Secret World: I Became a God Through Lies

Chapter 115 Berserker's Roar: Baroque vs. Gregor

"If you're scared, don't stand behind me."

The echo of the fourth whale cry had not yet faded, and the arena was filled with the smell of blood and iron.

The air was so heavy that it seemed like it would explode at any second. The man standing in the center of the field,
Like a deep-sea torpedo about to explode, it made everyone present hold their breath.

Boneless General - Greg Belog.

The death battle commander of the Whale Tomb.

The true ruler of this arena is cold and ruthless, as if life and death are just a roll of the dice.

He held the fate of countless warriors in his hands, yet there was no fluctuation in his eyes.

"Now that you have won enough sea flags, it's time to challenge me."

His voice was like the wind blowing over deep-sea reefs, steady and cold.

"But I only open the door to the winner."

"Losers, stay here—feed the sharks."

Every word was like a nail driven into the air, and the oppressive feeling came over me, making even breathing difficult.

The onlookers instinctively fell silent and retreated like the tide.

His arms were covered in pale bone armor, like the shed remains of some ancient predator, embedded in his skin.

The bone spear in his right hand was actually wriggling slightly - as if it were alive, like a hungry snake.

It was a mysterious weapon, made from the bones of deep-sea aliens. Every time it was swung, the air would make a mournful sound and be cut apart, leaving a bloody trail.

Alison gripped the rifle tightly, her knuckles turning white. Her eyes were cold as ice, suppressing the rage that was about to burst out.

Ian's fingers tapped slowly on the hilt of the dagger, the rhythm heavy, like some kind of silent countdown.

"Come on, Greg," Alison whispered, "let's—"

"Do not."

Before she could finish her words, a hand as strong as a rock pressed down on her shoulder.

Baroque.

The man, with a mountainous figure, stepped silently forward, blocking the way between the two men. He stood there like an iron wall.

"I'll do this myself."

"Are you crazy?" Ian frowned, his eyes drooping. "He's not one of those scumbags."

Baroque smiled, revealing his bestial fangs. His eyes held no hesitation, only a burning desire to fight.

"That's why I'm going to do it myself."

"I am a sailor trained by him personally."

Gregor finally raised his eyes. His icy eyes narrowed slightly, a cold, scrutinizing look etched within them.

"...Boy, who are you?"

Baroque twisted his neck, his muscles tensed under his skeleton like steel cables about to break.

He inhaled, tightened his abdomen, and lowered his center of gravity, like a mammoth in the wilderness ready to strike.

"I am Baroque, your student."

"But now, I'm on the opposite side of you."

He raised his head and said in a voice like a bell:

"Come on, instructor—let me see if you've gotten any rusty over the years."

boom! !

Gregor moved.

No nonsense. He stepped on it and the stone slabs exploded!

The bone spear suddenly broke through the air—a dark white afterimage flashed, and the air seemed to be torn in two!

Target - the heart of Baroque!
"Xiao——!"

The wind whistled like a whistle from hell, crushing down along with the bone spear.

Baroque's eyes suddenly froze, and his pupils shrank into needle shapes!
He doesn't dodge.

Roar!

Right fist blast!

The fist was wrapped in a raging airflow and slammed hard into the bone spear that was thrusting towards it!
boom! ! !
There was a loud muffled thunder!
Spider-web-like cracks exploded on the ground, rubble flew everywhere, and dust roared like a giant beast, exploding in all directions!

The pirates screamed and retreated! Someone was knocked to the ground by the gust of wind!
In the dust and fog——

Baroque is still standing.

His fist was bleeding. His finger bones were exposed. But he smiled.

"It's still this hard, instructor."

He exhaled hot air from his mouth, like a white burst of fighting spirit.

"But—I won't lose."

He took a step forward, and the cracks in the ground spread like snakes.

The fighting spirit burned his skin like a raging fire, twisting around him.

At that moment, he was not human.

He is the monster that crawled back from hell in my memory.

——"You must become part of the sea, otherwise the sea will swallow you up."

That was what Gregor had said when he was standing behind him on the deck.

Now, he stood before him.

The way to respond to this reprimand is to fight.

The fighting spirit burns, a reflection of memories.

"Don't call yourself a sailor if you can't even lift your fist."

The scorching sun baked the deck, the entire sea seemed to be on fire, and the smell of sweat and salt filled the air, making it suffocating.

The sea breeze howled, whistling down from the mast, whipping the recruits' bodies like a whip.

One figure after another staggered and fell on the hot wooden boards, gasping for breath like a cow.

Baroque also lay on the ground.

He was taller, stronger, and wilder than the others, but at this moment he was like a beast that had just been knocked down, his chest heaving violently.
A streak of blood and sweat slid down his cheek, stinging his eyes red. He had just been knocked flying by a heavy punch, slamming hard onto the deck. His ribs seemed to be shattered, and his chest felt like a rock was pressing down on it. Every breath felt like a knife piercing his throat.

Standing before him was Greg Belog.

General Wu Gu, the instructor above the deep sea.

He had no fancy military uniform on him, only a body covered with calluses and scars.

It was a suit of armor carved by time and war. The muscles beneath the skin were as tight as reefs, steady yet with a faint sense of explosion.

He stood in the sun, casting a huge shadow, looking down at Baroque on the ground with cold eyes, and slowly clenched his fists.

His hands were like iron that had been hammered a thousand times, and every scar whispered: This is the price of survival at sea.

"stand up."

The voice was low, not loud, but it was so oppressive that it made people breathless.

Baroque gritted his teeth, supported his palms on the hot deck, his muscles trembling.

He tried to get up, but as soon as he moved, his ribs felt a sharp pain, as if the bones in his body were breaking inch by inch.

His face was twisted in pain, and bloody saliva escaped from the corner of his lips.

He knew that his ribs were broken.

But he couldn't fall.

No.

"stand up."

Gregor repeated, his tone without any fluctuation, like the echo of the tide, without any words, the majesty was self-evident.

"Don't call yourself a sailor if you can't even lift your fist."

creak-

There was a slight crack of bones, and Baroque's knees held up tightly. His whole body was trembling, but he still stood up slowly and firmly.

Like a burning stone, it rises little by little from the abyss of hell.

He raised his head and met Gregor's gaze.

There was no surrender in that look, only a burning desire to fight.

Gregor smiled slightly, as light as the cracking of rock.

"very good."

“Those at sea do not die by the sword of their enemies, they die by their own weakness.”

"Remember. Your fist is your weapon."

——"You must become part of the sea, otherwise the sea will swallow you up."

Stormy night.

The sky and the earth roared, dark clouds hung low, and the sea seemed to be ignited by thunder, churning and roaring below the deck.

The rain fell like a hail of bullets, and every drop was piercing and painful, as if it were nails piercing the skin.

The masts shook, the hull pitched violently, and the entire warship trembled as if on the back of an angry sea beast.

Baroque stood at the side of the ship, holding the rope tightly with both hands, and was almost blown over by the strong wind.

His clothes had long been soaked by the rain and felt as heavy as lead when stuck to his skin.

His legs were shaking, not from fear—but from the cold, a chill that penetrated his bones and made his muscles stiff.

In front of his eyes was a whirlpool like an abyss.

Dark and churning, like the open mouth of the deep sea, waiting to swallow the timid.

Gregor stood behind him, like a rock pillar in the center of a storm, his body motionless, only his eyes were as cold as ice.

"Jump down."

Baroque turned around suddenly, his voice full of disbelief: "Are you crazy?"

The wind howled, thunder roared, and waves hit the ship with a loud noise.

"You must become part of the sea, otherwise the sea will swallow you." Gregor said, his tone as cold as the water in the deep sea.

"If you can't even withstand this little test, you don't deserve to be on this ship."

The strong wind rushed into my throat, cutting my lungs like a knife.

Baroque's knuckles turned white and his eyes were fixed on the dark vortex.

He gritted his teeth and let out a low growl from his throat.

"Screw you."

The next moment, he suddenly jumped out of the deck!
boom!
The cold sea water hit him in the face like a sharp blade, swallowing him up in an instant.

The whirlpool roared and grabbed his limbs, and the darkness was like a living beast's mouth, dragging him into the abyss.

He waved his arms and legs desperately, but he had no sense of direction and felt himself falling.

He finally understood - struggling was useless.

The sea is not the enemy.

It's the rule.

If you want to survive, you have to obey it.

He closed his eyes, loosened his fists, adjusted his body posture, and with the help of the tide, he turned around and slid in the direction of buoyancy.

He opened his palms and swam upstream like a wild beast in the water.

He opened his eyes in the darkness.

He finally "saw" the sea - it was not trying to kill him, but was selecting people who could coexist with it.

With a sudden splash, he grabbed the battleship's iron chain!
Use your arms to exert force, muscles bulge, push the boat with your feet, and go against the wind!

One step, two steps - he roared against the storm and used his teeth to resist the biting pain.

When he climbed onto the deck again, he was covered in blood and water, as if he had escaped from the jaws of death in the deep sea.

He gasped and knelt on the deck. Rain flowed down his cheeks, mixed with sweat and sea water, forming a streak on the deck.

Gregor stood in front of him, finally lowered his head, and for the first time, a hint of recognition flashed in his eyes.

"very good."

"From today on, you are considered a member of the sea."

(End of this chapter)