The prizes ranged from one hundred to ten thousand, but most of the time, they amounted to no more than a hundred or two as encouragement.
As for the ten-thousand-plus prize, there might not be a single winner among all the authors on the platform. The odds were hardly better than buying a random lottery ticket on the street.
So I never brought up monthly votes-there was no way to gather enough anyway.
That was what the veterans in the authors' group told me. All I could do was smile bitterly.
A howl came from the end of the passage.
"A monster... he's a monster!"
The man drenched in crimson raised his longsword and slashed forward with the last of his strength.
A sharp metallic clang rang out. The blade shattered into countless fragments that spun through the air in every direction.
Several sharp shards sliced through his skin, drawing warm beads of blood and taking with them the last breath of strength keeping him upright.
He crashed to the ground, and dark liquid swiftly soaked the floor beneath him.
The last soldier of King Riku's army still standing had fallen.
The arena fell deathly silent.
It was not that the residents of Dressrosa could not accept defeat.
They had considered that they might lose, but never expected to lose so... utterly.
That muscular man in sunglasses had not even truly "made a move."
He had merely walked forward, knocking people aside with his body, or simply stood still and let their blades strike him.
Then his attackers were sent flying, bounced away, and fell one after another.
A hundred elite soldiers, gone just like that.
What a terrifying sight-even in this stretch of sea known as the "New World,"
for ordinary people, Vergo, who could wield the power