SSS Talent: From Trash to Tyrant Chapter 520: Trafalgar vs Sand Worm [IV]

In a flash, the bulge surged across the final expanse of shattered sand, and the worm exploded upward, driven by the furious might of its colossal form. Dunes crumbled while rocks splintered beneath the sheer power of its ascent. The round mouth yawned into a nightmarish chasm of shredded flesh and fractured fangs, even broader than earlier since Trafalgar had widened it so, exposing the pale, tender lining vulnerable beneath the gloom of its gullet.

That instant arrived.

Trafalgar lunged forward.

Mana surged through Maledicta with such ferocity that the sword appeared to suck the surrounding air into its edge. The atmosphere compressed around him until only the worm's gaping jaws and the trajectory he had meticulously prepared throughout the battle remained in focus. He had anticipated its movements on the surface, tracked it underground, methodically shredded its mouth bit by bit, and lured it into the precise assault he desired. What followed held no element of chance.

[Morgain’s Final Crescent]

The slash erupted from him in a single merciless arc.

An upside-down crescent of condensed energy ripped skyward along the core path of the worm's lunge. The blade sliced through the soft seam buried deep in the throat, where natural armor yielded to weaker innards, and the immense pressure of the skill detonated across the remainder of its form mere moments after.

The worm didn't halt right away.

Its inertia propelled it onward for a split second longer, jaws agape, bulk still overwhelming, as though a creature of that scale couldn't yet grasp its own demise.

Then the cut asserted itself.

Starting from the throat, the beast cleaved open.

The tear propagated through meat, armored segments, hidden sinews, and all that had rendered the monster unassailable instants prior. The noise was grotesque, a blend of ripping tissue and crumbling rock. The carcass parted into two massive sections that slammed down around him, one crashing leftward, the other rightward, each impact quaking the vast desert expanse.

Trafalgar remained at the center.

For a single breath, nothing but the dying reverberation of the blow and the slick, slumping sounds of the worm's guts spilling into the scorching air reached his ears.

Thus, the battle concluded.

The obsidian armor faded away first. Dark panels fragmented into shadowy particles that dispersed into the wind until just his regular garb lay exposed underneath. Maledicta dissolved shortly after, crumbling from sword to mana particles in his grip before fully disappearing. Bereft of the sword and armor's support, the toll of his feat crashed upon his frame instantly. His breaths grew labored. Mana depletion didn't overwhelm him—not with the Primordial Body and other enhancements bolstering him—but the fatigue lingered undeniably.

Ahead and behind sprawled the two bisected portions of the sand worm, each a wreckage of torn flesh, busted plates, and guts steaming as they oozed onto the sandy wastes. Heavy strands of viscera drooped into the dunes. Thick rivulets of dark blood seeped into the sands, staining the golden terrain nearly ebony in spots. The stench assaulted him next, rank and steaming, profound as if rooted in the ground itself.

Trafalgar shifted his gaze from one segment to the other.

He had finished his quarry.

That fact stood evident.

Far less obvious was the method for hauling that behemoth back to be assessed.

'How in the world do I manage this?'

The notion carried such incredulity that he exhaled wearily through his nostrils. He approached one of the mangled parts and squatted next to it, hoping mere closeness might diminish the challenge. It didn't. The mass stayed gigantic. Halved or not, it resembled a toppled terrain feature more than a haul suitable for a trainee.

Trafalgar extended a hand, seized the rim of a plated band, and tugged.

It budged.

Hardly.

The bulk scraped forward with a sodden rasp, a stark reminder that he faced tons of beast rather than a mere wolf pelt to toss across his back.

He rose and scanned the barren dunes, almost anticipating the wasteland to jeer at his triumph undone by mere transport. Scorching waves swept over the ruined sands. Gusts swept fine grit across the blood-soaked earth. No convenient aid lurked nearby.

High overhead, Eryndor had observed the spectacle with gleeful relish from the initial clash onward. Seeing Trafalgar slay the worm proved gratifying. Witnessing his struggle to shift one severed chunk afterward grew even more amusing.

He chuckled sharply and turned to Kaelen.

"Send me there."

Kaelen offered no reply. He merely raised a hand and executed the transfer.

The arid air shimmered nearby Trafalgar, and Eryndor materialized at his side, emerging as if from the haze of heat waves.

Trafalgar whipped around at once, his hand instinctively rising halfway before identifying the newcomer.

"Director Eryndor?" A frown creased his brow. "Why are you here? Has something gone wrong? Did I mess up somehow?"

Eryndor cast a quick look at one severed half of the worm, then shifted his gaze back to him. "No, Trafalgar. I'm here to haul the worm."

Trafalgar blinked in surprise, evidently caught off guard by the response. "Shouldn't that be my job?"

Eryndor shot him a deadpan stare. "You can just claim that my strike during sparring left you too hurt to lift anything this size. Let me handle it."

The idea struck Trafalgar as so absurd that he nearly shot back without thinking. 'But then how do I account for hunting it down if I'm supposedly wounded? Still, no one's likely to challenge a director's statement.'

His eyes returned to the corpse.

Then to Eryndor.

Then to the corpse once more.

Words failed him at that point.

This was genuine aid on Eryndor's part. Nothing more, nothing less.

And Trafalgar had zero interest in faking gratitude right then.

"...Fine," Trafalgar finally muttered.

A subtle twitch pulled at Eryndor's lips, satisfied by the absence of resistance, so he skipped any further ribbing. He moved to the closest worm segment, positioned a foot next to it, and crouched as though ready to hoist a mere nuisance instead of a ridiculously massive load.

But before he could act, Kaelen's voice boomed over the whole hunting area, transmitted via mana with such clarity that it echoed from everywhere and nowhere specific.

"One hour remains until the exam concludes. Begin delivering your slain beasts for judging."

The call swept through desert sands, forest depths, lake shores, and shattered rocks without distinction.

Trafalgar tilted his head up at the proclamation.

One hour.

Plenty of time these days.

The toughest challenge lay conquered behind him.