Chapter 184 Absolute Suppression
At that moment, a deep, crimson gash marred Eric's arm, carved by Valkor's Giant Bear Battleaxe.
In Divine Realms: Legends, while attacks to the limbs didn't inflict massive damage, they carried a debilitating side effect: temporary numbness. The lingering pain could disrupt a player's movements, hindering their combat prowess.
Experienced players rarely pulled that kind of move. It was way smarter to go for the torso, hitting those critical spots that dealt serious damage. Going after limbs was usually just for messing with weaker players, dragging out their misery for kicks.
And that was precisely Valkor's intent – to break Eric, both physically and mentally.
Yet, despite the wound, Eric remained stoic. Not a single sound escaped his lips.
Rosewater watched in astonishment. Eric was a blacksmith, a profession often equated to a common laborer in the world of Divine Realms: Legends. His pain tolerance shouldn't be anything extraordinary. Even seasoned players would've winced or cursed at the burning agony of a hit like that.
Given Eric's chosen profession, his reaction was… unusual, to say the least.
"Did he turn off his pain settings? Doubtful—most players, even noobs, keep it at least at 20%. Only the total softies go full-on numb, and Eric's not the type to bail from a bit of pain. But he's clearly taken a hit, yet he's just standing there, chill as hell. It's… unsettling," she thought, torn between being impressed and freaked out.
Valkor, however, remained oblivious to these nuances. He was lost in his own world of bloodlust, reveling in the imagined pain he was inflicting. He continued his relentless assault, hacking at Eric's limbs for a full five seconds, his crazed laughter echoing through the air.
Rosewater watched from a distance, her apprehension growing with each passing moment.
"Black Flame," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Who are you?"
It wasn't Valkor's ferocity that surprised her. It was Eric's health bar.
Despite the relentless barrage, Eric's health had barely budged. It had dipped, perhaps by 10%, but no more. And now, after five seconds, it was already back up to 95%.
What truly shocked her, however, was the damage output.
Valkor was a Shield Warrior, a class known more for its defense than its offensive capabilities. However, he was clad in a full set of level 9 Dark Iron gear, wielding a Mithril battleaxe. His attack power was nothing to scoff at.
Yet, without using any skills, his strikes were barely making a dent on Eric. The damage numbers flashing up were laughable—15 points, tops. Eric's defense was monstrous.
"How… how is your health so high?" Valkor snarled, finally pausing his assault. He had expected to see Eric writhing in pain, begging for mercy. Instead, he saw… nothing. Just that infuriatingly calm smile.
"Your reflexes are impressive," Eric said, his voice calm and measured. "Your attacks are precise, and your technique is quite good, above average. You even managed to enter a heightened state of battle awareness. No wonder you're considered one of the top Shield Warriors in Echoes of Dusk."
He paused, his smile widening. "But I believe it's my turn now."
Eric was level 14. Valkor was level 9. In Divine Realms: Legends, a level gap of 3 or more in PVE meant serious damage reduction. In PVP? It was even worse. At a 5-level difference, the damage reduction hit a whopping 80%. Go beyond 10 levels, and you might as well be punching a brick wall.
Furthermore, Eric was wearing the Silver Moon Outfit, renowned for its defensive capabilities. And having just reached level 14, his stamina had exceeded 80 points, activating a hidden passive skill: Beginner's Enhancing Physical Resilience. This skill drastically reduced damage from attacks below 50 points, while also boosting his health and stamina regeneration.
Valkor's attacks were little more than mosquito bites.
This was the reality of virtual games. Levels and stats are everything. They can turn a tough fight into a total bloodbath—or a one-sided slaughter.
Valkor, blinded by rage and arrogance, had failed to grasp this simple truth.
"Lies," he spat, his voice laced with disbelief. "You're nothing but a tanky punching bag. I'll break you, you hear me? You'll regret crossing me!"
He raised his battleaxe once more, aiming for Eric's chest. This time, he wouldn't hold back. He would unleash his full fury, ending this farce in one fell swoop.
Rosewater, however, knew better. From the moment the duel began, Eric had only attacked once. He had then stood motionless, allowing Valkor to exhaust himself in a futile display of aggression.
Even the most inexperienced player could have launched a counterattack in that time. But Eric hadn't.
And there was a reason for that.
Valkor's axe seemed to pass through Eric's body. A triumphant smirk spread across his face. He had been right! It was all a bluff!
But the feeling of steel cleaving through flesh never came.
"Afterimage!" Valkor realized, a chill running down his spine. He had been tricked. He spun around, searching for his elusive opponent.
Eric stood behind him, his movements silent and swift, as if he had materialized from thin air. He flicked his wrist, and the Abyssal Blade in his hand darted forward, piercing Valkor's back with effortless ease. The tip of the blade protruded from Valkor's chest, a chilling reminder of his folly.
A scream tore from Valkor's throat as a wave of agonizing pain ripped through him. A damage number flashed above his head: -300. More than a fifth of his health, gone in an instant.
"Such speed… such power…" Rosewater breathed, her eyes wide with disbelief. This blacksmith, this supposed weakling, was a monster in disguise. His attack power was staggering. Valkor, clad in level 9 Dark Iron armor, wielding a Mithril shield, had been cut down like a sapling. And that was just a single, casual strike.
Valkor, in his arrogance, had vastly underestimated his opponent. The difference in their strength was painfully obvious. They were playing two entirely different games.
Eric, without a word, struck again. The Abyssal Blade sang through the air, a harbinger of death. This time, there would be no mercy.
A critical hit. Then another. And another.
-800!
-800!
-800!
Valkor crumpled to the ground, his life force extinguished.
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