SSS Talent: From Trash to Tyrant Chapter 519: Trafalgar vs Sand Worm [III]

High above the hunting grounds, the hovering projection displaying Trafalgar’s fight had seized the complete focus of the four directors.

The sand worm surged up through shattered dunes and bare rock, its maw darkened by the injuries inflicted beneath the surface. Facing it, Trafalgar remained in his black armor, Maledicta held low at his side, evaluating the modified landscape with the calm resolve of a man who knew the battle’s conclusion was set.

Selara released a gentle exhale through her smile. “So he went under. Huh. More creative than I gave him credit for.”

Eryndor’s lips quirked. “That’s the best part. He’s not trying to impress anyone, he’s literally fighting to kill it.”

Althea stayed silent initially. Her gaze locked onto the projection, on the blood staining the worm’s mouth, on how Trafalgar had inflicted far greater harm on the beast than his rank should permit. When she spoke at last, her voice remained steady. “It is still above him.”

Kaelen nodded slightly. “Prime rank.” His tone held no exaggeration, just truth. “The highest-ranked monster in this trial.”

Selara’s grin faded into genuine respect. “And yet he’s still there.”

“Because he wants first place,” Kaelen replied. “And the way he’s moving, he might actually take it.”

Eryndor uncrossed his arms. “He took a hit from me and kept going. A worm’s not going to be what stops him.”

Down in the desert, Trafalgar’s breathing stayed even within his helmet, even though the clash had drained more mana than he preferred. The worm had pulled him underground, almost pulverized him in its burrows, and demonstrated the brutal gap between Flow and Prime in true combat. Anticipating its movements had aided him. Knowing the fatal spot had aided even more. Yet neither erased the reality that a single error now could mean being devoured alive.

The jagged stone outcrops piercing the desert offered what the dunes had withheld earlier: solid ground, disrupted lines of sight, and spots forcing the monster to expose itself more fully upon surfacing. The blood tainting its mouth proved the wounds were genuine. The vulnerable seam discovered below was genuine. The challenge lay in prying it wide enough—and holding it that way long enough—for a lethal blow to connect.

The worm struck first.

Its massive form dove back into the sand, disappearing so utterly that the desert seemed vacant for a moment. Then the earth shook beneath Trafalgar’s feet. A broad, savage furrow sliced across the surface, speeding under him before veering off. Probing range. Gauging if the terrain shift had dulled his speed, if the underground brawl had disrupted his rhythm.

Trafalgar countered by advancing when it sought pause.

[Crosswind Edge] erupted from Maledicta, slashing low over the desert floor, stripping sand from the beast’s trajectory and carving a lengthy furrow across the top. The pressurized arc missed flesh. It achieved something superior. It stripped away cover for an instant and revealed the precise path of the assault.

There.

The worm exploded upward from his right in a massive curve, dragging half a dune along. Trafalgar leaped onto the closest stone ridge and slashed at an angle the moment the vulnerable throat came into range.

[Morgain’s Last Dusk]

Mana surged into Maledicta until the surrounding air vibrated with a piercing metallic whine. The upward stroke that ensued didn’t merely cut. It ripped. The blade carved through the worm’s neck side in a savage ascending path, shredding armored segments and meat alike before carving a gaping gash that wouldn’t seal.

The beast shrieked and slammed back into the sand with force enough to crack the rock under Trafalgar’s boots.

Good.

One.

Its healing would falter now, no elegance left.

He refused to savor the moment.

The creature remained superior in power. Quicker beneath the ground. Burdened with such bulk that even a brush could shatter half his frame if poorly angled. Prime rank wasn’t a mere label. It was an obstacle. He’d breached it, true, but the barrier stood unbroken.

Sand surged in his wake.

Trafalgar spun just ahead of the next rise. This time the worm lunged lower, forgoing an instant swallow and ramming with its forward bulk like a siege weapon. Maledicta blocked the collision with a jarring shock that rattled through his arm and shoulder, shoving him back a full step across the stone. His footing held. Just.

The worm coiled, jaws gaping broader as if the botched ram could seamlessly become a chomp.

Trafalgar yielded a step.

Then one more.

He craved that overreach.

A dark-blue surge of [Arc Slash] poured from Maledicta, crashing against the maw's forefront—not penetrating deeply enough to count, yet provoking irritation strong enough to wrench the jaws even wider. Just as anticipated, the monster lunged in a furious outburst, and Trafalgar retaliated with a blade thrusting upward right into the core of its charge.

[Morgain’s Last Dusk]

The second resonant hum sliced across the desert sands. This upward blow shredded the mouth's opposing flank, slashing beyond a single layer of barbed fangs to unleash a ferocious tear that defied closure. Onyx blood erupted over the rocks, steaming fiercely where it met the blistering dunes.

The worm jerked back savagely, hurling a whirlwind of dust skyward.

Two.

Accumulated harm now mounted effectively. The maw's surrounding flesh bore one rend below and two above, while the neck sported an unhealing gash. Each compelled gape rendered the subsequent injury more grotesque.

The worm vanished beneath the surface once more.

This occasion, the wasteland stayed eerily calm far longer. No instant stir. Only sweltering air, whispering winds, and faint cascades of grains tumbling from fractured inclines.

Trafalgar refrained from pursuit.

He positioned himself atop the protruding stone slab amid the desert and sensed vibrations via his frame rather than his hearing. A subtle quake emerged, more profound this time, arcing outward in a loop.

It was strategizing.

That suited him perfectly. A pain-maddened brute would charge recklessly and perish prematurely, prior to the terrain aligning to his design. An injured hunter seeking dominance would select its following assault with precision. Precisely his aim.

Finally, the rush erupted from ahead, initially subdued, almost cautious. Trafalgar spotted the subsurface trail and grasped its form a pulse ahead of emergence. This wasn't a fresh vertical snap. The worm aimed to burst low, scrape over the rock, and ensnare him in the ensuing sweep once balance faltered.

He delayed his dodge deliberately.

Its head exploded through in an extended ferocious spray, jaws parting as it barreled into his designated lane. Trafalgar glided along the ridge's brink, reality compressing to clamor, debris, and colossal force, then pivoted with the slash he'd withheld.

[Morgain’s Last Dusk]

The third cut ascended amid a piercing metallic screech, cleaving through the prior-wounded spot at the mouth's rim, delving far deeper than its predecessors. Tissue parted wide. Fangs crumbled. The laceration climbed into the vulnerable throat lining before the worm managed to twist free, and upon retreat, its maw lingered agape a beat too long, convulsing from the piled trauma.

Three.

Sufficient.

In frenzied torment, the creature dove under the sands, gouging a savage furrow through the wastes in its plunge. The earth quivered with each span of withdrawal. Crimson-black ichor drenched the fractured outcrop where Trafalgar held firm, viscous and reluctant to absorb.

He breathed out steadily.

Mana reserves dipped below his preference. His limb throbbed from each brutal impact. The worm endured, enraged, primed to slay him on any misjudgment ahead. None altered his triumph. The jaws failed to seal properly now. The inner throat would gape broader on the next swallow attempt. And with agony fueling its recklessness, it would assault fiercer than prior.

Ideal for his plan.

Silence blanketed the desert.

Trafalgar dropped Maledicta's tip and rooted his stance on the sturdiest stone expanse. He stayed immobile. Conserved every motion. Mana coalesced via armor, flesh, and sword—not in a blast, but a profound, steady influx thickening the air incrementally around him.

Beneath the dunes, the rumble resurfaced.

Nearer.

Vaster.

A linear bulge swelled across the surface now.

It barreled straight for him, hunger incarnate.

Trafalgar held position, ebony plate devouring sunlight as mana converged mutely upon Maledicta.

’Come on,’ he thought. ’Open that mouth one last time.’