Chapter 203
Chapter 203
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 203
Chapter Title: Clash (2)
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The chef's declaration of severing both arms was no empty threat.
He charged like a raging storm, carving dozens of erratic trajectories through the air, relentlessly targeting Oliver's arms with obsessive precision.
An unrelenting fixation to witness Oliver's fear and despair, no matter what.
Each assault fueled by that mania sliced through the air, followed by ear-shattering metallic clashes: Kararang!! Kararang!!
The rending sounds of Oliver's shadow tentacles tearing apart.
Those sturdy shields, once so reliable, crumbled against the chef's amplified strikes—most couldn't even last a single exchange, reduced to mere disposable barriers.
And it wasn't just that. As the tentacles dissipated, opportunistic attacks slipped through the gaps, shredding the Black Suit. Emotional consumption spiked to extremes unimaginable compared to before.
All Oliver could manage was adapting bit by bit to the chef's onslaught, swaying left and right to throw off his aim and minimize the damage. And—
"—Looking for an opening?"
The chef sneered, his voice dripping with mockery.
With that, he deliberately fell back, handing Oliver a blatant gap.
An intentional vulnerability. But Oliver didn't retreat. He unleashed Shadow Spike, shadow stakes erupting from every direction to impale the chef.
Slim shadow pikes encircled him, thrusting upward from below. Yet the chef twisted his waist with serpentine flexibility, harnessing the rebound to whirl his blade like a typhoon, shattering every stake around him.
Kagagagang—!!
A velocity too blistering to track with the naked eye. Oliver paid it no mind and pressed the next assault.
Hate Bullets rained down perfectly timed with the stake-shattering moment.
Expecting his guard broken and blocks impossible, Oliver watched as the chef mocked the assumption—snapping up his twisted leg and slamming it into the earth.
The ground warped on impact, a colossal boulder surging up like a wall.
Hate Bullets hammered the stone barrier; the chef vanished from view.
Oliver honed his gaze on the chef's emotions and juked left.
In sync, the chef burst out the opposite way, hurling a steak knife.
Forewarned, Oliver compressed a Hate Bullet to swat the blade midair.
Ttodong!!
"Playing tricks is fun...... Huh?"
The chef halted mid-charge, eyes dropping to the ground.
He'd triggered the Grudge Trap Oliver had laid along his predictable straight-line path.
Kuaaaang!!
The trap erupted skyward like black lava.
A normal human's lower half would've vaporized, but incredibly, the chef lost only a knee.
Not quite ogre-man levels, but monstrous durability. Even that knit back at breakneck speed.
"Kuh......! This is pretty fun—"
—Ttodon!!
Oliver slammed Hate Bullets into both eyes.
Aim deliberate: blind him.
Excruciating agony from ruptured orbs, yet no scream escaped the chef.
Oliver offered no reprieve, chaining into another black magic spell.
Black light emotions surged in rippling waves, halting inches from the chef's face.
They morphed into smoke, twisting into dozens of snarling visages that unleashed a primal bellow of rage.
"Kraaaaaaaa—!!!!"
⟨ Outcry ⟩
The roar carried physical force, battering the chef's mind and body alike.
A shockwave hurled him backward.
Vision and hearing stolen, Oliver hosed him down with Hate Bullets.
Dududududududududududu!!!!
Dozens pierced flesh like machine-gun fire.
The chef's unnatural body blunted most blows, but faint damage accrued nonetheless.
Oliver emptied his arsenal with abandon, ramping speed and potency incrementally.
Tiny punctures yawned wider; bullets churned dust clouds.
As reactions dulled under the onslaught, Oliver sheathed his quarterstaff in Black Javelin and lunged.
The black magic that had crushed the cannibal crew alongside the corpse cannon.
Seal his mobility, then end it.
Oliver narrowed the gap—then froze, instinct screaming retreat.
And instinct was spot on.
Shyang—!
A killing-intent-forged blade whistled past his throat, shrill enough to flay ears.
One step deeper—no, half a step—and decapitation.
Pang!!!
Through the dust, the chef—fully regenerated—blitzed the distance.
Regeneration defying belief.
"Think that pathetic attack kills me?!!"
Oliver tagged himself and nearby stone pillars with Targeting, cranked output, and backpedaled.
"Not escaping!!"
The chef pursued undaunted. Oliver fired Targeting anew.
Not on himself—on the chef.
A dartboard bloomed on the chef's frame; invisible force flung him backward.
Right—same trick that felled the first crew.
"Kuh!"
Flustered by the novel black magic, the chef drove his blade into the dirt, muscling through.
"Tougher than expected......! Emotions dry yet!? Survive this, and I'll hack off your arms, legs—feed 'em to you right in front of your eyes!"
Sharp fangs flashed in boastful certainty.
"Yes, all spent. This is all I've got."
"......What?"
In lieu of reply, Oliver thrust out his palm. Then extracted.
Vast, condensed emotions from devouring hordes.
Mid-fight extraction—a rarity after so long.
Joseph's lessons and black magic tomes deemed it near-taboo.
Resistance slowed it; the resultant lapse could prove fatal.
Doubly so against speedsters like this chef.
Combat doctrine favored pre-vialed, user-friendly emotions.
Yet Oliver risked it for three reasons.
One: reserves empty. Two: Targeting pinned the foe, buying safety.
Three: against titans like this, their own emotions were the ultimate weapon. Witness:
"Kuaaaak!!!”
The chef—who'd endured eye punctures in silence—screamed.
Oliver had forged a fresh-emotion blade and plunged it into his heart.
That signature overkill rage, malice, hatred—leagues beyond mundane stock—devastated foes with ruthless efficiency.
Pain overwhelmed; Targeting's pull dragged him onto a massive spike.
Too late he thrashed for freedom—but Oliver, flush with pilfered fuel, held ironclad.
Trapped, the chef finally gazed at Oliver in true alarm.
Oliver kept draining while hammering black magic.
Hate Bullet
Chef's emotions amplified
Black Dart
Size & power enhanced
Black Javelin
Pillar-scale devastation
Hate Bullets, darts, javelins—all forged from the chef's own essence—riddled him relentlessly.
Each hit drove home a revelation: emotions mattered as much as mastery.
Hate Bullets bored fist-holes, amputating arm, shoulder, knee.
Black Darts ballooned to broadswords, lacerating wildly.
Black Javelins hypertrophied to columns, ragdolling his frame.
Damage eclipsed intact flesh.
Surplus life force plummeted visibly; regeneration faltered.
Beyond dismay, terror wormed into the chef's shrieks.
"Fork!!!”
Mouth reformed from pulverization; he bellowed.
Footfalls thundered from a derelict building—thud! thud!—a behemoth smashed through wall, leaping at Oliver.
Oliver self-tagged like before, evading sharply.
Crashing down: a bloated brute swinging a man-sized hammer.
Kuuuung—!!!
Size-fueled might plus black magic quaked the earth like a temblor.
The brute bashed ground with his sanguine hammer, flinging shrapnel at Oliver.
Enspelled fragments scattered like grapeshot. Oliver conjured Black Suit from chef's emotions, parrying with quarterstaff sweeps.
'Hmm...... Life force quality lags the emotions.'
"Kwee eee eek!!!”
The brute—Fork—squealed porcine fury at the chef. His features? Pure swine.
"Kwee ek!! Kwek!!!"
He pulverized a pillar amid the racket. Checking in?
The chef heaved ragged breaths.
"Not okay! ......Meat. Need meat! Overflowing life force meat!!”
Prodded, Fork hefted his crimson maul, squealing shock.
Lips like writhing grubs budded from the mottled hammerhead, toothless maws gaping.
Not painted—crafted from bone and meat.
"Black magic item?"
"Kuuueeeek!!!!”
Fork roared; azure veins throbbed like a heart midway down the hammer.
Twitching lipless orifices.
Moments later, it inhaled—siphoning life force from Fighter Crew in range. Dozens simultaneously.
Shuuu hahaha—!!!
Mechanics obscure, but potency undeniable.
Extraction rivaling pro black mages.
Overdrained crew toppled; allies hauled them rearward.
Sheep scattering from wolf.
Fork ripped hammer-flesh, lobbed to chef.
Chef scarfed it gluttonously, clawing back stamina desperately, then yelled anew.
“More! More! Stamina's gutted!!”
Fork raised for another drain.
Shu hahaha—!!!
"Kwuk!!"
"What the......!!”
Fork and chef gawked, eyes locked on Oliver.
Oliver reached out—claimed their life force first.
“Life force matches the emotions in quality.”
They slashed weapons to sever the pull, then bull-rushed Oliver.
Fork lumbered from girth; chef off his prior pace.
Managable.
Oliver fractionated the haul: vials for some, threads for the rest via Processing, patching Black Suit.
Didn't stop—aping Joe's style, plated spine and vitals in hefty Black Armor. Durability and efficiency soared.
'Like this?'
Oliver mimicked the chef's footwork, braced one leg, tensed.
Kwaaaak!!
Indirect via Suit, but compression hummed.
Power coiled—then detonated. Weight vanished; Oliver rocketed forth at warp speed.
Uncharted velocity.
Quarterstaff leveled, he skewered Fork's solar plexus.
Puk!!
Brute's mass immense, but chef-fueled Suit made it viable.
Staff-tip blast eviscerated Fork's torso.
Oliver Suit-shifted, whipping toward chef.
Kang—!
Crisp ring of matched might colliding.
Chef's face twisted in shock.
"You...... hid your strength?"
"No—your emotions are top-shelf, chef."
"Kuh......!"
Praise rang hollow; humiliation fueled chef's reset. He glued in, slashing viciously.
Oliver mirrored, clashing point-blank.
Kitchen knife wove a frenzy filling the air, carving at Oliver. He surged Suit and tentacles for blocks, countering with staff fury.
Blade and staff tangled in frenzy.
Ripples rent air; black edges kissed cheek, throat, chest.
Some connected.
Yet same-source magic? No telling blows.
Prime-grade emotions, confirmed.
"You! You......!!”
Outgunned and yielding ground, chef contorted. Shock, rage, envy, shame, dread gnawed inward.
"Fork!!”
Torso reformed; Fork brandished crimson hammer.
Torture scars riddled his trunk.
"Huup......"
Oliver triggered Outcry via Suit, repelling chef. Then layered staff tip in scores of Black Armor strata.
Life/emotion cables bunched yarn-thick, morphing to colossal bludgeon.
Oliver swung at Fork's hammer.
———!!!!
Indescribable thunderclap; shockwave yeeted Fork afar.
Oliver nailed timing: tagged self and Fork's grip, amped pull.
Black Javelin-coated staff hurled after.
Piuung—Bang!
Torso/legs sundered. Hammer tumbled free.
Oliver tagged and yoinked it aside. Research gold.
"Aaaaak!!!”
Scene ignited chef's berserk charge.
Staffless? Advantage.
Oliver arm-slashed.
Chef's limb detached feebly.
"Huh? Wha..?”
Dazed, chef ping-ponged stares between severed arm and Oliver.
Oliver gripped a malice-born blade.
"Knives aren't ideal after all—too sharp."
With that, he reaped at the chef's neck.