Chapter 100
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 99
Chapter Title: Sword Saint vs. The Apostle
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While Jin was rampaging at full tilt,
the Sword Saint and the Apostle faced each other.
A terrifying silence hung between them, like the eye of a storm.
No matter how chaotic it got out there, the beginning and end would be decided right here—this suffocating presence proved it.
The Apostle spoke first.
"A truly splendid festival."
His deathly pale head, evoking the image of a corpse, slowly swept over the unconscious audience.
Bloodless lips curved into a faint smile.
"Purists gathering in one place like this is exceedingly rare. In these barren times, what a precious sight... I almost wish I could stand among them and see this festival through to its end."
"Nonsense. A deviant whose very existence is a sin, talking about entertainment. You have no place here. Never have, never will."
Unlike his sharp words, the Sword Saint's voice was calm and even.
It wasn't just his tone—his appearance was ordinary too.
He drew his sword from its sheath at his waist.
It was just a plain iron blade.
Straight and unadorned, from the sharply honed tip of the blade to the crude hilt that served only its basic purpose.
Compared to the Apostle's blood-red aura that shook off the gloomy energy filling the heavens and earth, it seemed excessively humble.
But the Sword Saint was unfazed.
As if to say this was more than enough.
And indeed, it was.
The ominous blood-red energy, intense enough to warp the air itself, couldn't even breach the space around the Sword Saint alone.
A smooth boundary etched into the empty air.
The blood-red energy swirled uselessly around it, sharpening the clear domain within even further. From inside that space, the Sword Saint spoke.
"The others haven't shown up yet? Even after waiting, no sign of them."
His tone was flat once more.
In response, the Apostle withdrew his gaze from the audience and looked at the Sword Saint.
"It's just me here."
"I see."
A curt reply.
Or rather, a signal.
"Then die alone."
The moment the Sword Saint's words ended, the Apostle's right arm flew off.
A silver trajectory linking heaven and earth.
Blood spurted from it, a rotten green hue.
The Apostle didn't change expression.
He showed no attachment to his severed arm.
He simply extended his intact left arm to the side.
Right then.
A blood-red energy bloomed intensely from the palm aimed at the audience stands, taking tangible form and stretching out like a beam of light in an instant.
At the far end of that path, the faces of the slumped spectators flushed red.
Whoosh!
A sword strike carrying the wind sliced through the beam passing at waist height in the arena.
The mana, losing its cohesion, scattered powerlessly.
The Apostle's hand now turned straight ahead.
The blood-red energy surged like a tidal wave.
Rumble...
At the crest of the wave bending toward the ground, grudges coalesced, singing a sinister song.
The next instant.
The Sword Saint pivoted on his right foot, spinning in place.
His iron sword traced a circle in the whipping arc.
The blade tip shook it off with fluid grace.
The tidal wave vanished in a lie, casting a long shadow in the opposite direction as it receded.
Whoosh.
It was the sword wind reaching the arena ceiling.
Extending from the ground all the way up there.
With energy to spare, it stirred a faint breeze in the nearby sky.
The next moment.
A red line appeared across the Apostle's palm.
Then, crackle.
Four fingers, excluding the thumb, slid off the halved palm and fell to the floor.
Dark green blood stained the ground.
"...I can't win."
The Apostle murmured softly.
For losing one arm and four fingers, his voice was remarkably composed.
As if he'd anticipated this from the start, though the bitter smile tugging at his lips seemed genuine.
"The gap has widened. Regrettably."
Something like this had happened before.
Back then, it was the Light Sword against the 11th Apostle.
Their skills differed by a hair's breadth.
That hair's breadth was enough for the Apostle to lose,
but not enough for the Light Sword to finish the fleeing Apostle.
Now, over twenty years later, what had changed?
The Light Sword had become the Sword Saint, the 11th Apostle the 6th.
Both had lived through the fairly granted time without stagnation.
But the strides they'd taken were worlds apart.
In this moment, his lusterless eyes—like a dead fish—fixed on the man before him.
A saint standing at the city's pinnacle with a single sword.
Marking the era with a blade worn by time.
The giant finally called the Sword Saint.
That giant spoke.
"You're not enough."
A calm declaration of the gulf between them.
The Apostle replied.
"I won't deny it."
Behind that frank admission, the blood-red glow at his chest swallowed the surroundings in a sinister haze.
A force that blanketed every space except the Sword Saint. Naturally, the unconscious spectators were no exception.
"But here, I have confidence I won't lose."
No hesitation in holding ten thousand lives hostage. His composed demeanor suggested this was his aim all along.
Wasn't the essence of black magic sacrifice and tribute?
Balancing the scales with the crowd's life value, the Apostle grinned coldly.
The Sword Saint didn't get agitated. He simply cast his gaze toward the fight unfolding at one side of the arena, and soon his mouth opened slowly.
"Did you lay hands on Florence's daughter? She wasn't the type to wear that expression."
Clashing sounds erupted one after another. In the midst of the fierce melee, three young fighters tangled chaotically with a summoned beast cloaked in inky blue mist.
The Apostle looked in the same direction.
"Lay hands? You'll need to correct that view, Sword Saint. Believe me or not as you will, but Cecil came to us of her own accord. She desired it more desperately than anyone. I can say with certainty there's no corruption or betrayal here. Just one person's choice."
"What was she lacking? She may not have been heir material, but she had all it took to become a pillar of the family."
"She utterly despised that assessment. Called it the foolish yardstick of geniuses."
"......"
The Sword Saint's gaze toward Cecil darkened.
It held more pity than reproach.
Before long, he turned his head the other way.
This time, he looked farther, beyond the arena.
Staring at something beyond the naked eye's reach.
At the same moment, the Apostle's eyes narrowed.
Then he acted immediately. Or rather, an incomparable light erupted from the glow at his chest's center.
Grooooan!
A thunderous roar shaking heaven and earth. Something took deep root in the ground amid it.
The earth trembled like an earthquake.
Mana compressed to overwhelming density reached out with countless tendrils toward the sky.
This was no metaphor.
In that instant, it grew as if time were fast-forwarded, densely covering the arena's sky with branch-like forms.
The change came in a flash.
Suddenly, a massive blood-red tree towered at the arena's center.
Its trunk spanned over 40 meters around.
It would take thirty grown adults linking arms to encircle it.
An overwhelming sight.
Even from the arena's highest point, necks craned back, yet it was too vast to take in at a glance—a grotesque behemoth.
Alone fending off the sinister mana spreading in waves, the Sword Saint spoke.
"A seed of the Corrupted World Tree. You've grown it quite large."
Whoa, what the hell is that?
Jin stared in bewilderment.
The heat of battle hadn't faded yet.
Adrenaline surged through him like a genetic imperative, sharpening mind and body to a razor's edge—yet he couldn't stop the dumb "Eh?!" from slipping out. It was that shocking.
The massive tree dominating the arena's center.
Why's it gotta be so damn big?
In his astonishment, Jin realized.
That thing was the source of the unease soaking his palm in sweat.
Thick branches blanketed the circular arena's sky like veins.
Every one of the blooming red leaves was a mana crystal.
Goosebumps prickled his skin.
Even as someone ranked second-tier now, with keener eyes,
he could feel viscerally just how insane that power was.
It far surpassed the world he currently stood in.
Its essence lay beyond his own sky, without a doubt.
Maybe the tail end of third-tier, or even higher. He couldn't be sure.
We're screwed!
The moment Jin's eyes widened at the realization,
the great tree shook violently.
With it came a flurry of falling petals.
Tens of thousands of blood-red leaves began drifting lazily to the ground. Reflexively, Jin extended his brain lance long.
Whoosh!
As he drew breath, it felt sucked away somewhere, and a massive slash erupted.
For a split second, time seemed to freeze.
Then, the silently bisected leaves exploded midair, deafening his ears with sudden fireworks.
Turning from the mushroom clouds embroidering the sky, he spotted the Sword Saint far off, swinging his worn sword.
Right, that guy's still here.
Wielding a plain weapon, strolling leisurely like a veteran in nothing but his skivvies carving up a colossal monster.
Phew. Jin let out a sigh of relief and finally took stock of the situation.
He hurriedly scanned around, finally noticing the unconscious audience filling his view.
Unaware the Sword Saint had knocked them out to prevent chaos, Jin startled, wondering if they'd all been wiped out.
But his wide eyes reflected a chaotic scene.
From rows A to P, hooded intruders poured in through every section's entrances.
And that look was familiar.
Back when he'd botched the church job and gotten kidnapped.
The black mages experimenting on people turning them into mutants had worn exactly those drab outfits.
Those bastards?
As Jin's glare turned fierce,
Clang!
Some drew swords at the black mages' sudden appearance.
One of the true elites untouched by the Sword Saint's mass knockout.
The Anarion family's swordsmen.
Without hesitation, they blocked the entrances and swung at the onrushing foes. Blood and sparks flew in seconds.
Such clashes erupted in dozens of spots.
All this in mere minutes since the corpse parade invaded the arena.
Impossible not to see what was happening.
Black mages had crashed the tournament.
Not just Jin's mind sparked at the clear truth.
Indeed, movements flared like wildfires throughout the stands.
Rushing to nearby fights to aid the Anarion swordsmen were about a dozen tournament finalists.
Naturally, family heirs among them.
Eanna's White Flame and Katrina's Dark Ice incinerated and froze enemies.
Dayere, clad in mana armor, tanked the relentless assaults with his body.
Impressive discipline amid the pandemonium, but Jin had no time to gawk and thumbs-up.
"Aaaargh!!!"
Cecil rose with an ear-splitting shriek, chanting incantations with bloodshot eyes.
"O King of Ten Thousand Plagues felled by a blade in the back! O master of a fleeting false dream! Open your eyes!"
Blood gushed from her mouth as she cried out.
Roooar!
An echoing roar burst from the summoned beast's helm, mid-clash with Ryukard's sword.
Its blade quickened.
A crack formed for the first time on Ryukard's brow, who'd been slowly gaining the edge.
The blade that pierced the deadlock grazed his cheek. Blood welled thick from the long gash.
Jin moved at the same time.
Sensing a familiar tang in Cecil's mana.
Mana Rampage? Shit just got real.
As he hurled the brain lance he'd prepared at the foe burning her life for forbidden power,
Boom!
A massive root burst from the ground without warning, blocking the projectile.
It cost half the root's body, shredded to pulp—but meanwhile, others rose from the earth and whipped Jin at subsonic speeds.
Sizzle!
Jin slid back, smoke rising from his feet, just as Ryukard's sword was repelled—nearly simultaneous.
Right after.
Toward the two momentarily rooted in place, countless roots and the summoned beast's sword lunged.
Crackle! Crunch!
Distinct clashes rang out in perfect sync.
The attacks targeting them came to naught.
The tentacle-like roots stiffening toward Jin, the blade aimed at Ryukard's heart sparking off a dark lance shaft.
Perfectly timed backup. No need to check who.
In this mess, who else twirls a longspear while scattering magnetism?
And so, right now.
"Cecil, what the hell do you think you're doing?"
Kendrick demanded—
"......Ptoo."
—as Carlos spat bloody phlegm and glared at the summoned beast before him.
Atop the half-ruined arena,
the four tournament favorites, including Jin, stood tall.