LETS LEVEL UP 3 AND HACK THE SYSTEM

As Gojo and Sleipnir traveled through the vastness of space, the journey was interrupted by an unexpected notification from the system.

[MALEVOLENT SHRINE DISABLED]

The message caught Gojo off guard, and he quickly commanded Sleipnir to halt. As they came to a stop, Gojo furrowed his brow, trying to make sense of the situation. "Disabled?" he muttered, perplexed.

Curious and a bit concerned, Gojo read further into the message, and the reason became clear: Sukuna was sealed too deep within his soul. The realization hit him like a ton of bricks. The only reason he had been able to use Malevolent Shrine before was because Sukuna had allowed it—or more accurately, Gojo had borrowed it. But now, with Sukuna sealed so deeply within him due to the bath ritual, that connection had been severed.

Understanding the situation, Gojo felt a mix of frustration and intrigue. "So that's why I could use it," he said to himself, his tone thoughtful. "It wasn't fully mine to begin with… it was Sukuna's, and now he's out of reach."

With this newfound knowledge, Gojo, now fully aware of the situation with Malevolent Shrine, decided to take a moment to review his other abilities. He focused inward, particularly on the power he had recently acquired—Odin's Arm of Darkness from Final Fantasy XVI.

"Arm of Darkness…" Gojo muttered as he concentrated, trying to gauge his mastery over this new ability. He had seen the system rewards and knew that Zantetsuken, the devastating sword technique associated with Odin, had been unlocked at levels 1 through 5. But he had yet to actually use the technique in battle, and he needed to understand if the full potential of Arm of Darkness was within his grasp.

As he delved deeper into his connection with the ability, Gojo realized that while Zantetsuken had been unlocked and was available for use, the broader aspects of Arm of Darkness—its other techniques and potential applications—were still only partially realized. The power was there, dormant and waiting, but it required further mastery and understanding to unlock its full capabilities.

"So, Zantetsuken is ready whenever I need it," Gojo thought, "but the rest of Arm of Darkness… there's still more to uncover."

His thoughts then turned to the quest system that had been guiding and challenging him since his arrival in this galaxy. The system had been both a boon and a burden, offering rewards but also imposing penalties and quests that forced his hand. Gojo, however, wasn't one to be led around without his consent. He knew he needed to stay one step ahead, to outmaneuver the very system that sought to control his destiny.

"I've played by your rules long enough," Gojo murmured, his eyes narrowing as he contemplated his next move. "But it's time I started bending those rules to my advantage."

With 11 hours left before the Royal Naboo Starship arrived on Coruscant, Gojo decided to use this time to further his own agenda. His thoughts turned to Tyber Zann, the crime lord who might still be on Tatooine. If there was anyone who could help him gather the resources or information needed to outwit the system, it would be someone like Zann.

"Maybe I should look for his pub or base," Gojo considered. "But this isn't just about finding Zann—it's about outmaneuvering everyone, including the system itself."

With that decision made, Gojo de-summoned Sleipnir and began teleporting across Tatooine, using his abilities to quickly cover ground. He soon found himself in the bustling city of Mos Espa, the twin suns of Tatooine beating down on the dusty streets as he moved through the crowds. His senses were heightened, searching for any sign of Tyber Zann.

It wasn't long before Gojo found what he was looking for. In Chalmun's Cantina—one of the most famous bars in Mos Espa, known for its lively and often dangerous atmosphere—Gojo spotted Tyber Zann sitting at a table, deep in conversation with a group of associates. The bar was bustling with activity, filled with the usual mix of shady characters and questionable deals being made in every corner.

But what really caught Gojo's attention was the presence of Jabba the Hutt himself, holding court in a shadowy alcove of the cantina. Surrounded by his usual entourage of guards and sycophants, Jabba's imposing form loomed over the gathering, his deep, rumbling voice carrying over the din of the cantina as he conducted his business. It was clear that the crime lord was in the midst of something important, his bulbous eyes scanning the room as he issued orders and made deals.

"Well, this will be interesting," Gojo thought, a sly grin forming on his face as he prepared to make his move. With both Tyber Zann and Jabba the Hutt in the same place, the potential for chaos was high. And if there was one thing Gojo excelled at, it was turning chaos to his advantage.

As Gojo scanned the bustling cantina, preparing to make his move, a sudden, unmistakable sensation washed over him. It was a feeling he had only experienced once before—the first time he had encountered Anakin Skywalker. It was the presence of someone with immense potential, someone whose power could potentially rival Gojo's own, someone who, if properly trained, might even have the ability to kill him.

Intrigued and slightly unsettled by the realization, Gojo subtly shifted his gaze, searching for the source of this powerful aura. His eyes landed on a red Twi'lek female, gracefully moving through the crowded cantina. She was a dancer, her movements fluid and mesmerizing, captivating the attention of everyone around her. But there was something more to her, something that set her apart from the other performers.

As Gojo focused on her, he could sense the midichlorians within her—an almost overwhelming concentration, possibly enough to make her a force to be reckoned with, perhaps even lethal to someone of his own caliber if she were to be trained in the ways of the Force. Thanks to the reward of understanding the Force from his recent quest, Gojo's Six Eyes had reached a point where he could discern the exact number of midichlorians that every individual carried. This ability allowed him to instantly recognize the Twi'lek's extraordinary potential.

This realization struck Gojo deeply. He hadn't expected to encounter another being with such potential so soon after meeting Anakin. The thought that someone so seemingly unassuming could hold such power was both thrilling and disconcerting. If she were to fall into the wrong hands, she could become an extraordinary threat—perhaps even a danger to him.

"Interesting," Gojo thought to himself, his sly grin widening slightly. "This could be a game-changer. She might even be capable of killing me."

As Gojo continued to observe the Twi'lek dancer, the depth of her potential became even clearer to him. Her raw, untapped power was hidden beneath the guise of an ordinary entertainer, unnoticed by the many factions vying for control in the galaxy. She was a wildcard, one that could change the balance of power in unexpected ways.

As Gojo's thoughts lingered on the potential of the Twi'lek dancer, his attention was drawn to the commotion at a nearby table where Tyber Zann and Jabba the Hutt were engaged in a heated dice game. The table was surrounded by their respective entourages, each of them eyeing the dice with intense focus.

Jabba's deep, rumbling voice cut through the din of the cantina as he made his call in Huttese, "<Reddd! >"

Tyber Zann, not one to be outdone, responded with a confident smirk, "<Blueeee! >"

The announcer, a nervous-looking Rodian, held the dice above the table, his hands shaking slightly under the pressure. "Let's open the di—"

Before the Rodian could finish, the air in the cantina shifted as Gojo casually strolled over to the table, his presence immediately drawing the attention of everyone in the room.

"Hey, guys!" Gojo called out, his voice light and playful, but with an edge that silenced the room. The tension was palpable as all eyes turned to him.

Tyber Zann and Jabba the Hutt both recognized him instantly. Tyber's expression tightened as he remembered how Gojo had stormed the Lucky Despot single-handedly, while Jabba's gaze narrowed, recalling the time Gojo had wiped out 600 of his men with ease.

Jabba, ever cautious despite his confidence, rumbled in Huttese, "<Satoru Gojo... che je uba tah noleeya?>"

The translation droid at Jabba's side quickly interpreted, "Satoru Gojo... what brings you here?"

Tyber Zann, always the opportunist, leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing slightly as he addressed Gojo. "Gojo Satoru, are you here trying to join me in my conquest since you turned down my previous offer? With you at my—"

Before Tyber could finish, Gojo interrupted them both. "Alright, I've got a new game if you don't mind. How about you pit me against 1,000 people? Most people would think I'm gonna die, right?"

Jabba and Tyber Zann exchanged glances, both clearly unimpressed with the suggestion.

Jabba rumbled in Huttese, "<Cha Jee Kaa? Jee-jee dayc tah uba an baa gee power. Cha bana ceehonoy-chowbas!>"

The translation droid quickly added, "Are you an idiot? Everyone on Tatooine knows about you and your power. There won't be any challengers."

Tyber Zann nodded in agreement. "Besides, from what I can see, you've just got some new muscle," he said, referring to Gojo's now more imposing physique. "It's making people even less likely to take that fight."

Gojo, unfazed, leaned in with a sly grin. "How about this: I go in disguise—black blindfold, beggar's clothes, black hair. No one will know it's me. What do you say?"

Tyber Zann's eyes gleamed with opportunity. He turned to Jabba, speaking in Huttese, "<Dis slimo wa jalayka. Jee-jee dooa lanka konkee uba dice game. Dobra peecha!>"

The translation droid interpreted, "This will be a good opportunity. We can postpone our dice game. Besides, this is a guaranteed winning bet."

Jabba, always cautious, rumbled back in Huttese, "<Wha nobata chee Jee-jee chassk nahal'shya. Nobata cha Jee-jee, Gojo Satoru, hisee doth kiuna speecsa…>"

The droid translated, "What about his power? Everyone knows Gojo Satoru can create giant blue orbs and black lightning…"

Before the conversation could continue, Gojo surprised them both by speaking in perfect Huttese, "<Jee-jee che koa bona tee wonga chee. Jee-jee nobata hat. Nobata kee nopa kayk tytung uba.>"

The droid was momentarily stunned but quickly translated, "I've got another skill set, and I can guarantee you, no one will know that Gojo is fighting in the arena."

Jabba, clearly impressed and amused, rumbled proudly in Huttese, "<Bohka! Bohka Jee-vee! Jee tah koee woyumba! Ah, Gojo Satoru, nobata baha woyumo che uba kee caayahkaa toosahn.>"

The droid translated with a sense of pride in its voice, "Looks like the hero is going down the business path. Welcome to the family, Gojo Satoru. You'll fit right in."

Gojo then casually asked, "<Da dancer Twi'lek. Pateesa chee wonkee tah?>"

The droid translated, "The dancer Twi'lek. Who owns her?"

Jabba's expression shifted slightly, a mix of interest and calculation. He responded in Huttese, "<Da Twi'lek. She wonkee tah mo tee Jee wa. Mo kee che duba hat Jee-vee, Ziro. Jee-jee baa mah loz tah.>"

The droid interpreted, "That Twi'lek belongs to my family. Specifically, to my uncle, Ziro. He would be furious if I wagered her."

Jabba's eyes gleamed with the thought of potential payback against his uncle. The rivalry within the Hutt clan was well known, and this could be the perfect opportunity for Jabba to get one over on Ziro. He rumbled again in Huttese, "<Wa uba chee baha woyumo. Chay doth koocho.>"

The droid translated, "Let's put her on the table. I want payback against him."

Gojo simply smiled, thinking to himself, "Looks like I've got two birds with one stone."

With that, Gojo extended his hand, shaking hands first with Jabba, then with Tyber Zann, sealing the deal that would soon shake the underworld of Tatooine.

As the deal was sealed with a handshake, Gojo felt a surge of anticipation. The plan was set, and soon enough, he found himself in a preparation room—one of the many hidden chambers beneath Chalmun's Cantina where fighters were prepped before stepping into the arena. The room was dimly lit, the walls lined with various weapons and armor, though none of it was meant for him.

Tyber Zann, true to his word, had provided Gojo with the necessary disguise. Gojo stood in front of a cracked mirror, now dressed in tattered beggar's clothes, a black blindfold covering his eyes, and his normally white hair dyed a dark, unremarkable black. He looked nothing like the legendary Satoru Gojo—just another down-and-out fighter looking for a chance.

As Tyber Zann finished adjusting the final details of the disguise, he gave Gojo a stern look. "Remember, under no circumstances are you to use your original abilities. If anyone catches on that it's you, the entire plan is blown."

Gojo, ever the carefree spirit, simply smirked. "Heh, all right, boy. Let's get this show on the road."

Tyber Zann, satisfied but still cautious, turned to leave the room, but Gojo's voice stopped him in his tracks.

"One last thing," Gojo added, his tone suddenly serious. "Tell Jabba I don't want the winning money. All I care about is that Twi'lek. That's all."

Tyber Zann's eyes gleamed with satisfaction. This arrangement meant more winnings for him, with no need to split the profits. He nodded, a grin spreading across his face. "Consider it done," he said before leaving the room.

As Tyber Zann exited the room, leaving Gojo alone, the atmosphere shifted. The air seemed to crackle with a new kind of energy, one that Gojo was all too familiar with. His gaze, hidden behind the black blindfold, sharpened as a new notification from the system appeared before him, the words glowing faintly in the dim light of the room.

[QUEST INITIATED]

Title: Another Chosen One

Objective: Recruit the Twi'lek as your disciple using any method possible.

Penalty for Failure: None

Reward: Midichlorian Manipulation

(Grants the ability to raise or lower someone's midichlorian count. Warning: Removing all midichlorians will result in death.)

[Optional Quest: Unknown]

Gojo's lips curled into a wicked grin as he read the quest. "Gotcha, you son of a bitch," he muttered under his breath, recognizing the game the system was playing. But he wasn't one to be outmaneuvered so easily.

With a quick, silent motion, Gojo summoned the Dharma Wheel inside his body. This was no ordinary technique—it was a calculated move to target the system itself. By using Sukuna as a burden within the Dharma Wheel, Gojo aimed to draw on the cursed energy and adaptation abilities that Sukuna had honed over centuries. The goal was to adapt to and potentially disrupt the system's influence over him.

As the Dharma Wheel spun silently within him, Gojo felt the energies beginning to intertwine. Sukuna's presence, though trapped deep within Gojo's soul, provided a wellspring of power that Gojo could exploit. The cursed energy from Sukuna began to fuel the adaptation process, allowing Gojo to fine-tune his connection to the system.

Gojo could feel the system's influence pushing back, trying to assert control over the situation, but with each rotation of the Dharma Wheel, he was steadily gaining ground. The adaptation rewards were working in his favor, allowing him to subtly shift the balance of power within his own body.

"Let's see how you like it when the tables are turned," Gojo thought, his grin never fading as he prepared to face the upcoming challenge with a new sense of purpose. The system had given him a task, but now it was Gojo who was pulling the strings.

As the Dharma Wheel continued to spin, silently empowering Gojo from within, he knew that the upcoming fight wasn't just about winning in the arena—it was about outmaneuvering the system, claiming his rewards, and shaping his own destiny, no matter what obstacles stood in his way.

In the arena of Mos Espa, the atmosphere was electric with excitement and anticipation. The crowds had gathered in droves, eager to witness the spectacle that was about to unfold. A protocol droid stood at the center, its mechanical voice booming across the arena.

"The Great Jabba welcomes you to this arena and brings you to this glorious event—a once-in-a-lifetime spectacle: one blind beggar versus 1,000 armed men!"

The crowd erupted in cheers, their bloodlust palpable as they eyed the lone figure standing in the center of the arena. The protocol droid continued, "The Great Jabba wants to know if there are any more volunteers? The Great Jabba will give the 1,000 winners 10,000 credits each, if they can kill this beggar."

The cheers grew even louder, the crowd eager to see the beggar meet his end. But behind that unassuming appearance was Gojo Satoru, his mind focused, his senses sharp. Beneath the blindfold, his eyes twinkled with dangerous amusement. He could feel the hostility radiating from the crowd and the bloodlust of the volunteers.

"Well, this is going to be fun," Gojo thought to himself, a sly smile forming on his lips beneath the blindfold. The odds were stacked against him—or so they thought.

In the royal box, Jabba the Hutt sat flanked by Tyber Zann, Ziro the Hutt, and two other members of the Hutt clan: Gardulla the Hutt and Marlo the Hutt. The atmosphere in the box was one of relaxed confidence, with the Hutts indulging in their usual vices as they watched the proceedings below.

Ziro the Hutt leaned over to Jabba, his voice dripping with curiosity as he spoke in Huttese, "<Koona faa Jabba, koolee uba see tah wonkee?>"

The translation droid at Jabba's side quickly translated, "Who do you favor to win, Jabba?"

Jabba's deep, rumbling voice responded in Huttese, "<Tah nee bahchee bantha poodoo. Mah see tee dah tah beggar. Jee hat kah uba neu ha'nacha million credits. Tyber Zann jee naaa mah.>"

The translation droid added, "The beggar, of course. I put 100 million credits on him. And I'm certain Tyber Zann will do the same as me."

Suddenly, Tyber Zann leaned forward, speaking in English since Ziro could understand the language. "I want the Twi'lek from that cantina. I'll put another 2.5 million credits on the line."

Ziro's smile widened, a sinister gleam in his eyes as he responded, "Of course, I'll put that Twi'lek up. Shame I need to part with her."

But in Ziro's mind, his thoughts were far less agreeable. "There's no way I'm letting her out of my grip. She's still a virgin and valuable to me as a slave forever. Besides, that beggar looks weak—"

Before Ziro could finish his thought, the arena erupted in chaos. A hundred ninety of the armed men charging at the beggar suddenly collapsed, their bodies sliced cleanly in two. The crowd gasped in shock, and even the Hutts were momentarily stunned.

Jabba and Tyber Zann exchanged a glance, their expressions turning into satisfied grins as they watched the carnage unfold. The beggar in the center of the arena, who had seemed so unassuming moments before, now wielded a dark, ominous sword. The weapon's presence was palpable, its blade cutting through the air with lethal precision.

Jabba rumbled in Huttese, "<Mah see dah woyumba. Jee be tah choona.>"

The translation droid quickly added, "Looks like the beggar has some surprises. I knew he'd be worth the bet."

Tyber Zann nodded in agreement, his eyes fixed on Gojo as the beggar continued to decimate the ranks of the armed men. The arena was a sea of chaos, but to the seasoned eyes of Jabba and Tyber, it was clear that the beggar—Gojo—was in complete control.

Gojo's POV (Beggar Disguised):

As Gojo observed the carnage unfolding around him, a sly grin tugged at the corners of his lips beneath the beggar's disguise. "Looks like Odin's Arm of Darkness is more lethal than even Sukuna," he thought, an amused chuckle escaping him. The power he wielded with the dark sword in his hand felt exhilarating, a surge of strength that made him feel invincible.

The arena was filled with chaos, screams of terror echoing through the space as Gojo cut through the ranks of the armed men with deadly precision. But he wasn't finished yet. "Let's see just how far I can push this," Gojo mused.

In a fluid motion, Gojo activated another aspect of Odin's Arm of Darkness— Dancing blade. The dark sword in his hand split into two, each blade radiating a dark, ominous energy. With a single thought, Gojo launched himself into a spinning whirlwind of death, the twin blades cutting through the air with a high-pitched whistle.

The first enemy he encountered didn't even have time to scream as the blade cleaved him in half from head to groin, his body falling in two pieces to the ground with a sickening thud. Gojo spun again, the second blade slicing through another enemy's torso, spraying blood in a wide arc as the man's top half separated from his legs.

As Gojo continued to spin, his movements became a blur, the twin blades of Dancing Blade carving through flesh and bone with terrifying ease. One man's arm was severed cleanly at the shoulder, while another had his head taken off in a single stroke. The fifth enemy fell with a gaping wound across his chest, his ribs exposed as he crumpled to the sand.

Gojo's eyes gleamed with dark amusement as he continued his lethal dance. The sixth man screamed as both blades crossed in an X-shape, slicing him into four bloody pieces. The seventh and eighth men tried to flee, but Gojo was too fast—one was bisected at the waist, his legs running a few more steps before collapsing, and the other had his throat slashed open, blood gushing out like a fountain as he fell to the ground, choking on his own blood.

The ninth and final victim was dispatched in the most gruesome manner of all. Gojo, still spinning, plunged both blades into the man's abdomen, then twisted the swords, tearing through flesh and organs as he pulled them apart. The man's entrails spilled out onto the sand, and he fell to his knees, gasping in shock before crumpling lifelessly.

As Gojo came to a stop, standing amidst the carnage he had wrought, the arena fell deathly silent. The surviving armed men stared in horror at the scene before them—200 of their comrades lay dead in a matter of moments, their bodies mutilated beyond recognition.

Gojo, still grinning beneath the blindfold, felt the rush of power course through him. Dancing Blade had proven to be devastatingly effective, and the fear it inspired in his enemies was palpable. "This is only the beginning," he thought, ready to unleash even more of Odin's terrifying power.

Gojo, feeling the adrenaline and power surging through him, decided it was time to push even further. The dark energy of Odin's Arm of Darkness was intoxicating, and he wanted to see just how much devastation he could unleash. Without a moment's hesitation, he activated Heaven's Cloud, a deadly technique that combined speed with the lethal edge of Zantetsuken.

The twin blades in Gojo's hands began to glow with a dark, ethereal light as they merged back into a single, massive sword—the embodiment of Zantetsuken. The blade was heavy in his hands, yet it moved with the grace of a feather, responding to Gojo's every command as if it were an extension of his own will.

With a flick of his wrist, Gojo launched into a series of blindingly fast, slashing attacks. His movements were a blur, the sword cutting through the air with a sound like the hiss of a thousand serpents. The first wave of enemies didn't even have time to react before the blade was upon them.

The initial strike cleaved through the first ten men in a single sweep, their bodies collapsing in a spray of blood and entrails. Gojo didn't stop; he spun and slashed again, each movement perfectly calculated to inflict maximum damage. The sword moved like a scythe through a field of wheat, leaving behind a trail of dismembered limbs and shattered bodies.

As Gojo continued to slash through the ranks, the bodies began to pile up. Some men were decapitated in an instant, their heads rolling across the sand as their lifeless bodies crumpled. Others were split in half, their torsos severed cleanly from their legs. The air was thick with the smell of blood and the sound of agonized screams, but to Gojo, it was a symphony of chaos.

One particularly unlucky group of men found themselves trapped in the center of Gojo's onslaught. He moved through them with terrifying speed, the sword slicing through their armor and flesh as if it were paper. One man was disemboweled in a single strike, his intestines spilling out onto the sand as he fell to his knees, gasping for breath. Another had his arm severed at the elbow, the limb flying off into the crowd as the man collapsed, screaming in pain.

Gojo's movements were relentless, each swing of Zantetsuken sending another wave of men to their gruesome deaths. Blood splattered across the arena, staining the sand red and turning the once lively battlefield into a scene of utter carnage. The screams of the dying filled the air, but Gojo heard none of it. He was lost in the ecstasy of battle, his focus solely on the next target, the next kill.

By the time he finished, 300 more men lay dead at his feet, their bodies torn apart by the devastating power of Heaven's Cloud. The survivors, those who had not yet met their end at Gojo's hand, stared in horror at the scene before them. The arena was silent once more, save for the sound of blood dripping from Zantetsuken's blade.

Gojo stood amidst the carnage, breathing heavily, his grin widening beneath the blindfold. The power of Odin's Arm of Darkness was exhilarating, and he relished in the fear he had instilled in his enemies. This was only the beginning, and Gojo knew that there were still many more to fall before the day was done.

The remaining 500 men in the arena stared in disbelief at the carnage Gojo had wrought. Their confidence, once unshakeable, was now replaced by a gnawing fear. The sight of their comrades being slaughtered so effortlessly was enough to make even the bravest among them question their chances. As they stood frozen, their minds raced back to the conversation they had before entering the arena.

500 Men's POV: Flashback

Just before the battle began, the mood among the group had been one of cocky bravado. They had gathered in a dimly lit room, inspecting their weapons and cracking jokes about the easy money they were about to make.

"We'll be rich after this!" one of them had boasted, grinning as he inspected his blaster, the most advanced model provided by Lord Ziro himself. "A thousand of us against one blind beggar? This is going to be the easiest job we've ever had."

The others had laughed in agreement, their confidence bolstered by the advanced technology at their disposal. "Yeah, this is practically charity work. We're getting paid to kill a beggar. What could be easier?"

But not everyone had shared in their enthusiasm. One of the men, a veteran of many battles, had voiced his concerns. "I don't like this," he had muttered, his eyes narrowing as he glanced toward the arena. "That beggar… he smells worse than any Jedi or Dark Jedi I've ever come across. There's something off about him."

The others had scoffed at his caution, mocking him for his perceived cowardice. "You're just scared of a little fight. This is a golden opportunity, and you're too afraid to take it."

The veteran had shaken his head, frustration evident in his eyes. "You don't understand. There's a feeling I get when I'm around someone truly dangerous, and that beggar gives off that same vibe. I'm telling you, something isn't right about this."

But his warnings had fallen on deaf ears. The others had laughed off his concerns, dismissing him as paranoid. "Suit yourself, but when we're swimming in credits, don't say we didn't tell you so."

Present

Now, as they stood in the arena, surrounded by the butchered remains of their comrades, those words echoed in their minds. The beggar wasn't just dangerous—he was a force of nature, something beyond anything they had ever encountered. The veteran's warning had been more than just paranoia; it had been a premonition of the nightmare they now faced.

500 Men's POV (Leader's Perspective):

The remaining 500 men in the arena were no longer the confident mercenaries they had been just moments ago. The sight of their comrades butchered with such ease had left them shaken, their earlier bravado replaced with a gnawing fear. Among them, one leader—the veteran who had expressed doubts earlier—knew things were about to get worse.

As he watched the so-called beggar wreak havoc, his gut feeling that something was terribly wrong was confirmed. "This isn't just some beggar," he thought, his mind racing. "This is a monster."

Desperate to regain some semblance of control, the leader raised his hand, signaling his men to stop their chaotic, disorganized attacks. "Everyone, listen up!" he shouted, trying to rally his troops. "Forget fighting from a distance—close in on him! Surround him and fire at point-blank range! We have to fill him with holes before he can react!"

The men hesitated, but the leader's authority pushed them into action. They formed a tighter circle around Gojo, their blasters trained on him, ready to fire at a moment's notice. The leader's heart pounded in his chest as he gave the order. "Now!"

In unison, they unleashed a volley of blaster fire, hoping to overwhelm the beggar with sheer firepower. But just as the bolts struck Gojo, something unexpected happened.

Gojo pov

Gojo only smiled beneath his blindfold, his thoughts focused on a technique he had yet to fully explore. "There's one ability that's been a bit of a mystery... Rift Slip. If it requires a hit to activate, then this is the perfect opportunity."

As the blaster bolts connected with his body, Gojo triggered Rift Slip. In an instant, reality warped around him, and he vanished from sight, leaving behind only a flicker of his form. The leader blinked, trying to comprehend what had just happened.

The next thing the leader knew, Gojo was standing right in front of him, as if he had teleported in the blink of an eye. Time seemed to slow down, the world around them moving at a sluggish pace for what felt like an eternity, but was in reality only five seconds.

In those five seconds, Gojo's dark, ominous sword moved with lethal precision. The leader's eyes widened in terror as the blade plunged into his chest, cutting through his body like a hot knife through butter. He felt the searing pain as it sliced through his heart, and then... nothing.

Time snapped back to normal, and the leader's body crumpled to the ground, lifeless.

Gojo stood over the fallen leader, his grin widening as the remaining men in the arena froze in horror. The Rift Slip had worked perfectly, allowing him to close the distance and strike before anyone could react. The fear in the air was thick, and Gojo reveled in it.

"Time to up the ante," Gojo thought to himself, his grin growing even wider beneath the blindfold. He had been saving this move, and now seemed like the perfect moment to unleash it. He focused on one of Odin's most devastating techniques—Zantetsuken Level 4. (is an expression that means it's time to increase the stakes or escalate a situation. In the context of a game, it refers to raising the bet or making the game more challenging)

"This technique," Gojo mused, "is similar to Malevolent Shrine, but it doesn't need a domain to guarantee a hit. It strikes everyone within my line of sight." He chuckled darkly, the thought of what was about to happen fueling his excitement.

In an instant, Gojo's aura surged with immense power, his dark sword glowing with a terrifying light. He raised the blade high, and with a single, swift motion, he unleashed Zantetsuken Level 4.

The arena was bathed in a blinding flash of light as Gojo's strike tore through the battlefield. The blade's energy extended outwards, slicing through everything in its path. The first 300 men in his line of sight were cut down in a single, devastating blow. The force of the strike was so powerful that it didn't just slice through their bodies—it obliterated them, leaving behind only shredded remains.

But Gojo wasn't done. As the light faded and the dust began to settle, he readied himself for another strike. The remaining 200 men, paralyzed with fear, could only watch as Gojo made his move. With a swift, fluid motion, he unleashed another powerful attack, this time targeting the final group.

The blade moved with precision, cutting through the air and decapitating every single one of the remaining 200 men. Their heads rolled to the ground, lifeless, as their bodies crumpled in unison.

The arena, once filled with the sounds of battle, fell eerily silent. Blood soaked the sand, and the only figure left standing was Gojo, his sword still glowing with dark energy.

He let out a satisfied sigh, lowering his sword as he surveyed the carnage he had wrought. "Well, that was fun," Gojo thought, his smirk never leaving his face. He had single-handedly decimated 1,000 men, proving once again that he was a force to be reckoned with.

As the realization of what had just happened began to sink in for those watching from the royal box, a mixture of shock, awe, and fear spread through the crowd. The legend of the beggar who defeated 1,000 armed men would soon spread like wildfire across Tatooine, and Gojo, ever the showman, would be at the center of it all.

As the realization of what had just happened began to sink in for those watching from the royal box, a mixture of shock, awe, and fear spread through the crowd. But then, something unexpected happened—boos erupted from the spectators. The crowd, unable to comprehend the sheer magnitude of what they had witnessed, began to jeer, their bloodlust unquenched and their expectations shattered.

Gojo, unfazed by the boos, casually glanced at the corpses littering the arena. An idea struck him, and with a simple thought, he activated his inventory system. In mere seconds, every corpse, every piece of equipment, and every weapon scattered across the arena floor vanished, stored away in his inventory as if they had never existed.

The sudden disappearance left the crowd in stunned silence. What they had just witnessed was beyond anything they could have imagined—a man who not only killed with ease but who also had the power to make the aftermath disappear in an instant. The once-boisterous arena now stood in eerie quiet, the spectators grappling with the horrifying reality that Gojo was a man who could do as he pleased, take as he pleased, without any regard for their expectations or desires.

Gojo's smirk widened as he sensed the crowd's shift from disbelief to fear. He had made his point, and the silence was proof that they understood—he was no mere fighter; he was something far more dangerous.

Just then, he heard a faint "clink" inside his body, a sound that resonated deep within his soul. It was a subtle but unmistakable sign that something within him was changing, evolving.

"Aha, looks like some good news," Gojo thought, his amusement growing. "The process of adaptation is slow, but it's definitely beneficial."

He could feel it—the more he used the systems within him, whether it was the inventory or the quest system, the more his body and soul adapted to them. They were becoming an integral part of him, something he could manipulate, control, and eventually outmaneuver.

"Looks like the more I use these systems, the more they'll become a part of me," Gojo mused, his confidence soaring. "And when that happens, I'll have the upper hand—not just over my enemies, but over the very mechanisms that try to control me."

The silence in the arena persisted, the crowd still grappling with the sheer dominance Gojo had displayed. But in Gojo's mind, the real victory was the one happening inside him—the slow but steady adaptation that would soon make him unstoppable, even against the forces that had brought him to this galaxy.

Meanwhile, in the royal box, tension crackled in the air as Ziro the Hutt glared furiously at Jabba and Tyber Zann. His frustration was palpable, and his voice trembled with anger.

"You cheated!" Ziro spat in Huttese, his bulbous eyes narrowing as he pointed an accusatory finger at Jabba and Tyber. "You taunted me into putting 300 million credits on the line—and that slave, and No one told me this blind beggar was this strong!"

Before Jabba could respond, Tyber Zann leaned in, his expression calm but carrying a hint of amusement. "You're on Tatooine, Ziro," he said smoothly in Huttese. "And there's actually one person here who can make you fulfill the deal whether you like it or not."

Ziro's eyes widened as the realization dawned on him. His gaze nervously scanned the arena, his mind racing. He didn't know exactly where Gojo Satoru was at that moment, but the sense of being watched by someone so powerful made him deeply uneasy. The thought that Gojo could be observing from some hidden vantage point, silently assessing everything, sent a chill down his spine.

The full weight of the situation hit him—he was under the watchful eye of a man who had just demonstrated his overwhelming power, a man who could easily enforce the deal, no matter how much Ziro protested.

Ziro swallowed hard, his anger dissipating into a cold fear. The paranoia gnawed at him, knowing that Gojo Satoru was somewhere out there, possibly watching his every move. Resisting or reneging on the deal was not an option. Gojo Satoru was dangerous, far more than Ziro had ever anticipated. And now, Ziro was caught in a trap he had unwittingly helped set, with no way out.