Arthur stood still. Unhurried.
Anyone who had played games on Earth, even those who sucked at them like he did, knew one thing:
Battle royales were challenging.
But it was a different case if the goal was survival of the fittest.
For him, what he usually did in such matches was hide, get as much gear as possible, then when the zone shrank to nearly the smallest size, he would appear and shoot down all the bastards whose lives were nearly depleted.
So why couldn't he do the same here and save his strength?
'I know Mom and my sisters are watching, but I can show them something amazing later.'
He channeled color into his dimensional ring as a picnic mat and basket appeared, already set.
He sat on the mat, poured himself some tea, and took some cookies.
"As the British would say: delicious." He took another sip.
A minute passed, then—
Rustle.
A figure emerged from the bushes to his side.
"Put your hands up, you motherfuck—"
