The Guild Master Whose Hobby Was Helping People Found Himself Surrounded by the Strongest, Overly Attached Members - 57

Chapter 57: Futate (Two Moves)

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A large man clad in armor. Clearly not an ordinary civilian, he pulled a sobbing child out from beneath the wreckage of a destroyed food stall with a single arm.

“You’re safe now! Go on, hold them tight with your muscles!”

He handed the child over to the mother crouching on the ground. With tears welling in her eyes, the woman’s trembling hand reached out and touched Ragnar’s forearm.

“Such…Such incredible muscles…!”

“No, it’s nothing special. This is the result of daily training! All thanks to Leader Shin, who guides me!”

Amid the never-ending chaos on the street, Ragnar rolled his shoulders and turned his gaze toward the plaza. All around, bandits were pillaging. He could sense that Leon and the others were active somewhere, but they were not near the plaza.

“Well then…What kind of muscular meaning lies behind the trial that Leader Shin spoke of—”

“There are things that cannot be explained with muscles.”

When Ragnar turned around, he saw a man standing on top of the rubble at the end of the street. Slight of build, yet his stance was taut, and an extraordinary aura radiated from his entire body. He wore a black leather robe with a small metal insignia. On the left side of his chest, a title was engraved.

“It seems there are a few who would interfere with us. …I am Futate. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“Then I suppose I am Muscle. You may call me Muscle Ragnar!”

“…What is with this guy?”

Futate gave a thin smile, and two numeric emblems floated up around him. The same marks appeared on Ragnar’s body.

“This is…Is this some kind of tattoo, perhaps?”

The moment he muttered, one of the blue marks engraved on his body turned red.

“…I am one who governs numbers. Those who face me are, for a set time, unable to perform more than two actions simultaneously. …There are only three choices. Someone like you, who speaks reflexively, will surely be cornered right away.”

“What… And what happens if I break that rule?”

At Ragnar’s question, Futate’s lips curled into a crooked smile.

“It’s simple. Your bodily functions will shut down, one by one.”

“…Bodily functions?”

“Shall we test it? Just now, you spoke and you asked a question. That’s two moves. If next you—”

At that instant, Ragnar lightly rolled his shoulder. Immediately, the remaining mark turned red, and the air grew heavy. Ragnar’s breathing faltered faintly.

“…It feels like… My lungs are tightening…!”

Clenching his fist, he frowned at the shallowness of his breath. A heaviness pressed deep within his lungs, oxygen refusing to circulate properly. It was as if invisible hands were squeezing him from the inside.

“You have now chosen three: speaking, questioning, and moving. Under my rule, the instant you exceed three actions, a part of your body is locked down. First comes your breathing. Next, your sight. Finally, your heart.”

“Mm…”

Futate spoke dispassionately. The composure in his voice only made it all the more unsettling.

“To think… You would dare place restrictions on muscles…!”

Ragnar gritted his teeth against the pressure slowly crushing his chest. If he allowed his breathing to grow ragged here, he might trigger another restriction.

“This state will be lifted with time. But, most cannot endure even the first. Overcome with pain, they move without thinking, raise their voices, lash out. As a result, their sight is destroyed, and at the end their heart stops. That’s how it goes. Constraint makes humans easy to break.”

Sweat beaded on Ragnar’s forehead. Yet his gaze held a strange calm. Seconds ticked by, and suddenly the pressure on his chest lightened.

“…It’s gone.”

“Oh…”

Futate lifted a brow.

“…Calm, aren’t you? I thought a muscle-brain like you would panic far sooner.”

Ragnar spread his arms wide and struck his chest hard.

“Muscles are not just for training! Muscles also possess the power to endure!”

“…And with that, you’ve already spent two actions again.”

“I see!”

Whether he understood the rules or not, Ragnar’s carefree attitude caused Futate to waver slightly.

“In that case, let’s test one more thing.”

Ragnar raised his voice.

“Right now, I have spoken, I have acted, and with this next question, the first restriction should apply. But in truth, I am already engaging in one more action—one that could potentially be counted.”

“And that is—”

“—Thought.”

Futate’s eyes narrowed. He had taken him for a mere musclehead, but surprisingly, the man was reading the situation carefully.

“…Sharp of you. Yes, thought does not count. Thinking is unlimited. Think as much as you like.”

It wasn’t wariness—it was pure analysis. At this moment, Futate’s evaluation of Ragnar shifted, silently and without sound.

“…I see. So you are testing the meaning of each action one by one. Not relying purely on muscle-bound violence, but in an orderly fashion.”

“Of course!”

Ragnar snorted and thrust out his chest proudly. With the passing of time, the emblem that had calmed now glowed faintly again, then turned red.

“Muscles are logic! They are the crystallization of discipline, adaptation, and optimization! To verbalize each movement, to record it, to memorize it, to reproduce it, that is muscle. At the end of that road lies true muscle!”

A twitch pulled at the corner of Futate’s cheek.

“…I don’t quite understand, but it seems I mustn’t be fooled by the thickness of your arms.”

“Listen well!”

Ragnar stepped forward heavily with his right foot.

“You believe you’ve imposed a restriction, stolen my options, and burdened me with constraint! But that is…!”

The restriction lifted with the passage of time, and he thrust his fist high.

“On the contrary, it means that if I hone the three I can use to their utmost, I will become muscle without waste!”

“…What?”

“Two-move binding, one-move binding, it makes no difference to me!”

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