Arthur kept his eyes on the road as the car sped along the quiet highway. Tall trees flanked both sides, their branches casting dappled shadows on the windshield, shifting like ghosts across the dashboard as they zipped past. The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm amber glow over the landscape that gave everything a golden, melancholic hue. In the passenger seat, Rebecca sat with her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her lips pulled into a sharp pout.
"We're going to pick up your younger cousin," Arthur said, his voice calm but edged with a seriousness that carried weight. "There's been a situation with him."
Rebecca huffed audibly, her eyes rolling as she looked away from him. "Ugh, I don't want to pick up my snot-nosed cousin! He probably stinks or eats glue or something." She wrinkled her nose in exaggerated disgust and turned to glare out the window.
Arthur allowed a short sigh to escape. He expected this—Rebecca had a strong personality, often masking her deeper thoughts with bratty sarcasm. But it still stung how quickly she dismissed her own family.
"Well," he said, keeping his tone measured, "he's a dueling prodigy. Just like you. He's already completed elementary school. His test scores are off the charts."
Rebecca blinked and turned to look at him again. Her arms loosened slightly. Surprise flickered across her features, followed closely by suspicion. She sat up straighter.
"Just like me?" she asked, a flicker of unease tightening her voice. "What if he's better than me? I don't want my stupid cousin stealing my spotlight."
Arthur's brows furrowed as he shot her a glance. "Rebecca, I think you're mature enough now for a serious conversation."
She froze. Her expression shifted quickly—confusion, defensiveness, then a guarded curiosity.
"Duel Monsters is more dangerous than you think," Arthur continued. "It's not just a sport or a platform to chase the spotlight. There are risks involved. Deadly ones."
Rebecca's frown faltered. Her eyebrows knitted together in concern, and she turned fully toward him. "Wait a minute," she said softly. "Are you saying... I've been selfish?"
Her voice lacked its usual bluster.
Arthur shook his head gently. "No. The reason I'm saying this is because you're a great duelist. Exceptionally talented. And that makes you a target."
Rebecca's expression softened. She looked down for a moment, caught off guard. A small, proud smile tugged at the corner of her lips despite herself.
"Well... of course I'm a great duelist," she said, tossing her long blonde hair with a practiced flip. "I never lose."
Arthur smiled faintly at her attempt to recover her confidence. But his voice turned grave.
"And because of that... there are people who see you as a threat. Not everyone plays fair. There are groups that won't challenge you openly. They'll ambush you. Set traps. Send multiple duelists after you just to take you out."
Rebecca's bravado dropped immediately. Her brown eyes widened, and her posture straightened with a jolt.
"Wait—are you serious?" she asked. "I might get attacked? Like, for real? By duelists who just want me gone?"
Arthur nodded. "It's already happened. Your cousin is one of the survivors of such an attack."
Rebecca's breath caught. Her face went pale.
"What? What happened to him?" she asked, voice trembling slightly.
Arthur's grip on the wheel tightened. His knuckles whitened.
"His entire school was attacked," he said quietly. "There were no survivors. He was the only one left alive."
Rebecca's jaw dropped. Her hand came up to her mouth, and her eyes filled with shock.
"That's... that's horrible," she whispered.
Arthur nodded. "It's happening more often than you think. And it's not just petty jealousy or schoolyard rivalries. These are coordinated assaults—carried out by groups with dangerous goals."
The car fell into a heavy silence, filled only by the low hum of the tires on pavement.
"And yes," Arthur said, his voice cutting through the tension, "even Yugi—the King of Games—has been attacked. Repeatedly."
Rebecca turned sharply, her eyes wide. "You're kidding. Yugi? Attacked?"
Arthur nodded slowly. "Multiple times. Some were hired assassins. Others came from ancient organizations who saw him as a threat to their legacy. He's fought his way through every single one of them."
Rebecca leaned back in her seat, her face pensive. "Wow... I always thought Yugi was just this invincible champion. I never imagined he had to fight for his life off the stage too."Rebecca tilted her head, her brow furrowed. "But if Yugi changed the balance of power so drastically, why don't we see more duelists of that caliber rising up around the world? Shouldn't there be others who can rival him—or at least try?"
Arthur's expression turned somber. His usual scholarly calm dimmed, replaced with something heavier, shadowed by memory. "That monster changed everything," Arthur murmured. "Before him, duelists were strong, yes—but scattered. We had powerful duelists in Europe, Africa, South America… but they're gone now."
Rebecca blinked, confused. "Gone? What do you mean?"
Arthur's voice dropped to a near whisper, as if speaking the name alone might summon something dreadful. "The Duelist Exterminator."
Rebecca's eyes widened instantly, her body snapping upright. "The what?"
"He wiped them out," Arthur said grimly, his words laced with the weight of old tragedy. "The most talented duelists of that generation—vanished. One by one. He hunted them. Killed them in sanctioned duels, shadow games, even ambushes when the rules didn't matter. Entire lineages of duelists were lost, their traditions silenced before they could pass on their skills."
Rebecca's hands tightened into fists. "You mean… he killed them all?"
Arthur nodded gravely. "Yes. Imagine Brazil's champion, who could summon legendary jungle spirits into his cards—gone. A South African prodigy who had inherited a deck said to contain echoes of ancient shamans—snuffed out. In Europe, there were aristocratic families who had been dueling for centuries, their knowledge and bloodlines unbroken for generations. The Exterminator dismantled them piece by piece, as though he were pruning a tree until only bare branches remained."
He leaned back slightly, his eyes haunted by the memory of stories he had studied, and perhaps even glimpsed firsthand. "That is why most of today's strongest duelists are concentrated in Asia and America. It's not coincidence. It's fallout. The vacuum left by the purge forced duelists in these regions to rise higher, to seize what remained. Without the exterminations, the global stage would look very different."
Rebecca swallowed hard, her young mind racing. "Why would anyone do that? Why destroy duelists instead of challenging them to grow stronger?"
Arthur's eyes darkened as he continued, his voice almost reverent in its caution.
"The Duelist Exterminator was not like other duelists. He did not lack talent, nor cunning—but he lacked something essential. Duel energy. The living bond between soul and card. The connection that allows a duelist's monsters to fight with heart, that gives their strategies resonance and spirit. He was empty. Hollow. His cards responded to him only as tools, never as allies. Where others felt unity, he felt nothing."
Rebecca frowned, almost whispering. "So… he couldn't connect with his deck?"
Arthur nodded slowly. "Precisely. And for that, he was cast out. Among duelists, this absence was considered a flaw, almost a curse. Those who met him sensed it—like staring into a void where fire should burn. He was ostracized, ridiculed, even pitied. And that rejection hardened him. He grew bitter, poisoned by resentment, until spite became the core of his soul."
Rebecca's breath caught. "And that's why… he killed them?"
Arthur's voice dropped lower, each word deliberate. "Yes. Out of greed and spite. You see, he discovered something: though he lacked duel energy, he could still win. In fact, his emptiness became his weapon. While others relied on passion and instinct, he relied on pure calculation. Cold logic. Ruthless exploitation of weaknesses. He didn't duel for joy, nor for the spirit of the game—he dueled for the cruel satisfaction of proving he was superior. Every victory was a dagger he drove into the heart of the community that had rejected him."
Rebecca shivered. "So he enjoyed destroying them."
Arthur's expression turned grim. "He craved it. The thrill of defeating duelists who possessed what he never could. To him, every duel was a chance to sneer at destiny itself, to say: I don't need what you have. I can take everything from you without it."
Arthur's eyes softened with sorrow, as though remembering the countless names lost. "His duels were merciless. He hunted not only champions, but also heirs—young duelists groomed to carry on ancient traditions. He targeted families, schools, even entire regions, until no one remained who could pass down their craft. To him, it wasn't enough to win. He wanted to erase them, to stand as proof that duel energy was meaningless."
Arthur nodded once, his eyes shadowed by memory. "He came for my Blue-Eyes White Dragon once."
Rebecca's breath hitched, her chest tightening as if the words themselves carried a chill. "Wait—you fought him?"
Arthur's gaze turned distant, narrowing as old memories pressed into him like cold steel against his ribs. His voice carried the weight of scars left unseen. "He nearly killed me. I had never felt fear like that in a duel. Not until that day. His presence wasn't like any other opponent's. It was suffocating, like being trapped in a room where all the air had been stolen away. He didn't duel with spirit—he dueled with cruelty. Every move was a calculated cut meant to bleed me dry."
Rebecca leaned forward in her seat, transfixed, her small hands gripping the edge of her skirt. "How… how did you survive?"
Arthur's face softened, the ice in his tone thawing for just a moment. "Solomon Muto."
Her eyes widened, confusion flashing across her face. "Yugi's grandpa?"
Arthur nodded gravely. "Yes. Solomon arrived just as I was down to my last life point. I had nothing left, no defenses, no hope. The Exterminator was about to finish me, to claim my Blue-Eyes as his trophy. Then Solomon stood beside me. Without hesitation, without fear. Together, we faced him. We fought as one—two hearts where mine alone had nearly failed. And together, we defeated the Exterminator."
Arthur paused, his lips pressing into a thin line. "Barely."
Rebecca's mouth parted slightly, her eyes shining with awe. "That's how you two became friends?"
Arthur smiled faintly, but it was touched with something wistful, almost sorrowful. "From that moment on, yes. I had studied with many duelists, battled countless opponents, but he was the only one I ever trusted at my back. When you face death in the shadow of a duel, you learn who truly stands with you."
The car rolled on, its engine a low hum, the tires whispering against the fading road. Outside, the landscape blurred into darkness, the shadows growing longer with every passing mile. The air inside seemed heavier, as though the weight of Arthur's story clung to them.
Rebecca sat in silence, her young heart pounding. She could almost picture it—her uncle battered and cornered, Solomon stepping into the storm, the Exterminator looming like a shadow born from hatred itself. She shivered, not from the cold, but from the thought that such darkness was still out there.
Arthur finally broke the silence, his voice carrying quiet resolve. "That's why I'm training your cousin. And why I'm preparing you. You're both talented. Gifted. But you need to understand—this isn't just about flashy cards and championship titles. It's not about cheers from the crowd or the thrill of victory. It's about survival. It always has been."
Rebecca swallowed hard, her throat tight. She turned her eyes toward him, her face no longer that of a curious girl, but of someone shouldering a weight she hadn't asked for but was determined to bear. "I understand now," she said softly, each word deliberate. "This isn't just a game anymore."
Arthur glanced at her, his stern expression easing into something almost proud. He gave a single approving nod. "That's why I'm counting on you. He's going to need someone strong beside him. Someone who knows what's coming. And someone who won't flinch when the shadows rise again."
Rebecca turned her gaze forward, out through the windshield. The last slivers of sunset had vanished, leaving only the cold wash of starlight. Her jaw tightened, her hands curling into small, steady fists in her lap. Behind her eyes, fire burned—not the playful spark of a child, but the steady flame of resolve.
She whispered to herself, though Arthur could hear. "Then I'll be ready."
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