Shadow Husband:I Have a Hidden SSS-Class System-Chapter 92: EIGHT MINUTES

The first hunter to reach Rama was a C-rank, Level 36, wielding dual daggers. Fast. Aggressive. Confident in his speed advantage.

He never completed his first strike.

Rama’s hand moved—not fast enough to blur, just precise enough to intercept the dagger wrist mid-thrust. Twist. Joint hyperextension. The hunter gasped as his wrist snapped. Rama’s other hand struck solar plexus. Calculated force. Enough to collapse diaphragm temporarily. Not enough to cause permanent damage.

The hunter fell, gasping, unable to breathe. Unconscious within seconds from oxygen deprivation.

Timer: 7 minutes, 52 seconds remaining.

Rama didn’t pause. Didn’t celebrate. Just moved to the next threat.

Two hunters attacked from opposite sides simultaneously—coordinated assault, flanking technique, basic but effective against normal opponents. Left attacker swung heavy mace. Right attacker thrust spear. Both committed to their strikes.

Rama stepped forward into the mace swing instead of away. Got inside its arc where momentum hadn’t built yet. The mace passed harmlessly behind him. Simultaneously grabbed the spear shaft mid-thrust. Used it as lever to pull the spear-wielder off balance while delivering elbow strike to mace-wielder’s temple.

Both down. One unconscious from elbow. One stumbling from pulled balance—Rama swept his legs, followed with pressure point strike to neck. Unconscious.

Timer: 7 minutes, 44 seconds.

Three down. Nineteen to go.

The remaining hunters hesitated momentarily. They’d just watched three trained combatants fall in eight seconds. Mathematical reality was settling in—at this rate, Rama would finish all twenty in under three minutes.

"SPREAD OUT!" the A-rank leader shouted from outside the circle. "Don’t cluster! Use range! Overwhelm from distance!"

Smart tactical adjustment. The hunters repositioned—creating space between themselves, several drawing ranged weapons. Crossbows. Throwing knives. One even had small pistol loaded with rubber bullets.

But spreading out meant individual vulnerability. And ranged weapons required time to aim.

Rama moved before they could establish firing positions.

He closed on the nearest hunter—B-rank, Level 43, loading crossbow. Covered five meters in two seconds. The hunter tried to swing crossbow like club. Rama caught it, yanked it from his grip, struck him across the jaw with his own weapon. Down.

Kept the crossbow. Threw it at another hunter twenty meters away. Not accurate enough to hit directly but forced that hunter to dodge, disrupting his aim.

Timer: 7 minutes, 31 seconds.

Rama was now among them. Not surrounded—interspersed. The spreading formation meant he could engage isolated targets without multiple simultaneous threats.

Next hunter—C-rank, Level 38, martial artist specializing in kicks. High kick aimed at Rama’s head. Telegraphed. Predictable. Rama ducked under it, swept the supporting leg, caught the kicking leg mid-retraction. Used the momentum to spin the hunter into the ground. Hard. Followed with strike to temple. Unconscious.

Timer: 7 minutes, 23 seconds.

Five down. Seventeen remaining.

A hunter with the rubber bullet pistol finally got clear shot. Fired three times. Center mass targeting. Professional shooting stance.

Rama twisted. First bullet missed by centimeters. Second grazed his shoulder—pain but superficial. Third he caught. Actually caught. Mid-flight. [Tactical Overseer] tracking the projectile’s trajectory perfectly. Champion-enhanced reflexes executing the catch.

The shooter stared in disbelief. "That’s impossible—"

Rama threw the rubber bullet back. Not as fast as gun firing but fast enough. Hit the shooter’s gun hand. Pistol dropped. Rama closed distance, disarmed him completely, pressure point to disable arm temporarily. Down but conscious and disarmed.

Timer: 7 minutes, 09 seconds.

Six down. Sixteen remaining.

The hunters were panicking now. Individual skills didn’t matter when opponent operated at different capability level. This wasn’t fight—it was systematic dismantling.

"TOGETHER!" someone shouted. "All at once! Overwhelm through numbers!"

The remaining sixteen rushed simultaneously. No more tactical spacing. Just desperate assault hoping combined force would succeed where individual attacks failed.

Rama stood center as they converged. Assessed threats rapidly:

Three from front—two with swords, one with staff. Four from left—mixed weapons. Three from right—hand-to-hand specialists. Six from behind—ranged weapons transitioning to melee.

Sixteen angles. Sixteen threats. One Champion.

He activated [Perfect Coordination]—the ability he’d used during perfect dungeon clear. Every muscle synchronized. Every movement optimized. Combat efficiency at theoretical maximum.

The first wave hit.

Front three arrived fractionally before others. Rama met them moving forward instead of defending. Slipped between sword strikes. Staff thrust redirected into one of the sword users. Three threats became two. Disarmed the staff user. Used the staff to sweep both sword users’ legs. All three down in four seconds.

Left four arrived. Rama used falling bodies as obstacles. They stumbled over their own teammates. Rama capitalized—rapid strikes to pressure points, joints, vulnerable areas. All four disabled in six seconds.

Timer: 6 minutes, 47 seconds.

Ten down in seventy-three seconds. Halfway through opponents. A third of the way through timer.

Right three—hand-to-hand specialists—coordinated better. Grappling techniques. Trying to restrain rather than strike. Smart approach against superior striker.

But Rama had fought grapplers before. Hundreds of times. Died to submission holds. Learned counters. Came back better.

First grappler got arm around Rama’s neck. Chokehold. Professional execution. But Rama dropped his weight, twisted, used the grappler’s own leverage against him. Threw him over shoulder into second grappler. Both tangled. Third grappler tried to capitalize on the distraction.

Rama met him with knee to midsection. Followed with elbow to back of head as he doubled over. Down.

Untangled the first two. Sequential pressure point strikes. Both unconscious.

Timer: 6 minutes, 28 seconds.

Thirteen down. Nine remaining—the six from behind plus three who’d hung back.

These final nine were smartest or most cowardly. They’d watched thirteen teammates fall in ninety-two seconds. Watched Rama dismantle trained hunters with minimal effort. Watched their numbers advantage evaporate.

"He’s not human," one whispered. Loud enough for Rama’s enhanced hearing to catch. "That’s not normal combat ability. That’s—"

"Champion capability," Rama said calmly. Not even breathing hard despite the exertion. "Enhanced perception. Perfect technique. Experience from dying repeatedly and learning from each death. This is what System grants to those chosen to defend humanity."

"We can’t win," another hunter said. "We should—"

"You should surrender," Rama agreed. "Drop weapons. Lie down. Accept arrest. Avoid additional pain. You’ve lost. Acknowledge it."

Five of the nine actually considered it. Weapons lowering. Rational self-preservation overriding contract obligations.

But the A-rank leader’s voice cut through their hesitation.

"FIGHT! You’re mercenaries! You don’t surrender to single opponent! FINISH HIM!"

The command was reinforced with something else—System ability. Rama recognized it. [Commander’s Authority]. Enhanced leadership skill that compelled subordinates to follow orders even against better judgment.

The nine hunters’ expressions shifted. Rational thought suppressed. Compulsion to obey activated. They raised weapons again. Advanced despite obvious futility.

"That’s cruel," Rama said to the leader still watching from outside the circle. "Forcing them to fight when they’ve already lost. You’re sending them to get hurt for your ego."

"They’re being paid to fight. So they fight. Finish them quickly if you’re so superior."

Rama looked at the nine approaching hunters. Compelled. Unable to surrender despite wanting to. Victims of their leader’s ability as much as enemies.

He’d be gentle. Efficient but gentle.

The nine attacked in coordinated rush. Last desperate assault. All-or-nothing.

Rama met them with pure technique. No wasted movement. No excessive force. Just precise strikes to disable without causing permanent damage.

First hunter—strike to nerve cluster in neck. Unconscious instantly.

Second—joint lock, gentle takedown, pressure point. Down.

Third—redirect his momentum into fourth hunter. Both tangled. Sequential strikes. Both down.

Fifth—disarm, sweep, controlled fall. Down.

Sixth and seventh together—used sixth’s attack against seventh, then disabled both with minimal contact.

Eighth—the one who’d recognized futility first—Rama met his eyes, saw the compulsion in them, struck carefully. Unconscious quickly. Mercy for someone forced to fight.

Ninth—last standing—threw down weapon. "I’m done. Court martial me. I’m not—"

Rama struck before [Commander’s Authority] could force him to continue. Gentle knockout. Saved him from having to choose between compulsion and conscious decision.

All nine down.

Timer: 5 minutes, 51 seconds.

Twenty hunters. Four minutes, nine seconds total. Under his eight-minute estimate by significant margin.

Rama stood among the unconscious bodies. Breathing slightly elevated but controlled. Minor injuries—grazing bullet wound, few bruises from blocked strikes. Nothing significant.

Around him, twenty trained hunters. All alive. All breathing. None with permanent injuries. Just unconscious or temporarily disabled.

He looked at his phone on the ground. Timer still running. Looked at the A-rank leader standing outside the circle of fallen bodies.

"Twenty down in four minutes," Rama said. "I overestimated them. Or underestimated myself. Either way, that leaves you. Level 67 A-rank leader. Three minutes, fifty-one seconds remaining on timer. Think you can last that long?"

The leader—Rama could see his name tag now, "Budi Hartono, Vice-Guild Leader"—stared at the carnage. Twenty mercenaries. Professional hunters. Trained combatants. All defeated by single opponent in four minutes.

"That’s..." Budi’s confidence was cracking. "That’s not possible. Twenty versus one. You shouldn’t—"

"Shouldn’t and can’t are different words. I shouldn’t have been able to beat your Guild Master in tournament either. Level 50 versus his Level 62. But I did. Because statistics don’t account for experience. For technique. For having died fighting far stronger opponents and learning from each death."

Rama walked toward Budi. Slowly. Deliberately. Giving him time to process. To decide.

"You have choice. Fight me and lose. Get arrested and prosecuted like your twenty teammates. Or surrender now. Walk away. Testify against whoever hired you for this operation. Reduce your sentence through cooperation."

Budi’s hand moved to his sword. "I’m Vice-Guild Leader of Dragon’s Gate. I don’t surrender. I don’t walk away. I fight."

"Even knowing you’ll lose?"

"Level 67 versus your Level 50. Seventeen-level advantage. I’m not like those C-ranks and B-ranks. I’m A-rank. I have experience. Training. Power." His aura manifested—dark red, swirling with lightning elements. "You beat twenty weak opponents. I’m different league."

Rama assessed him properly now. Level 67. Sword specialist. Lightning enhancement ability. Significant combat experience based on stance and confidence. Skilled opponent. Genuinely dangerous.

"You’re right," Rama admitted. "You’re different league from them. This will be actual fight. Not dismantling. Not massacre. Real combat between skilled opponents."

"Finally. Respect."

"Respect for capability. Not for judgment. You made bad choice attacking us. Now you face consequences." Rama activated [Champion’s Presence] at maximum. Golden aura overwhelming Budi’s dark red. "But I’ll give you proper fight. You’ve earned that much."

Budi drew his sword. Blade crackling with lightning. "Three minutes, fifty-one seconds on your timer. I’ll last longer than that. Then I’ll prove Champion abilities aren’t invincible."

"We’ll see."

Behind them, at Eternal Bond headquarters, Rama could sense the Champions and guild members watching. Sekar in particular—her attention focused entirely on the impending fight. Worried. Ready to intervene despite his claim of handling this alone.

Media cameras were definitely recording. This was public. Witnesses everywhere. His Bayangan reveal. His systematic defeat of twenty hunters. Now his fight against A-rank Vice-Guild Leader.

Everything was being documented. Everything would trend globally within the hour.

Good. Let the world see what Champions could do. Let public belief in void threats increase through demonstration of System capabilities.

Let Herald arrive in ten days to population already half-convinced extinction was real.

Budi charged. Lightning-enhanced speed. Sword aimed for non-lethal but disabling strike—Rama’s shoulder. Professional opening. Testing defenses while preserving opponent for questioning.

Rama didn’t dodge. Met the charge directly. Caught the blade between his palms—old technique, dangerous, requiring perfect timing.

The sword stopped. Millimeters from his skin. Lightning crackling harmlessly around his Champion-enhanced hands.

Budi’s eyes widened. "You caught—that’s impossible—"

"You keep using that word. Stop assuming your experience defines possibility boundaries." Rama twisted the blade, wrenched it from Budi’s grip. Tossed it aside. "Fight hand-to-hand. Sword gives you reach advantage. I’m eliminating advantages."

"You want fair fight? Fine." Budi’s hands lit up with lightning. "I don’t need sword to beat you."

They separated. Circling. Both assessing. This was different from the twenty hunters. This was peer combat. A-rank versus Champion. Skill versus skill. Experience versus experience.

The timer on Rama’s phone continued counting down.

Timer: 3 minutes, 31 seconds.

Budi struck first. Lightning-fast jab combination. Professional boxing technique enhanced by literal lightning speed.

Rama blocked. Deflected. Countered. The exchange was rapid. Brutal. Both landing hits. Both taking damage.

Timer: 3 minutes, 15 seconds.

They broke apart. Both bleeding slightly. Both evaluating.

"You’re good," Budi admitted. "Better than expected. But I have seventeen-level advantage. Statistics favor me."

"Statistics said I’d die to four tranquilizer darts last week. I’m still here. Statistics are guidelines, not destiny."

They clashed again. More intense. More desperate. Budi fighting to prove his guild’s strength. Rama fighting to defend his home and validate his capabilities.

Timer: 2 minutes, 47 seconds.

The fight intensified. Lightning versus golden Champion aura. Technique versus technique. Neither giving ground.

Then Budi made mistake.

He reached into his pocket. Pulled out small crystal. Black. Pulsing with dark energy. Wrong energy. Void energy.

"No—" Rama started.

Too late.

Budi crushed the corruption crystal. Absorbed its power.

His eyes went black. Purple veins spread across his skin. His aura shifted from red lightning to dark corruption.

And his power spiked. Level 67 to effective Level 75.

"Now we fight properly," Budi said. Voice distorted. Sanity degrading visibly. "Now I show you—"

He blurred. Corrupted speed. Hit Rama before Champion perception could track.

Rama flew backward. Slammed into the ground. Ribs—barely healed from last fight—cracked again. Pain exploded.

Budi stood over him. Corrupted. Powerful. Insane.

"You lose, Champion. Corruption beats your golden light. Darkness beats—"

Rama’s hand shot up. Grabbed Budi’s corrupted wrist.

And activated the ability he’d never revealed publicly.

[Champion’s Purification].

Golden light erupted. Brighter than [Champion’s Presence]. Purifying. Cleansing.

Fighting the void corruption directly.

Budi screamed.