Round Nineteen: Resistance

It was like two monsters—Muscle Monster and Iron Monster—engaged in a fierce struggle, creating a whirlwind that left no one else a chance to intervene. Jason and Milia took this opportunity to rest thoroughly, while Castor even managed to break free from the robbers’ grasp and join them.
“Are you okay?” Jason asked, looking at Castor, who was still rubbing his eyes.
“I’m fine… There are things like this… I must go back and warn my fellow tribesmen… Take this chance… If that Iron Man loses, we’ll be in trouble…” Castor’s voice was weak, but he seemed able to move again.
The massive war hammer descended mercilessly. Under the force of gravity, 47’s left arm, used to block it, was almost crushed into a U-shape, and his feet sank deep into the sand. Yet he managed to break through Hoffman’s shield defense, leaving a bloody mark on Hoffman’s chest.
Hoffman gritted his teeth in pain and kicked at 47, who couldn’t move his feet.
“Are you saying we should abandon them—run away from the battle?” Milia was both shocked and angry. “That’s unacceptable! And what about your captured fellow tribesmen?”
“Information about this new type of magic weapon is more important… I must get this news back… My captured fellow tribesmen would want me to do this too!”
“No, your captured fellow tribesmen want us to save them! What you’re doing is wrong!”
47 interrupted their argument. Sliding across the sand, he stared at Castor’s face through the swirling dust with his two blood-red eyes. “To be honest, you just picked the wrong companions.”
Then he leaped up and charged at Hoffman again, who was like a mountain of flesh.
47 dodged the incoming hammer and suddenly raised his right arm, using his mangled fist to strike at the snarling giant bug.
Hoffman blocked the strike—his arm already numb. Though the weapon specially crafted for him by Agus was incredibly sturdy and remained intact under 47’s frenzied attacks, the recoil was severe, exceeding Hoffman’s tolerance. Moreover, once the giantization spell failed, complete defeat awaited him.
Time to show my true strength.
47 swung his fist, still covered in fragments and iron spikes, directly at Hoffman’s left arm.
Hoffman roared, tensed his muscles, stepped back, knocking several robbers who were watching away, and barely managed to stop the drill-like fist from piercing his chest.
Where was the shield? 47 ignored it, instead reflecting on why he hadn’t managed to pierce the bald giant before him.
The giant bug broke free from Hoffman. It tumbled through the air like a real bug, changing shape as it fell—its triangular scales shifting and stretching, its blade-like limbs bending and closing. The entire shield began to split into multiple pieces that reassembled around Hoffman’s raised spear-headed hammer. That hammer, too, split into cross-shaped, sharp claws, ready to strike—with a few cracks, it formed a monstrous, toothy, polygonal hammer head.

“Look carefully, kid!” Hoffman slammed the 47 still hanging from his left arm onto the ground with force. The massive hammer—no, it should be called a colossal mace—crashed down with a thunderous sound, its jagged edges even spewing out a blast of flame to amplify its impact—
The entire training ground shook.
The hammer, as big as a pile driver, sank deep into the ground. Around it, waves of spiderweb-like cracks and debris spread outward. The shockwaves erupted from the ground, making the training ground uneven. Those who were quick enough to jump could mitigate the damage from the shockwaves, but those who were too slow or unprepared had their leg bones shattered. Houses in the surrounding area cracked loudly, with one even shaking and collapsing halfway.
Hoffman panted heavily. The huge blood hole on his left arm allowed sunlight to shine through. With a fierce gaze fixed on where the mace had driven 47 into the ground, a hint of satisfaction appeared on his face.
Hit him… It’s over!
He had no doubt about the power of this strike, even though it was only his second use—the first time was when he tested it while the Agus mages delivered their goods, flattening a small rock mountain with a single swing.
Too bad… it had to be sent back to Agus to recharge, as this strike had used up all the magic stored in the war hammer.
Damn it! They still wanted to use this to blackmail me! Hoffman’s enlarged body began to shrink, gradually returning to a more normal size—he was so exhausted that he couldn’t even lift the mace anymore.
Was that metal man done?!
Jason and the others were stunned by this reality and didn’t know what to do.
“That bandit leader is also badly injured. Let’s take this chance to break through! Hurry!” Castor picked up a short sword from the ground. The bandits were already surrounding them under Roy’s command.
“Trying to run? Hmph…”
Roy rubbed his gilded fingers, already imagining torturing the female paladin’s body with them.
His primary and secondary exosuits were both exhausted. Now it’s my turn—his fists swung like snakes, and even his way of warming up seemed grotesquely disgusting.
Hoffman slowly raised his mace.
No—his expression changed. The boss still had strength left? He wanted to deal with them personally? If that female paladin got hit by that, not even a bone fragment would remain. What a shame!
Roy turned to look at Hoffman, thinking of saying something to calm the boss’s murderous intent—
But what he saw on Hoffman’s face wasn’t murderous intent.
It was fear.
It wasn’t Hoffman who raised the mace. A burning hand was lifting the colossal mace slowly upward.
Hoffman tried to pull it away a few times, but the iron mace didn’t budge—as if it were fused to that hand.
“I see.”
47 stood up from the pit, surrounded by thick smoke and raging flames.
He had come out unharmed from that nearly devastating strike—at least it seemed that way. Not only that, but his hands, damaged by Alexander’s surprise attack, were also beginning to heal automatically, along with the wound on his waist.
“Is this an exosuit?” With each word he spoke, the flames on his body grew stronger, as if fueled—until Hoffman was too burned to hold the mace handle anymore.

Forty-seven picked up the giant mace, stroking it and feeling the resonance with his own breathing, gradually understanding where this sensation came from—the core. His core, which had been taken from him. The energy fluctuations emanating from the war mace were weak, but their frequency was almost identical to that of the core. So these new devices were all created by Agus using that core? Forty-seven tried swinging it a few times, and immediately, the massive head of the mace ignited—not just surface fire, but raging flames bursting out from within. “Do something quickly! Kill him!” Hoffman screamed in terror, like a lamb trapped in a lion’s mouth struggling its last. Forty-seven swung the mace fiercely. It emitted a shrill screech as it moved through the air, caused by friction between its constantly shifting spikes and the scorching air. A large plume of flame detached from the mace, as if spat out from the monster’s mouth on its head. The first to be eliminated was Alexander, who stood not too far from Forty-seven. For some reason, the first swing hit him first. The few thieves between Forty-seven and Alexander hadn’t even had time to react before being blown aside by the wind pressure from the mace. Before Alexander could utter a cry, he was struck by the mace. The mace hit the ground flat, leaving neither dent nor bulge, as if Forty-seven had placed it down with extreme care, using no force at all. By the time Forty-seven picked up the mace again, a circle of blackened ground surrounded it, as if scorched. Alexander had vanished into that charred circle. As Forty-seven swung and picked up the mace, the weapon itself kept transforming, undergoing chaotic decomposition and reassembly. First, the shaft shortened segment by segment, while the polygonal head kept flipping and changing. After a series of cracking sounds, by the time Forty-seven raised the mace again, it could no longer be called a mace. Black steel formed a barrel thicker than his arm, protruding from a gaping monstrous mouth. This grotesque mouth divided the weapon into two parts: the rear half consisted of slightly open, fang-like wing tails and a cylindrical nozzle, resembling the head and neck of a ferocious beast. The shortened shaft formed a highly complex, claw-like structure that tightly wrapped around Forty-seven’s arm. Upon closer inspection, it seemed less like wrapping and more like the support rods connecting to the cylindrical part growing directly from his arm. The constantly changing serrated and latch-like structures fit tightly into his arm, as if they had always been one.