Chapter 96
Chapter 96
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 95
Chapter Title: The Perfect Upset
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The word "upset" fit perfectly.
The showdown between direct and collateral descendants sharing the Zahard lineage was one continuous shock from start to finish.
Two fighters battling to the death both collapsing at once, only for the winner to haul the loser to his feet so they could stand tall together—what a sight.
If that didn't move you, something was seriously wrong.
Anyway, something was off.
And the ripple effects? Even though the tournament wasn't over yet, I couldn't care less. This match was the best. Jin Evernight? The top collateral I knew. Ryu Card? New card? Ha! Why should I accept any rebuttals?
Rationality had short-circuited for so many that crowds were forming.
Naturally, the entire community was in an uproar.
This was the kind of tournament that even new-humanity fascists—who usually despised purists—couldn't ignore.
Amid all the chatter and furious typing about today's match...
The protagonist and victor of that bout—the dark horse, the underdog suddenly elevated to championship contender—
Jin, who had long since passed out drooling in a world cut off from everything, finally opened his eyes.
Accompanied by a groan wrung from his lungs.
"Huuuuh—uuugh—"
It sounded like a castaway collapsing in the desert without a drop of water.
His forehead was already beaded with cold sweat. The next instant, Jin clutched his lower belly on reflex.
I'm starving!
Yes. Jin was famished.
That's why he woke up.
A gurgling rumble echoed from his gut like the profane whispers of Cthulhu bubbling up from the ocean depths.
To Jin, hunger was like that.
A cosmic horror of a sensation.
He'd definitely eaten and slept. Why was this happening?
Jin furrowed his brow.
Before bed, even in pain, he'd scarfed down three burgers.
No way?
A sudden suspicion hit him. Jin reached for the nightstand and fired up his terminal to check the date.
Sure enough, it wasn't just a few hours—it was over 24 hours later.
That explained it.
Twenty-four hours meant missing at least three meals, and factoring in his usual habits, closer to fifteen portions.
What an enormous loss.
Thus, Jin scrambled out of bed in a panic.
He glanced at the hundreds of messages from contacts but had no time to reply one by one.
Not when the PTSD monster named Hunger was still rattling its chains against his ribs—gurgle, gurgle.
Throwing on a jacket, he bolted from the room.
Down in the lobby, familiar staff smiled and bowed as he passed.
They'd always been friendly.
Feeling no real change, Jin made a break for it—straight into an unmanned taxi.
"Food! Good eats!" he yelled at the AI asking for a destination.
[Understood. Proceeding.]
The restaurant district he arrived at.
Regretting the longer-than-expected ride—should've just ordered room service—Jin charged into the nearest joint.
"The usual!"
Blurting it out and plopping down, he scanned the menu: tacos.
The server's "What the hell?" stare met Jin's finger sweeping down the menu.
"Everything from here to here. All of it. Fast. I'm starving to death."
Noting the desperate eyes, the server hesitantly repeated the order.
"Everything on the menu?"
"...You sure?!"
"Yes! Said he's starving to death."
After chatting with the chef, the server turned away with a world-weary shrug—then paused and looked back.
"Tch."
Squinting suspiciously.
But only for a moment.
Seeing the fidgety customer jiggling his thigh and stress-munching his nails, the server smirked.
"Nah, no way."
Looks like a druggie. Better steer clear.
Decision made, he dumped the first tacos on the table and walked off—
Jin dove in, heedless of first impressions.
Stuffing his face fit perfectly.
He demolished the pile in no time, chasing it with gulps of cola.
"Kaaah—"
The sweet fizz clearing his pipes.
Carbonation is always right—that eternal truth reaffirmed.
Bzzz—
Glancing at the vibrating terminal, Jin checked the message.
[Yo, you alive?]
Laf.
Oh yeah, he missed this guy's match.
His injury from Kendrick had been brutal, sending him straight to the med bay.
Medical staff urged hospitalization and skipping the next round, but he'd brushed it off—"I'll be fine after some food and sleep"—staggered back to the hotel. Last memory.
Snatching the terminal to check the 16-strong finals and reply to the message pile first.
Kalifa: 4 msgs, take care.
Poh: 5 msgs, no need to be so proud.
Jeki & Jenny: 8 msgs, yeah, miss Rum Pump Pump Pump for real.
Natasha: 3 msgs, screw that booze promise.
Dr. Andre: 112 msgs, what the hell is with this guy?
Some pleasant surprises too.
Albus and the Mute Town crew leading.
Heard they'd wiped out TB remnants and were running city vigilante ops. Despite the chaos, they'd caught wind and sent support.
Fenrir tagging along was unexpected.
[Me soon too.]
Whatever "soon" meant, Jin tilted his head but typed back.
[Watch the mania. Eat well.]
Grinning to himself, wiping his nose, he replied to everyone one by one.
Reordered tacos from the server, then finally checked the 16-strong results.
"...Hmm."
Group 2, Match 2: Michelle—the rest-stop loose screw—victory.
Took down a pretty famous merc easily.
She'd face him in the quarters representing Group 2, but no strong feelings.
Just mumbling inwardly: Bumping into her here too.
Group 3, Match 1: Ryu Card win, as expected.
Nothing special, skip.
Group 3, Match 2: Deia Hakan win.
Smooth sailing so far.
The guy groveled around elders, but as family rep, he'd shown the gap and won coolly.
Still, facing Ryu Card next must've weighed heavy—even in victory, a deep sigh caught on the big screen, cracking up the crowd.
Makes you get why they hold these tournaments.
Same purists, but feeling worlds apart.
A chance to see the next-gen heirs' human side.
That shared humanity—joy, sorrow, love, hate—bonds more than you'd think.
Musing that some conspiracy post he'd seen wasn't all wrong, Jin checked the next result.
Group 4, Match 1: Laf victory.
This guy's a sight.
His gritty hanging-on is an art form.
Another teary nail-biter win, his kneeling wail now his signature pose.
'Uwaaaah! Quarters!!'
Grinning at the video memory, Jin reached for fresh tacos.
Munching a big bite of tortilla, cheeks bulging, he thought:
He's so genuine with emotions.
But skills? Rock solid.
That's how he made quarters, right?
Then he shook his head.
Pity—his next opponent's a monster.
Carlos Gershtain.
The Spear Ghost.
One of the top title contenders with Kendrick and Ryu Card.
Laf had skill and luck to reach quarters, but this time he met his match. Jin checked the final result.
And dropped his taco.
"Huh?"
An utterly unexpected name was there.
Winner.
Cecil Florence.
It was a majestic statue.
A figure from ages past, said to have burned away the world's corruptions as the Sun God's apostle.
Saint King Aldemain.
History's greatest holy knight stood tall at the cathedral's heart, gazing into the distance with unyielding eyes, as always.
And beneath it, someone knelt.
Cecil.
"Forgive me. Forgive me. Forgive me. Forgive me. Forgive me. Forgive me. Forgive me. Forgive me."
Far from celebrating her unforeseen victory, she compulsively repeated the words. Beside her loomed a knight shrouded in inky mist.
The summon that had clinched her win over Carlos.
That summon's helm slowly lifted.
A cold gaze pierced the darkness from beneath the visor.
"......"
As if by magic, Cecil shut her mouth.
A breeze from the shadows brushed her nape.
Chills erupted. Hairs stood on end, blood freezing. She swallowed dryly, turning slowly.
Something descended from the sky behind her.
A massive serpent slithering silently, thousands of bugs crawling from rot, an indelible stench of blood.
They landed softly, a horrific presence taking human form.
Like devils descending. Their very existence straddled unreality, choking breath just facing them—no illusion.
Swish.
Flowing robes brushed the floor. Cold, expressionless faces turned to Cecil, wafting death itself.
How could you call those people?
Cecil gritted her teeth.
Realizing anew what stood before her.
The Twelve Apostles.
Lords of all evil, leading the black mages.
The icy-faced man of the First Seat spoke.
"Was victory sweet?"
Cecil couldn't answer rashly.
Her throat seized up. And that silence triggered her summon.
Shing.
The knight drew silently. Two apostles watched impassively.
No.
Cecil squeezed her terror-choked throat.
"A...ron! Stop."
Her rippling voice halted Auron mid-stride; he sheathed and retreated.
The cold-faced apostle continued, watching.
"Wasn't this the moment you'd always dreamed of?"
Context cut bare, but Cecil frowned, knowing exactly.
Her lips trembled.
"I..."
"Don't overthink. It was your choice."
His chill voice pressed on.
"We're here to remind you of your role. When one of us draws the Sword Saint's eye, you'll do your part there too. Don't forget."
Cecil stayed silent again.
Ice-locked by his gaze, the apostle spoke once more.
"Guilt is humanity's most useless emotion. No need to lighten your burden with pathetic prayers. Thea Florence won't return."
"...I know."
Cecil finally replied. The apostle added something to her.
And that was it.
They melted into shadows. Cecil stared at the empty space, then exhaled raggedly.
"Guhk—kehuk—huuk—"
Shaking, she wiped sweat-soaked hands across her face. Her gaze hit the Saint King's statue.
Her twisted visage contrasted the era's hero, rasping metallically.
"Don't... forgive me."