Chapter 39: The Competition Tournament, Section 8

A spacious and bright office. A man as thin as a skeleton.
The office was enormous, almost as big as a living room. Its smooth walls were as mirror-like, polished to perfection, reflecting even one’s shadow. Yet there was only one desk in such a large room—a mirror-like screen placed on it, with streams of data flowing across it like waterfalls.
A shadow sat at that desk. Under the dim light, it could be seen that he was an old Moorish man. His wrinkled skin covered his skeleton-like frame, giving him an eerie appearance.
Yet despite his emaciated state, his shoulders shone with golden light. Two golden epaulets stood out vividly, too striking for anyone to look directly at.
“Group 18, Record 336.”
“Task assigned to this contestant: Reconnaissance of the Tebesk Pirate Fortress. The contestant has five ships, while the enemy has 9,723 ships, equipped with a complete defensive system. After completing the reconnaissance, the contestant must defend the position and hold off the enemy forces until the main fleet arrives. Task difficulty: Five stars.”
“Huh? Five stars?” The thin old man frowned upon reading this.
“Damn it. Who put such a task in the preliminary rounds? Five-star difficulty—shouldn’t that only appear in the finals? How could the organizers make such a huge mistake? Using such a difficult task in the preliminaries isn’t a competition; it’s murder!”
His tone was filled with resentment. Clearly, he felt sorry for this contestant. Yet there was not a hint of guilt in his voice—instead, there was a hint of schadenfreude.
Because he knew well: this was just another new trick of the competition tournament. As a century-old event, although it had played a foundational role in the progress of the Moorish people, it had become too rigid over time. As years passed, its appeal to audiences declined. After all, no one likes to see unchanging competitions, right? So, to regain audience interest, many aspects of recent tournaments had been changed. The organizers often included seemingly impossible tasks to capture the audience’s attention. Each of these tasks was extremely difficult or beyond ordinary means of completion, yet they always left a backdoor.

The consequences of doing this are obvious. An impossibly difficult task, just by appearing in a competition, is enough to pique the curiosity of the audience. With backdoors involved, the fates of the contestants become even more volatile, enough to leave all attentive viewers utterly confused. Over several consecutive tournaments, searching for such special competitions to watch has become a pleasure for all audiences.

But this time, it seems to have gone too far. The five-star difficulty rating is merely superficial. In fact, as soon as the old man saw the strength comparison between the two sides, he lost interest in continuing to watch.

The Tebesk Pirates had 9,723 ships. Even after removing some non-combat vessels, their remaining strength was still terrifying. To defend against just five giant ships for over five days was nothing short of fantasy. Moreover, it was unclear who designed this task—the backdoor was extremely unreasonable. They were supposed to endure such pressure for three days before any turning point could arise, when the Tebesk Pirates’ base would explode accidentally, dealing a heavy blow to their forces and giving the contestants a fair chance to complete the remaining task.

But in the old man’s view, whether there was a backdoor or not made no difference. The Tebesk people worshipped a barbaric civilization and were almost insane when it came to attacking, often going all out in the first wave of assaults. How could there be any chance to defend for three days?

Simply put, this was an impossible task. Absolutely impossible!!

So the old man had planned to overwrite this contestant’s record. He was busy and had no need to waste time on something whose outcome was already known.

But a sentence from beneath the record suddenly froze his hand mid-air.

“The task took one day and three hours. The contestant lost two ships. The Tebesk fleet was completely destroyed. Task completed, rated five stars.”

“Wait!! How is this possible!!?” The old man’s eyes widened like copper bells. He froze in place, staring blankly at the stone-screen still displaying the record, unable to say a word. Only one voice echoed in his mind.

“Task completed, rated five stars!!”

“How did he do it!!!” After shock came madness. The old man no longer cared about the vast amount of records yet to be reviewed. Like a starving ghost reborn, he frantically rushed to the screen and started operating it desperately. Soon, he retrieved the record of contestant 336 once again.

There aren’t many records actually. Think about it—just one day and three hours of combat. How much space could that possibly take up? Yet this old man watched it very carefully, from start to finish. He watched it five times, missing not a single tiny detail. It was only after seven or eight hours that the old man slowly leaned back in his seat, lost in thought.

So that’s how it was…

That small cosmic storm—originally designed merely as a decorative element, something no one would pay attention to—became a deadly weapon in the hands of Commander 336. He used it to destroy all of the Tebisk ships, while his own warships survived thanks to their superior defenses. Even the so-called losses were bait he was willing to sacrifice.

What terrifying tactics, what keen insight, what ruthless heart.

A commander who even took his own subordinates into account—this was the first time the old man had seen such a person. Unscrupulous in pursuit of victory, willing to sacrifice his own ships as bait. The more he watched, the more horrified he became by this commander’s ferocity. Fortunately, though, he was from the Moor Empire.

Standing up, the old man lost all interest in continuing to review the contestant records. He silently walked over to the window. Outside, the quiet starry sky shone as brightly as ever, with distant stars twinkling like gems, adorning the sky with beauty and mystery.

That commander—his name was Beck, right? He seemed to be a direct descendant of the Grand Duke of Tarot. Ah, truly, heroes often emerge from youth. Perhaps this year’s competition was ignited by him?

Lost in thought, the old man’s figure gradually disappeared into the deep darkness.

In fact, it was pretty much as this old man had imagined.

The live footage of Blackhair’s mission was released on the third day. Blackhair didn’t hold back at all during the entire operation, giving full access to the footage. But the more so, the greater the shock it caused among the competitors.

Think about it—a mission that seemed absolutely impossible, one with inherent flaws in its design, was completed by a novice using unimaginable methods, achieving perfect results. Even the empire’s veteran generals couldn’t claim to have done better than this newcomer. What a huge news story!

Among the audience, it also caused a tremendous stir. Almost everyone who watched the recording was shocked by Commander 336’s boldness and became utterly fascinated by his tactics. In their eyes, although there were always surprises at each annual competition, this year’s surprise came early and with such intensity that the audience wasn’t even ready when it hit them hard.

For a time, the entire Moor Empire talked about this contestant, Number 336. The recording of this mission was played countless times, yet its popularity never faded. From generals to commoners, everyone paid great attention to it. People would discuss the gains and losses of the Black Hair Operation during their free time.

Undoubtedly, it was an absolute victory—a victory that surpassed all limits. Even the most critical people couldn’t find a single flaw in this battle. In fact, they couldn’t even claim a victory at all.

The extreme imbalance in strength between the two sides immediately added a layer of mystery to this live broadcast, making its appeal to the audience unimaginably high. Perhaps even the Moor officials didn’t expect that just two days after it was released, this broadcast would become the most-watched record among all competitions, far ahead of the second-place entry.

Commander 336 and Adjutant 57 instantly became the focus of all Moor citizens. People were discussing what kind of surprises he would bring in his next competitions.

Black Hair didn’t know, but he did know that the surprise would come quickly—so quickly that he wasn’t prepared.

Unfortunately, what was a surprise for the audience was nothing but hardship for him. It was unclear whether the audience’s enthusiasm for him had caught the attention of the higher-ups or if he was simply cursed. His subsequent competitions became increasingly difficult, with all sorts of bizarre tasks thrown at him. Moreover, the backdoors designed for these tasks were often unreasonable—many had none at all. For example, he was tasked with attacking a large race with only a fleet of three warships, or defending against an invasion by an enemy force hundreds of times larger with a fleet of less than five warships. Or else, he had to engage in combat in a harsh environment against a large-scale fleet that was well-acquainted with that area.

There were countless tasks assigned to Kurokami, no fewer than ten. None of them were normal. All the tasks shared one thing in common: a severe imbalance in strength between the two sides. At the most difficult times, Kurokami had to fight enemies a thousand times stronger than himself, with no permission to retreat. Even worse, in later tasks, he encountered not just virtual enemies but also officers who were fellow contestants. These natives of the Moors knew the capabilities of Moorian warships and fleet formations better than Kurokami, putting immense pressure on his battles. It became increasingly difficult, and he nearly failed several times!!
But Kurokami was still Kurokami, and he managed to persevere through sheer determination. Using his ruthless tactics, he repeatedly created new strategies for battle. Half a month passed, and when he stepped out of the virtual space once again, he was shocked to find that his nickname had changed—into a new name: “Lucky Loser No. 336.”