique, he pressed forward relentlessly. A fighting style that overwhelmed opponents with sheer mass.
But—
No human alive could defeat Woojin that way.
No. 209 may have had the build of a bull, but compared to Woojin, he was nothing more than prey before a dinosaur.
Crack—!
Woojin delivered a low sweeping kick, almost scraping the ground. A weighted technique infused with enhanced mass.
Struck by it, No. 209's body toppled forward.
Thud!!
He crashed onto the dirt floor.
The believers assumed he would rise shortly—
But No. 209 did not move.
He lay as still as a corpse.
Naturally so.
As the man fell, Woojin had positioned his fist along the trajectory. The uppercut snapped his jaw cleanly. Knocked unconscious, No. 209 lay in silent defeat.
Woojin flipped the man's massive body over and tore the brooch from his robe.
Only then did the priest declare the result.
"…The winner is No. 209."
Woojin had won—yet the victor was No. 209.
'Because from now on, I'm No. 209.'
After fastening the new brooch to his chest, he tossed his old one—along with the room key—onto the unconscious brute. The man would now be demoted to No. 308 and forced to live in the lodging with the cracked ceiling.
His rank had jumped dozens of places in an instant.
But Woojin wasn't satisfied.
"That felt a bit too easy… May I participate in one more match?"
The fight with No. 209 had ended in mere seconds. He hadn't even properly warmed up. Waiting until the next ranking day would be unbearably dull.
At his request, the priest crossed his arms and considered for a moment before asking,
"Whom do you intend to challenge?"
"I would like to challenge No. 110."
"…You're rushing. Don't overdo it. No. 209 lost because he let his guard down, but No. 110 is not such a simple opponent."
The priest shook his head as if troubled. But Woojin pressed again.
"I'm in particularly good condition today. Even if I lose, I'd like to treat it as experience."
"You could end up crippled."
"I don't mind."
"…Very well. I will respect your will."
After his persistent insistence, the priest finally nodded. Truthfully, he too was curious to see more of Woojin's combat.
"No. 110. Step forward."
Answering the call, No. 110 emerged from the crowd. Unlike the broad and massive No. 209, he was short and slender.
The new No. 209 and No. 110 faced each other.
Clap!
No. 110 struck his palms together forcefully. When he pulled them apart, crimson strands of flame stretched between his hands.
He toyed with the fiery threads, and with each motion, their number doubled—like pulling noodles from hand-stretched dough.
Watching this, Woojin asked,
"…The match hasn't even started yet. Is that allowed?"
The priest had not declared the start. Was it acceptable to prepare like that?
The priest seemed to realize the situation belatedly. Perhaps because the ranking match had already taken an unexpected turn, he appeared more flustered than usual.
"S-Start at once."
His words came out hurried and slurred. Woojin sighed inwardly.
'What an idiot…'
Because the priest had fumbled, Woojin had to stand by and watch while his opponent finished preparing an attack.
Belatedly, Woojin charged.
No. 110 thrust both palms forward. The dozens of flaming whips coiled around his wrists lashed toward Woojin.
They resembled the fully bloomed tentacles of a sea anemone.
An unfamiliar ability.
'That's an unusual trick.'
How should he break through that?
First, assess it. Woojin stepped back a few paces and began making rapid gestures in the air, as though attempting sign language.
Perhaps sensing something suspicious, No. 110 lunged and swung the fiery whips.
Fwoosh—!
Flames swept wildly through the space.
Woojin moved swiftly to evade the approaching fire, reading the trajectories with his inner sight. But there were too many whips to dodge them all.
Soon, several strands of flame wrapped tightly around both his arms.
Seeing this, No. 110 nodded confidently, certain of victory—
Shhh—
Woojin's palms turned icy blue. A frigid aura burst forth. The cold seeped into his arms, and the flaming whips failed to inflict meaningful damage.
Woojin examined the strands.
'A silkworm's ability.'
The trick of a silkworm larva—spinning and manipulating threads—enhanced with magic to overlay flames for added power. A technique combining the abilities of the demonic realm with sorcery.
Once a trick is exposed, magic becomes nothing more than crude theatrics.
Woojin pulled both arms with force, like in a tug-of-war.
"W-What—!"
No. 110 was dragged helplessly forward. He struggled desperately to resist, but before long he was delivered straight into Woojin's reach.
Woojin's arms were still tightly bound.
Silkworm threads were astonishingly tough. Knowing this, No. 110 felt reassured.
"With your arms bound like that, what could you possibly—"
Bang!!
He never finished his sentence.
Woojin headbutted him square in the face.
Thud.
Like a frog struck by a thrown stone, No. 110 collapsed. The moment he lost consciousness, the threads around Woojin's arms slackened.
After brushing off the bothersome strands, Woojin turned his head toward the priest.
The priest muttered quietly,
"…What exactly are you?"
Woojin gave him the answer.
"I am No. 110."
READ MORE CHAPTERS HERE : https://beastnovels.com