Chapter 103

Chapter 103
## Chapter 103

### Chapter Title: Biased Judgment

—

The competition had officially kicked off. Han Sang-ah was tearing through the opening brackets with seamless precision.

Her opponents were hunters who had earned decent reputations within their local territories, yet the disparity in raw capability was glaringly obvious.

In a flash, and without any significant hurdles, Han Sang-ah advanced to the semifinals and stepped onto the designated combat stage. Her challenger took his position across the floor from her.

— Alright, let the match begin!

This particular duel prohibited the use of external gear and barred the activation of unique ability patterns. Success depended entirely on a participant’s internal mana reserves and their fundamental martial expertise.

The moment the starting signal echoed, Han Sang-ah’s rival lunged forward, throwing a heavy punch with his gauntlets. Simultaneously, Han Sang-ah unsheathed her blade to meet the assault.

A sharp whistle suddenly cut through the air, causing Han Sang-ah to abort her counter-move. Her opponent, however, did not stop. The momentum of his gauntlet connected squarely with her temple, sending her tumbling backward. She skidded across the arena floor several times before stabilizing her stance.

“Ugh.”

Han Sang-ah felt a brief wave of dizziness before casting a sharp look toward the referee. To her surprise, the official made no move to penalize the blatant late hit.

She immediately signaled for attention.

“Official, my rival proceeded with his strike well after the cessation whistle was blown.”

The referee performed a perfunctory check of his device before dismissing her claim with a shake of his head.

“The data indicates that no such violation occurred.”

Han Sang-ah fixed a cold, neutral stare on her adversary while reaching up to tidy her messy hair.

A panel of three officials was responsible for identifying breaches of the regulations.

“I am formally requesting a video playback review.”

The panel offered no verbal resistance and initiated the playback, projecting the recorded footage of the exchange for all to see.

“….”

The reality was undeniable: the footage Han Sang-ah was observing had been doctored. Her memory of the encounter was crystal clear.

She had distinctly heard the official’s signal to pause before the impact landed. Yet, in this digital rendition, the opponent’s fist connected a fraction of a second prior to the whistle—by the narrowest of margins.

“Proceed with the bout.”

Recognizing the futility of further protest, Han Sang-ah remained silent. The visual evidence directly refuted her recollection, and the judges had declared the strike legitimate.

Her thoughts turned inward. If the video evidence was being fabricated so brazenly, this wasn’t a mere oversight by the officiating crew.

They were actively tipping the scales in favor of her opponent. This corruption likely extended beyond the referees themselves.

‘They are determined to ensure I do not claim victory.’

An organized match was a far cry from a life-and-death struggle. Yoo Chan-seok had emphasized that distinction during her training. While the context was slightly different, Han Sang-ah was now feeling the weight of that lesson.

This was a regulated sport overseen by third parties.

“One can suffer a loss even when they possess the power to win.”

Han Sang-ah readjusted her grip on her sword and reset her combat posture. These rigged circumstances were out of her hands.

Regardless of the slanted rules, she was committed to winning this encounter.

‘Even if they continue to falsify the recordings.’

There were boundaries to such deception. If a discrepancy was subtle enough that a casual observer wouldn’t catch it, tampering could go unnoticed.

However, if an incident was so obvious that the crowd began to voice doubts, they wouldn’t be able to hide the truth.

“It seems your status in the world far exceeds your actual prowess,” her opponent remarked.

With a resonant metallic ring, he slammed his gauntlets together and smirked.

“Publicity and actual capability are rarely in perfect alignment.”

Han Sang-ah conceded the point without hesitation. It was an objective fact.

“What’s this? Are you trying to act like an underdog now?”

“I have made no such claim.”

She was merely stating a reality. She had never suggested she was lacking in power. Han Sang-ah found it baffling that her opponent felt the need to misinterpret her words so aggressively.

‘One definitive, flawless strike.’

That had been the core of Yoo Chan-seok’s guidance, and she felt it resonated perfectly with her personal combat philosophy.

The same logic applied here. A war of attrition meant to slowly drain an enemy’s resolve wasn’t her forte. That was more in line with Yoo Chan-seok’s method.

Han Sang-ah tightened her hold on her weapon and gracefully sidestepped the incoming trajectory of the heavy gauntlets.

His lunges failed to even graze her. No matter how much the judging favored the “standard” play, the gap in their refined combat experience was a chasm.

Eventually, enough mana had surged into Han Sang-ah’s blade to end the fight in a single motion.

“?!”

Just as she prepared to commit to the strike, the pause whistle shrieked again. Respecting the protocols, she reluctantly allowed the concentrated energy in her sword to dissipate.

“What is the justification for this pause?”

She lowered her practice blade and sought an explanation.

“A technical glitch was reported in the arena’s recording array. We are conducting a manual reset. This is mandatory to ensure the integrity of the match.”

Upon hearing this, Han Sang-ah didn’t bother to argue. The officials were clearly working against her. Making a scene would only provide them with a reason to penalize her.

“Understood.”

The timing of the interruption was transparently suspicious to any onlooker. However, no bystander could accurately measure the exact density of mana she had channeled into her weapon.

The duel resumed.

She realized she had to navigate the fight with extreme caution. With the regulations heavily weighted toward her rival, even a move that merely looked like a foul could end in her dismissal.

Her opponent could ignore the rules without consequence, whereas she might be flagged for violations even while playing perfectly by the book. It was a blatantly tilted playing field.

“It makes no difference.”

She had committed every tournament regulation to memory. She was certain she could secure a win while staying strictly within the lines. Compared to the unpredictable hazards of the Rank-1 Erosion Cores she had conquered, these petty tricks were manageable.

If they were going to interrupt a finishing blow, she would simply aim to deliver overwhelming damage in a single, lightning-fast exchange. That would be far more difficult for them to sabotage.

‘If I prepare a long-winded attack, they will just disrupt me again.’

They would wait until the very last millisecond to blow the whistle. Then, they would label her follow-through as a foul and disqualify her on the spot.

A loud metallic crash rang out as Han Sang-ah’s sword met her opponent’s gauntlet.

“Winning is an impossibility for you. The outcome of this fight was decided before we stepped out here,” her rival whispered with arrogant certainty, as if he were privy to the script.

“You’re just going to get beaten down until you’re tossed out. The second you try to build up mana for a real hit, the judges will cut you off.”

Han Sang-ah offered no retort, sliding backward to create distance before resetting her feet. Moments later, her opponent lowered his center of gravity and bolted toward her.

‘If raw strength is being suppressed…’

She would weaponize his own momentum. It wasn’t a full application of ihwajipmok, but through the grueling drills under Yoo Chan-seok’s tutelage, she had learned to execute similar techniques—diverting an enemy’s force—at will.

Actually, she didn’t even need those maneuvers.

A counter-attack. A single, perfectly synchronized counter-strike. She used all her senses to track the enemy’s movement, pinpointing the exact moment of peak impact.

Then, she commanded her body to move with absolute efficiency, leaving no room for error.

“Now.”

She swung her blade in a trajectory that seemed to lack the typical velocity or power required for a knockout.

“Gr… haaah!”

The flat of her sword crashed into her opponent’s ribs just as he committed to his punch. A sickening crack resonated through the arena, the vibration of breaking bone traveling through the blade and into her palms.

‘A perfect connection. This is over.’

It wasn’t a half-hearted defense. Her sword had followed a mathematically precise arc at the ideal moment, hitting the most vulnerable target.

With a dull thud, the charging man lost his footing and went sprawling across the floor.

Only after he hit the ground did a late, irrelevant whistle sound. It was obvious to everyone present that Han Sang-ah had landed her strike well before the signal. Furthermore, because she had used the flat of the blade rather than the edge, his trauma was limited to severe bruising—excruciatingly painful, but not fatal.

“The winner is Hunter Han Sang-ah.”

Despite the heavily biased environment, the officials could find no plausible way to deny her the victory.

“I wonder how Jeong No-hun is managing his side,” Han Sang-ah mused to herself as she exited the combat stage. If she was facing systemic interference, he undoubtedly was as well.

And given that Jeong No-hun’s temperament was nothing like hers, his reaction would likely be far more explosive.

—

Jeong No-hun had realized the officials were delivering skewed judgments almost immediately after his match began.

“Kim Sun-hyeok, was that your name?”

He danced around his opponent’s strike with effortless fluidity while speaking.

“What about it?”

Jeong No-hun flashed a slow, mocking grin.

“You used to have a girl working under you back in the day, right?”

He had already performed a deep dive into the backgrounds of every hunter in his qualifying bracket. His rival’s expression instantly turned stone-cold.

“You little prick.”

“I heard she vanished from the scene about two years back… Turns out there’s an abortion on her medical record.”

Jeong No-hun watched him with a bored, detached look.

“The dates seem to line up perfectly with when you went MIA from that guild job.”

Kim Sun-hyeok’s lunges became increasingly frantic and violent. However, Jeong No-hun moved just enough to let the strikes miss by hairsbreadths, refusing to stop his verbal assault.

“I guess swinging your equipment comes more naturally to you than swinging that hammer, you piece of garbage.”

Naturally, Jeong No-hun’s information-gathering tactics were far from ethical—bordering on criminal, in fact.

While Han Sang-ah had dismantled a corrupt system through honorable play and sheer mastery, Jeong No-hun was a different animal entirely. He had zero intention of meeting an unfair challenge with integrity.

His reputation as “Scum” wasn’t unearned. He was completely indifferent to the morality or legality of his approach.

“Hey Daddy, why did you leave Mommy behind? Why did you let me die before I was even born?”

“You absolute bastard!”

The opponent’s swings became utterly unhinged.

“If you put half the effort into your hammer technique that you put into being a degenerate, you might actually be a threat to me.”

Jeong No-hun stepped back from another reckless hammer strike, a mocking sneer plastered on his face.

Suddenly, Kim Sun-hyeok’s shadow began to churn and boil like a pot of black ink. Sharp blades and spears of darkness erupted from the ground.

“Oh, look at that.”

The whistle blew instantly. Trash-talking during a match wasn’t against the rules. However, activating a personal unique ability was a major violation.

“The tournament? To hell with it. I’m going to rip your tongue out of your head.”

Jeong No-hun didn’t bother responding with words. He adjusted his rifle on his shoulder and said,

“Go ahead and try, if you think you’re fast enough.”

He hadn’t baited the man out of desperation. This was simply the most efficient path to winning a rigged match.

— Hunter Kim Sun-hyeok is hereby disqualified for a gross violation of the regulations. The match is concluded. I repeat, the match is over.

Kim Sun-hyeok, blinded by rage, completely ignored the command. This meant the encounter was no longer a sanctioned match—it was a settled matter, and he had lost by default.

Engaging him now wouldn’t be considered part of the tournament. Jeong No-hun, as if he had been anticipating this exact moment, shifted his weight and dashed across the floor with fluid grace, entering the fray.

He had left his standard high-end gear behind, but mana-infused patterns were still on the table.

And without the handicap of one-sided officiating holding him back, he was confident he wouldn’t lose to a bottom-tier loser like this.

Fifteen minutes later, Jeong No-hun had completely neutralized him.

The berserker who had been lashing out with shadows moments ago was now pinned to the floor, having taken a bullet to each of his limbs.

Jeong No-hun emerged as the victor of his regional qualifiers. Both he and Han Sang-ah had secured their spots in the main event, each having dismantled the biased rules in their own distinct way.

Now, only Yoo Chan-seok was left to compete. Though they were at different sites, Han Sang-ah and Jeong No-hun both held the same conviction.

It would be nearly impossible for Yoo Chan-seok to lose.