The Lustful Time Lord's Revenge-Chapter 192 - Blank Out Command

Defeating him with my current abilities is impossible? Wait a minute. Why am I thinking that way? [Mind Control] is my ability. A cheat skill, yes, but it’s still my ability. I’m defeating him using what I have. Screw concepts of a pure fight or honor. What matters is winning. And winning while humiliating him—just like the quest asks.

He’s still under the effect of my [Mind Control]. So all I need is to issue a command at a critical moment, he’ll freeze, and then I can hit him. That’s the plan.

But I can’t do it carelessly. Right now, I’m being watched by the entire world, plus there are many powerful people observing me. The Guardian Council, academy heads, the tournament’s monitoring system, and guild representatives watching.

I don’t want my [Mind Control] ability exposed. That’s a trump card I must keep for truly dire situations.

So, I need to be more subtle.

I waited. Waited for the precise moment where my movements could mask the mental command.

Maximus pressured me to retreat again, his fist shooting out like a bullet. I saw an opening—the moment his punch missed me, he left his guard open for an instant. At that exact moment, I also prepared a counter-punch. He saw my movement and braced to counter.

Eye contact happened. In the middle of that moment, I issued the silent command: "Blank out."

Maximus’s consciousness suddenly short-circuited—just a fraction of a second. At the same time, my right fist was already in motion. Before my punch landed, I sent the follow-up command, "Snap back."

His awareness returned precisely as my fist smashed into his face.

SMACK!

The sound of skin and bone colliding. Maximus was thrown backward, landing in a seated position. He wiped his already-reddened chin, his eyes narrowed in confusion.

"What... just now I..." he mumbled, his voice hoarse.

Maximus rose roughly from the ground, his face flushed with a mixture of blazing anger and confusion gnawing at his logic. Blood flowed from his split lip, but what was more painful was the question spinning in his head: What just happened? Twice in a row he’d been on the verge of victory, and twice his body suddenly seemed to lose control, giving Adam an opening to strike back.

"You sneaky bastard!" he roared, his voice ragged and full of spite. Emotion had completely taken over, drowning out the last remnants of reason. He charged again, but this time with forced caution, as if trying to control the storm of rage in his chest.

I retreated, observing him closely. His left fist swung at my head—I tilted my body, feeling the wind from the blow sweep past my hair. His right kick aimed at my ribs—I jumped to the side, evading with light steps that only fueled his frustration.

"Stop running, coward!" he snapped, his eyes blazing. His anger peaked and he unleashed a rapid combo: right punch, left punch, low kick, then an upward elbow—all aimed at forcing me to defend, to lock down my movement.

I kept retreating, stepping backward on the cracked asphalt until my back almost touched a pile of concrete rubble behind me. That’s when he saw his chance. His eyes shone with a flash of victory. He took a step back, braced himself, then summoned all his remaining energy for his finishing move.

He leaped forward, his body shooting through the air like an arrow, his right fist fully concentrated and aimed at my face with destructive intent.

The exact moment he leaped, mid-air, our eyes met. In that split second, amidst the clamor of the fight and the cheers from outside, I sent the silent command:

"Blank out."

Maximus froze.

Only half a second. But in the middle of a leap, that half-second was fatal.

His body, which should have been hurtling forward with full momentum, suddenly lost all coordination, like a puppet whose strings were cut mid-movement. He tumbled forward, out of control.

And I was ready. Before his body hit the ground, I had already sent the release command:

"Snap back."

My right knee shot up, slamming into his stomach exactly as he fell.

Air rushed from his lungs in a rough hiss. He was flung sideways, hitting the ground with a loud, echoing thud.

I gave him no time to recover. I stepped forward, my right leg swinging in a swift side kick that slammed into the side of his head.

Thwack!

His head snapped sideways. He wasn’t knocked out, but clearly dazed. His eyes swam, his vision blurred. He sat on the ground, trying to wipe his face with a trembling hand.

"OH! A DEADLY COMBO FROM ADAM SOCHERON!" the Host yelled, his voice once again shrill with sensationalism. "HE DODGES, THEN THE PERFECT COUNTERATTACK! MAXIMUS IS DOWN AGAIN! IS THIS THE THIRD OR FOURTH TIME?!"

The camera zoomed in on Maximus’s confused, shame-flushed face, then panned to Adam who stood with a calm posture despite his visibly heavy breathing and sweat beading at his temples.

Unfortunately, Maximus had incredible physical endurance. Blood, bruises, and dizziness didn’t seem enough to put him down for good. Not to mention his regeneration ability that quickly healed all those injuries.

With a groan of anger, he rose again. Slower this time, his breath coming in ragged gasps, but the fire in his eyes hadn’t died. In fact, his shame had turned into fuel for a darker rage.

He didn’t speak anymore. He just looked at me with eyes full of hatred, then charged.

I sighed inwardly. Here we go again.

He swung a hook. When his fist was halfway, amidst the swirling dust and our heavy breathing, I commanded: "Blank out."

Maximus stopped. His eyes went empty for an instant.

I punched his stomach.

Thud.

Then I commanded, "Snap back."

Only then did he feel the pain, bending over, and I added an elbow to his back. He fell again.

"AGAIN! MAXIMUS DOWN AGAIN..."

Back. He rose. The blood from his nose was now flowing more freely.

He kicked.

I commanded, "Blank out."

He stopped mid-kick. I kicked his ankle.

Crack!

Then I commanded, "Snap back."

He fell, clutching his possibly sprained ankle.

Back. The next round. And the next.

Every time he rose, his body was more damaged, his movements heavier, despite his regeneration. But every time he fell, his shame deepened, his rage burned brighter yet more powerless.

His eyes, which had always looked at me with superiority and contempt, were now filled with confusion, despair, and—most devastatingly—the acceptance that he was being defeated. By me. By Adam Socheron, the one he used to beat up in the academy hallways.

On the seventh fall, he rose slowly. His knees trembled, his hands holding his bruised stomach before it regenerated. Blood and sweat soaked his entire face and uniform.

"Why..." he uttered, his voice hoarse with anger. "Why can’t I... touch you? WHAT DID YOU DO!?"

I let out a thin sigh, looking at Maximus who was still sitting with a shattered expression.

"Are you stupid?" I said cynically. "It’s because I’m stronger than you, Maximus."

That sentence was like the final whip. Maximus looked up, his previously empty eyes suddenly reignited with the last embers of his anger. With a ragged roar, he pushed himself up from the ground and charged—a desperate move without technique, pure emotional drive.

I didn’t move to dodge. When he was close enough, my left fist shot out first, landing squarely on his nose. He staggered back, blood splattering from his likely broken nose, though his regeneration would soon fix it.

"How does it feel," I asked, stepping closer, my voice low yet clear, "to be beaten by the weakling you always looked down on?"

Maximus sat back down on the ground, his hand holding his bloody face. He didn’t get up immediately. His eyes stared blankly ahead, past me, as if seeing something only he could feel. His hands trembled. Fresh blood dripped from his nose, lips, and torn brow, soaking his already tattered Nine Stars uniform.

"No..." he mumbled, his voice broken, almost like a suppressed sob. The tremor wasn’t from anger anymore, but from something much deeper. "This isn’t possible... I... I should have... I was always stronger... always..."

In his heart, a more bitter voice echoed, ’I should have won. I always won in physical fights. I should have crushed you, like I always did when you were weak. When I could still beat you up in the academy hallways whenever I wanted.’

I looked at him. Total collapse in his eyes. The arrogance that had been his backbone was crushed. But I also saw something else—in the corner of my vision, a transparent timer blinked with red numbers: [00:08... 00:07...] Time was almost up. My skill would end soon.

I couldn’t waste any more time. I had to finish this now.

Maximus, seeing me run towards him, seemed to catch my intent. With the last of his strength, he forced himself up. He leaped, putting his entire body weight behind his clenched right fist.

The moment his body left the ground, our eyes connected for the last time. In the air, amidst the swirling dust and the remnants of our fight, I issued the command.

"Blank out."

Maximus froze. His eyes went completely void. His body, which was sailing through the air, suddenly became rigid, like a statue thrown in mid-air.

And I was already moving. My right leg swung forward with all the remaining strength left in my exhausted body. A straight kick, simple, brutal.

A fraction of a second before my kick landed, I sent the final release:

"Snap back."

His consciousness returned exactly as the sole of my combat boot smashed into his face.

SMACK!

A loud, harsh, satisfying sound.

Maximus’s face distorted momentarily under the impact. His eyes widened in shock and immeasurable pain. Blood sprayed from his nose and mouth. His still-airborne body was thrown backward like a ragdoll, flying several meters before crashing into a pile of concrete rubble behind him.

CRASH!

He didn’t get up. Didn’t move. Just lay still among the debris, one arm hanging limp, his face turned towards the simulator’s gray sky with closed eyes.

Then, his body began to glow. A yellow system extraction light enveloped him, faint at first, then growing brighter, signaling his condition had reached critical threshold and the system was ejecting him.

Before he vanished completely, in the last fraction of a second, I saw his swollen lips move, forming a single, soundless word I could easily guess: "How...?"

Then he was gone. Leaving behind only a bloodstain on the rubble and a sudden silence.

Maximus Treybern had been eliminated.

Outside the Dungeon Simulator.

The camera moved slowly, focusing on Adam’s face as he now stood alone in the middle of the arena, his shoulders rising and falling with heavy breaths, his face expressionless though his body was clearly on the verge of total exhaustion.

"VICTORYYYYY! ADAM SOCHERON WINS!" the Host screamed, his voice nearly hoarse. "WITH A MERCILESS FINAL KICK! HE HAS DEFEATED MAXIMUS TREYBERN, HIS OWN TEAMMATE! WHEN WILL WE EVER WITNESS TEAMMATES ATTACKING EACH OTHER LIKE THIS IN A TOURNAMENT?!"

The camera quickly panned to the Nine Stars contestants’ stand, specifically to Instructor Violet’s face. The woman sat with a stiff, upright back, her hands clenched so tightly in her lap that her knuckles were white. Her face was dark, eyebrows furrowed in near-explosive anger. Her lips were pressed tightly shut, but from the way her jaw worked, it was clear she was biting down hard to contain her fury.

"INSTRUCTOR VIOLET FROM NINE STARS SEEMS... NOT HAPPY," the Host commented in a knowing tone. "AND WHO COULD BLAME HER?"

The camera returned to me, who had finally allowed my body to collapse. I sat on the ground, leaning against the rubble, eyes closed. A pleasant blue transparent notification appeared in the corner of my vision:

[Quest: Revenge - Successfully Completed]

[You have received 3000 EXP.]

[Received Item: <Obedience Serum>]

[You have successfully leveled up to Level 61.]

[You have received 5 Stat Points.]