Demonic Pornstar System novel Chapter 917

Chapter 917: Definitely-Not-Yuna’s Masterplan

Yuna Park stood in the middle of a thinning battlefield, forty strangers waiting on her word, and gave them the worst recruitment speech in guild history.

"We don’t catch her. Nobody in this hall catches her. Every wave we send in is going to end up flat on the padding."

The halberd woman lowered her weapon an inch. "Inspiring so far."

"Shush. I’m not done." Yuna kept her eyes on the far half of the arena, where Luna had just returned three more optimists to the floor without taking her hands out of her pockets. "Watch her feet. She never lands in the same place twice, but she always lands somewhere."

"Of course. She’s moving, not teleporting."

"Exactly." Yuna nodded, as if her point was proven. "And anything that moves follows rules."

"So we lose," the stocky man said slowly, flexing his bracers.

"Everyone who engages her most likely loses, so I need you to hear it from me now instead of discovering it mid-air." She turned to face the group and gave it to them straight, because these people were about to donate their bodies to her gamble, and they’d earned the truth.

"But if you lose standing in the right spot, we can win. Every dodge we force tells me where she can’t go next. You’re not attackers but walls. Lanes. You’re the shape of a box she doesn’t know we’re building."

The group went quiet. Across the hall, another coordinated squad came apart against Calypso to the sound of her delighted laughter.

"Losing with a plan." The halberd woman rolled the idea around her mouth, then grinned. "Beats getting farmed at random by a bratty girl half my age who called me a pussy."

"Why do you even have that thing?" the stocky man asked her, nodding at the halberd.

"Nobody said I couldn’t bring it." She shrugged. "I always have them on me."

"I brought my lucky socks," a ranged caster said, with quiet grief.

Yuna raised her voice a notch. "If you can summon your own weapon, now’s the time."

"...We’re no S-tiers," people grumbled at her.

Roughly one twentieth of them could summon a weapon of sorts. Mana flared here and there, a broadsword condensing out of amber light, a chain whip sliding from a woman’s sleeve, a bow assembling itself out of woven green threads.

Yuna brought her fist to her lips and whispered into it, an assassin’s habit.

"I’m no S-tier either, but thankfully... [Frostfang.]"

Cold snapped inward from the air around her wrists, and twin daggers built themselves into her grip, blue-white and steaming frost.

The Sinners cast without a single word, all of them, like the rules were a subscription they’d canceled. The rest of humanity still had to ask.

"We have one chance," Yuna said. "Let’s go."

The first wave lost in eleven seconds, four seconds longer than any squad before them, and every one of them hit the floor without a single broken bone. Luna dismantled them with her feet alone, spinning through the pack like a bored figure skater.

"Finally some of you organized..." she yawned theatrically.

The second wave went in before the first had finished groaning, and behind them Yuna’s ranged line opened up, bolts and arrows and thin lances of fire streaking across the arena to land where nobody stood. They were shooting the spaces. The comfortable gaps Luna liked to flicker into began arriving pre-occupied, and her landings shortened.

And the numbers kept coming. Every squad Calypso wrecked on the far side shed dazed stragglers who drifted toward the only voice in the hall with a plan attached to it, until Yuna was placing sixty people around the arena like furniture.

"Definitely-Not-Yuna says the second line HOLDS!" the stocky man bellowed somewhere to her left.

"Copy! Tell Definitely-Not-Yuna the left lane is closed!"

The name had escaped containment. She would grieve later.

Yuna herself worked the edges of the box, low and quiet. Wherever Luna’s boots touched down twice, she skated past and pressed a palm to the floor, leaving a skin of ice thin enough to be invisible and slick enough to matter. The trick was stolen from hours of watching a silver-haired mage on stream deny monsters their escape routes one placed shot at a time.

By the third wave, she stopped directing from the back and went in herself.

She came in low on Luna’s blind side with both daggers reversed, a probing pass, and lasted four full seconds in melee range before the counter-kick arrived. She read it early, rode the impact into a backward roll, and came up on her feet with her cap still on.

The hall noticed. Four seconds was a record by roughly four seconds.

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