I Don't Need To Log Out

When players died in Trion, they incurred a penalty starting from level 20. While it wasn't overly severe, they would lose experience points.

The amount of experience lost varied based on the circumstances of their death. It wasn't a fixed amount and depended on the level difference between the player and their killer.

For instance, if a level 150 player managed to kill a level 200 player, the higher-level player would lose experience equivalent to one level. However, if the situation were reversed—a level 200 player killed a level 150 player—the lower-level player wouldn't lose any experience points.

These represented the extremes of the penalty system. For players within closer level ranges, the experience loss was scaled accordingly, creating a balanced deterrent against reckless fighting.

However, this system only applied to player-versus-player (PvP) encounters. When fighting Keldars, who were Trion's sworn enemies, the stakes were different.

If a player using Zeno faced off against a Keldar also using Zeno, the penalty wasn't tied to experience.

Instead, they would bet their equipment—losing it to the victor if defeated and the loser wouldn't be able to log in to EVR again, making the Zeno unusable again.

So, Keldars only had specific number of chances.

---

Evan stumbled, his stealth broken, but recovered quickly. He darted back, his remaining dagger raised defensively.

Lei pressed forward, her bastard sword cleaving through the air with terrifying force. Evan dodged and weaved, his agility keeping him just out of reach.

The clash of steel echoed through the arena as Evan's dagger deflected Lei's blade, sparks flying with every strike.

Evan found an opening and darted in, slashing at Lei's side, activating his skill, Double Strike.

The blow landed, drawing blood twice, but Lei didn't flinch. Instead, she pivoted and brought her sword down in a crushing vertical strike even though her health was really low.

This was normal since Evan's level was higher and Lei didn't have good armor.

Evan barely avoided the attack, the blade missing him by inches and leaving a deep gouge on the arena floor.

"You're stronger than I thought," Evan admitted, breathing heavily.

"And you're faster than you look," Lei replied, her voice steady despite the cuts on her side.

The two combatants circled each other, their eyes locked. If Lei was hit once more, she would lose.

Evan made the first move, feinting left before dashing right. Lei anticipated the maneuver, stepping into Evan's path and swinging her sword horizontally.

This time, the blade connected with Evan's armor, knocking him to the ground.

Evan rolled to the side, coughing, and scrambled to his feet. He was clearly winded, his movements slower now.

Lei seized the opportunity. She raised her sword high and charged, bringing the blade down in a devastating arc.

Evan crossed his remaining dagger in front of him, bracing for impact. Right when the sword was about to hit it, though, Evan rolled and stabbed Lei on her side.

This is what a low-level fight should be like. Arlon thought. Indeed, this was a low-level fight.

There weren't many skills that players could use since they couldn't have found useful skills yet. Only the tactics mattered. Evan used his head and tricked Lei.

Lei couldn't stop her bastard sword after swinging it. And that was why she lost.

The announcer's voice echoed through the arena. "Winner: Evan!"

---

Arlon watched the fight with a satisfied nod. Lei had fought well, showcasing her skill and the strength of the bastard sword he'd given her.

As the next match was announced, Arlon leaned back in his seat, letting his mind drift to the upcoming phases of the tournament.

After about 15 minutes, Lei returned to the participants' section. Evan was already seated, his posture relaxed.

She walked up to him with a faint smile. "That was a good fight."

Evan glanced up, his usual confidence replaced by a shy grin. "Ah, I was just lucky. It could've gone either way."

Lei shook her head slightly. "Still, you fought well. Congratulations."

"Thanks," Evan replied, his voice earnest. After a pause, he added, "I hope we get to fight again someday."

Nearby, Carmen fidgeted as she listened to their exchange.

Her expression wavered between admiration and discomfort, her timid personality keeping her from joining the conversation.

Instead, she sat quietly, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.

---

The announcer's voice boomed across the arena:

"Next match: Arlon versus Zack!"

Excitement rippled through the crowd. This was Arlon's second and final match of the day.

With his earlier win, he had secured a spot among the last 16 participants.

If he won this match, he would advance to the quarter-finals, joining seven others to continue the tournament the following day.

As the announcement echoed, the arena fell silent.

Arlon's reputation preceded him—he was the highest-level player, and his last match had ended in a single, decisive strike. Many in the crowd expected a repeat performance.

But Zack was no pushover. Ranked among the top 10 on the leaderboard, his name carried weight. The audience was split:

Some believed Arlon would end the match with another effortless strike, while others hoped Zack could endure at least a minute.

No matter the outcome, the consensus was clear: Arlon would win.

Descending the stairs with calm precision, Arlon entered the arena. His mask, his demeanor, and his skill commanded attention, silencing any lingering chatter.

Meanwhile, Zack was huddled with his friends, exchanging words of encouragement—or perhaps, playful banter.

"Do your best!" Carole said, her tone serious. "I know you can dodge at least two strikes."

Zack smirked, brushing off her remark. "Don't worry, I've got a plan. I'll stay in there for three minutes, minimum. Might even land a hit on him."

A snort of laughter escaped June, who was standing nearby.

"You don't believe me?" Zack said, his voice a mix of mock indignation and genuine hurt. "Alright, let's make it interesting. If I last three minutes, you have to do one thing I ask. And if I manage to hit him, you'll owe me two."

June raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a faint smile. "Sure, let's do that. But don't cry when you lose, Zack. Three minutes? You'll be lucky to last three seconds."

"Don't underestimate me," Zack replied with a glint of determination in his eyes.

His friends exchanged knowing looks, stifling their laughter as Zack straightened up.

He descended the stairs with an exaggerated sense of purpose, clearly buoyed by his wager with June.

He's confident, June thought, watching him go. Too bad it's misplaced.

As Zack entered the arena, he cast a quick glance back at his friends, giving them a thumbs-up. They waved him on, stifling giggles at his bravado.

He knew what he would ask June to do when he won.

Of course, June also knew, but she feinted ignorance.

---

Arlon and Zack stood face-to-face in the arena, the tension between them palpable.

"Hey, we can use potions, right?" Zack asked the referee, breaking the silence.

"The rules don't prevent the use of potions," the referee replied curtly.

Zack turned to Arlon, a mischievous grin on his face. "You don't mind, do you?"

"Suit yourself," Arlon said, his tone calm but edged with indifference. The answer might have seemed arrogant to the onlookers, but Arlon truly didn't care.

"Okay, then. Get ready to bleed for the first time," Zack quipped before pulling out a small blue potion and downing it in one gulp.

The crowd murmured, intrigued by the exchange. Potions weren't often used in matches—it was a risky strategy, and most fighters preferred relying on their skills.

"Begin!" the referee's voice rang out.

Yet, neither Arlon nor Zack moved.

Arlon raised an eyebrow, surprised. He had expected Zack to charge with a plan, perhaps taking advantage of his agility. Instead, Zack stayed rooted in place, watching him carefully.

If you don't come, I will, Arlon thought.

In a flash, he used the Dash skill, closing the distance between them in an instant. His sword swung in a clean arc, aiming to end the match swiftly.

There was no way for Zack to block the attack since it was too fast for him.

The blade connected squarely with Zack's side—but instead of slicing through flesh, it stopped abruptly, as though hitting solid rock.

The crowd gasped in surprise, their murmurs growing louder.

"Haha, you didn't think I'd do that, did you?" Zack said, his grin widening. His voice dripped with amusement as he tapped the empty vial from which he drank the potion. "This is a petrification potion. As long as I don't move, my endurance against physical attacks skyrockets."

"And how exactly is that supposed to help you win against me?" Arlon asked, his tone laced with irritation.

This wasn't the kind of fight he had been hoping for—it felt more like a standoff than a duel.

"That's the beauty of it," Zack replied confidently. "I don't need to win. All I have to do is survive. As long as I stand for three minutes, I win something much better. You're a warrior; there's no way you can take me down with physical damage before the time's up."

Zack knew he couldn't win against Arlon. But he needed to endure for three minutes and then hit him at least once.

The plan was simple, he wouldn't move until Arlon got angry and started swinging his sword randomly with anger.

Only then he would move only once, hitting Arlon. He couldn't kill him with one hit, but it didn't matter. If Arlon lost even one HP, it would be Zack's win. Of course, against June and not Arlon.

Arlon sighed internally. He didn't particularly care if Zack wanted to prolong the match, but the idea of standing there for three full minutes doing nothing was tedious.

If he had been using his Sentinel's Legacy Set and Wandsword, the additional bonuses might have been enough to break through Zack's petrified defenses.

But those items were reserved for his identity as the guide.

Not that it mattered.

He wasn't about to let Zack's ploy dictate the pace of the match.

Arlon calmly extended his palm in front of him.

Zack's grin faltered, a sense of unease creeping in. His instincts screamed at him to move, but the petrification effect meant his survival relied on staying completely still.

"What... are you doing?" Zack asked warily, his voice losing some of its bravado.