Chapter 94
Chapter 94
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 93
Chapter Title: How to Live in Fusionpunk
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Jin stepped out of the stadium in the early evening, just as the afternoon's afterglow was fading.
The sky was a faded crimson, like something played back on an old cathode-ray tube, and the city's skyline, dyed in the same hue, tangled medieval, modern, and futuristic elements in a complex embrace.
Jin etched as much of this indefinable world into his eyes as his vision allowed, then suddenly sniffled and started walking.
This is a problem.
Somehow, he'd ended up being misunderstood as Rohan's successor or something like that.
Okay, fine, up to that point, I get it.
What do I care if they have their own rivalry?
Jin mulled it over, pursing his lips from side to side. Raph had mentioned it, right? That Rohan was a leading candidate to become the next head of House Zahard. A genius who'd participated in the tournament twice in his youth and even achieved a Ripet. Of course, he'd heard the tragic tale of how the family head, who was on the verge of retirement, ended up clinging to power for decades more after Rohan suddenly abandoned the house. But who knew there was more backstory? Who could've guessed? That the Sword Saint had felt competitive toward Rohan since their youth. He'd trained obsessively in real combat, determined to beat him perfectly someday—"Now I'm ready for a shot!"—only for Rohan to pop up with "Nope, I'm out!"
Talk about getting ghosted.
By his own choice, no less?
And that was the whole story, wasn't it? Even after decades, the lingering unease—like not wiping after shitting—was still there, so now he was projecting it onto the next generation to resolve it. Jin chuckled. They called themselves master and disciple, but to Jin, he and Rohan were practically strangers.
Still, he had no intention of clearing up the misunderstanding now.
Let the misunderstanders misunderstand, and I'll do my thing.
Everyone hustles their own way, right?
If things go well, they might meet in the finals. With that thought, Jin shoved his hands in his pockets and crossed the sunset streets. His gaze, now much more relaxed, took in the surroundings one by one. No matter how many times he saw it, the scenery felt alien and mystical. Areas 1 through 10, which had existed since the founding of Lost City, were known as the Primus Zone. In simple terms, they were the districts most renowned for preserving the relics of the past. No dizzyingly tall skyscrapers, no overly convoluted commercial districts, no repetitive traffic noise like a broken record.
Unlike the 11-20s dominated by megacorps,
or the 20-30s where the middle class lived.
Classic architecture overgrown with ivy.
A library with marble columns supporting a domed roof.
An old stone wall where someone might have measured their height as they grew.
The land of Purists who never forgot the past.
One of the territories of the great seven houses.
Suddenly, Jin's eyes turned toward something— And there stood the Grand Tournel Cathedral. At that moment, the cathedral's silhouette against the sunset was breathtakingly beautiful. Its fluid arches and myriad sculptures formed an amorphous facade. The curved building offered entirely different impressions depending on the angle, drawing Jin toward it as if entranced. It had only been a few hours since the preliminaries ended. With endless drinking stories to fuel all-night talks, people had long chosen booze and food over sightseeing— "Excuse me."
Jin murmured a greeting at the quiet entrance, shaking off his newfound curiosity as he stepped inside the cathedral. The serene interior felt almost reverent in its own way.
"Wow."
A soft exclamation escaped him as he walked a few steps.
"...?"
Spotting a figure praying at the altar in the distance, Jin quickly bit his lip. He hadn't expected anyone else here, so he tiptoed quietly, circling wide to avoid disturbing them. Click. A metallic click, like joints grinding, and something blocked his path.
"...What the."
Jin's eyes narrowed instinctively.
What now?
Armor?
It was exactly that—a figure clad in full plate armor, head to toe.
An anachronistic sight that made Jin squint.
That guy from before? As he recalled the handsome face muttering to the Sword Saint's statue and opened his mouth to speak— Whoosh— A chilly indigo aura seeped from the helmet's visor. Guess not. The eerie energy was nothing like the knight he'd seen at the statue, so Jin changed his question.
"Who are you?"
"..."
No answer. The armor, shrouded in dark blue mist, slowly reached for the sword at its waist. Click. The iron gauntlet, detailed down to the joints, gripped the hilt.
"Auron, stop."
A voice from behind the shoulder. Footsteps approached, followed by a firm command in his ear.
"I said stop."
It worked. The armored figure, poised to draw, released the hilt and stepped back. Seeing the dark mist dissipate, Jin relaxed too. Then he turned toward the presence behind him.
"You know him...? Huh?"
"I'm sorry... Ah?"
Both widened their eyes in surprise and pointed at each other.
"Cecil Florence?"
"Jin Evernight, right?"
She recognized him, and he her.
A delicate face that seemed timid somehow.
He'd seen it huge on the jumbotron.
She was House Florence's representative, Cecil.
Why's she here?
As that thought crossed his mind, Cecil spoke first.
"What brings you here...?"
"Just sightseeing. You?"
"I was... praying."
"Ah?"
Only then did Jin realize she was the one at the altar, nodding deeply. He thumbed toward where the armored figure had vanished.
"So, what was that just now?"
"...A spirit I contracted with recently."
"It was about to draw on me?"
Her face flushed crimson at his blunt question. "H-He... I mean, no. It's all my fault for being inadequate, so it overinterpreted a simple command... Um, you know."
Fumbling, fidgeting, sweating bullets. After stammering for a while, Cecil bowed deeply.
"I'm truly sorry."
Her hands neatly clasped at her navel, head low enough to see her scalp—the angle screamed sincere apology. Jin blinked. Of course, an apology was warranted.
Like a frail owner with an uncontrolled large dog?
Prime material for a beating.
Especially since innocents nearby could get hurt.
But what really enraged people was the owner's brazenness. "My dog doesn't bite"—that kind of nonsense that made listeners' eyes roll, eroding mutual respect.
In that light, Cecil was decent.
She was still bowing repeatedly.
"I'm sorry. Really, I'm so sorry."
"Hey, calm down first..."
Jin helped her straighten up.
"If you're sorry, just don't let it happen again. But if it does, no mercy—so don't summon it until you can handle it. Okay?"
"Yes."
"Good."
Cecil nodded, Jin shrugged it off. Silence settled naturally. What was there to say to near-strangers? Their screen-shared familiarity was superficial at best. As Jin moved to leave— "Aren't you nervous?"
Her perfectly timed question stopped him.
"Huh? About what?"
"You're up against Kendrick. Doesn't that make you nervous...?"
"..."
Jin blinked. Out of nowhere? Reading his blank look, Cecil fidgeted with busy hands.
"K-Kendrick's amazing. Good at everything, learns fast, respected inside and out the family... Just like Ryukard. Always so far ahead. Too far to even dream of catching up..."
She trailed off, then gasped "Ah!" and squeezed her eyes shut, clearly regretting her words. Jin didn't dwell, just answered.
"Dunno. I thought it'd be fun, but nervous? Why? Think I should be?"
She hesitated at his counterquestion.
Silence loomed again, but Jin continued before awkwardness set in.
"Fair point—tens of thousands watching would rattle anyone. But I doubt I'll have bandwidth to care. Cerebellum King's no joke. One slip, and it's 16-strong elimination, preliminaries or not. Man, that'd cause a stir." He figured the Sword Saint would be shocked seeing his rival's "disciple" drop in the round of 16.
But he shrugged it off.
Not my problem.
Casually, he asked—
"Why? You nervous?" Cecil just smiled faintly, no words. Her smile carried complex emotions, so Jin didn't pry.
He just held out his hand.
She met his palm hesitantly; he grinned.
"If you're nervous, fight nervous. I will too. See ya." With that, he left without lingering. Cecil stared at his back, then her palm. "..." She clenched her fist tight. Returning to the altar, she clasped her hands in prayer. "...Sorry, sis." No one heard her quiet murmur.
The gap between preliminaries and main round was a generous week,
but the main tournament from the round of 16 was a grueling march every three days.
Considering participants' conditions, more rest would be ideal, but what could you do?
Pandering like that would drag the festival out too long.
That's why they say "draw luck."
Good draw lets you manage condition and climb; bad one, and even a win leaves you vulnerable to weaker foes due to injuries.
In that sense, Eanna had a strong start.
Her opponent: Timothy Hunt.
Recalling his performance in the qualifiers, he was a powerhouse at the tail end of first-class.
Someone who'd squarely faced his limits and now relentlessly pushed limbs forward, hurling himself at walls he'd once deemed the sky, in ascetic days.
Most crumple before unyielding limits.
But some don't, and Timothy was one.
"Timothy Hunt."
"Eanna Solad."
Brief greetings ended as the horn signaled the main round's start.
Unlike expectations of Eanna's easy win, the match was fierce.
At least on the surface.
Timothy floated weapons in the air, clashing with Eanna until his mana didn't just bottom out—it evaporated.
But he never reached her.
Before White Flame's sublime blaze, all his techniques burned to ash.
No need for a finisher; as he collapsed, weaponless and exhausted, Eanna extended a hand. Match over.
Surprisingly, his expression as aides helped him up wasn't dark.
"Th-Thank you."
Gasping, flushed with hope—like a castaway spotting rescue.
This was one reason participants strived for the main round:
To fight those already in another league and grasp something new.
Of course, not everyone—plenty just chased fame and pay.
"Good work."
Eanna nodded lightly,
as the announcer bellowed her name to the rafters.
"Winner! Eanna Solad—!"
The next bout was an unaffiliated qualifier, like Katrina Margie.
It ended embarrassingly quick compared to Eanna's.
The loser gnashed teeth, gaining nothing.
Naturally, fans cheered the round-of-8 matchup: Eanna vs. Katrina.
Fire vs. ice—what era, what culture wouldn't hype that?
Meanwhile, screens flashed historical Solad vs. Margie records: Solad at 52% rounded.
"Heh, pride clash incoming."
Jin, warming up for his match, chuckled incredulously.
"Ready?"
The staffer's question got a cool nod and smile.
"Enter in 5 seconds."
5, 4, 3, 2, 1.
Countdown over, Jin strode lightly onto the vast field.
Kendrick arrived almost simultaneously.
Ten paces apart.
Meaningless distance for them.
Jin spoke.
"Let's have a good one."
Kendrick replied.
"Give it your all. Grandpa might change his mind then."
"It's us fighting. Why drag in innocent Grandpa? Isn't he due to retire? Tell him to step down already."
"If it were that easy...! Whatever, no point talking to you. Come on."
"Gladly."
Simultaneously, destructive lightning surged from both.
Mutual respect meant full throttle from the start.
Bzzt-crackle!!!
As intense light dominated the space, spectators instinctively squeezed eyes shut—
BOOM──!!
Perfectly synced thunderclaps as twin bolts collided.