While the Seven Star Cup moved along, so too did the plans of those looking to attack it. The shadow master of the Netherworld Faith, Reisen—also known as Malebolge—was going over final plans with the Rodanian agents plotting the empire’s downfall. They had met in a secret hideout arranged by Malebolge. Their preparations were perfect, and all that was left was to make sure everything went according to schedule.
At least, that was what everyone thought until they heard the screams.
“An attack?! Are they on to us?!”
The Rodanian agents looked to Malebolge for answers, but she wasn’t flustered in the slightest.
“So it would seem,” she said with a thin smile. “How troublesome. We’ve no choice now but to fight back.”
“Fight back?! Do we even have the means to do that here?!”
The agents had fallen into complete panic.
“Nope,” Malebolge replied, shaking her head. “The faithful are already in position, as is the Lord of Flies. All we have here are the top members of the cult, and none of them can fight.”
“What?! Then what are we going to do?!”
“Don’t ask me. You’ll just have to work out some way to fend for yourselves. The best I can do is cheer you on.”
“You bitch!”
Just as an agent went to grab a hold of Malebolge, the door to their room burst open. There in the doorway stood a woman with a head of blood-red hair and a bewitching grin.
“It’s Dolly Gardner…clan master of Goat Dinner…” the agent said shakily.
“Quite the fearsome opponent,” said Malebolge. “Best be careful or you’ll wind up dead.”
The Rodanian agents were infuriated by Malebolge’s calm, but they surrounded Dolly, knowing they had to take her down first.
“Be on guard!” shouted one. “This is a regalia clan master. We attack her together!”
They moved in all at once.
“Piss off.”
Dolly had buffed herself before storming in, and her fists turned her opponents into minced meat and broken bones. Blood and guts splattered across the room. Malebolge wiped some of it from her face with a finger and licked it with a smile.
“They were all A-Rank, yet you finished them in seconds.”
“Were they? I thought they were C-Rank.”
“Funny. You were supposed to be more exhausted by now…” Malebolge sighed. That part of her plans had gone awry. “I was never going to fight you, but I guess there’s no escaping it. Show me what you’ve got, Little Miss Black Goat.”
Malebolge dropped into a fighting stance, and Dolly’s grin stretched wider.
“I’m not usually one for revenge, but for you I’ll make an exception. I am going to make your death dirty. I’ll take you apart piece by piece and have you taste true fear!”
✦ ✦ ✦
The Seven Star Cup had raged on, and now only two matches remained.
“It’s time, ladies and gentlemen! The Block B finals have arrived!”
The crowd cheered at Luna’s commentary. Zeke Feinstein and Koga were in the ring. In Block B’s sixth match, Zeke had wrecked Elliot Kahn. He’d skipped the semifinals because Kaspar of Goat Dinner had pulled out. Koga, meanwhile, had defeated Cave of the Universe’s Lei Su to earn his spot in the Block B finals.
Both men had fought twice, but they were in strikingly different conditions. Zeke was cool as a cucumber, whereas Koga was barely even able to stand. Though he had emerged victorious in his battle against Lei Su, he’d accumulated long-lasting damage.
Koga was in the worst shape of his life. He knew the trick he’d used against Arthur would be of no use here. Before him stood an EX-Rank Seeker, one of the strongest people in the empire. His chances of victory were essentially zero.
Nevertheless, he was not about to give up here.
“Next up,” Luna announced, “we have Sword Saint Zeke Feinstein versus Futsumitama Koga Tsukishima! How will the man who took down Arthur McBain tackle an EX-Rank opponent?! Let the battle begin!”
At the sound of the bell, Koga dropped his hips low and put a hand to the handle of his sword. It was a quickdraw stance, a sword technique taught in the lands to the east. His Longswordsman skill, Iai Flash, required his sword to be sheathed, but he couldn’t use it because he’d selected two different skills for the tournament. Instead, he was focused on a pure unsheathing attack—no skills involved. This would give his slice more force and make the timing and angle of his attack harder to read. It was also a message to his opponent that Koga intended to finish this match in a single strike, imbued with everything he had left.
“A duel, Zeke Feinstein!” Koga shouted.
The words were a challenge for the match to be decided in just one move. Koga was betting on the fact that Zeke would not back down in front of a crowd of fifty thousand—he was an EX-Rank Seeker, the vice-master of the empire’s strongest clan, and he considered himself the strongest Seeker ever. Koga had to finish this fight quickly. It was the only way he could preserve enough strength to meet Leo in the tournament finals.
“Very well,” said Zeke with his usual smile. “I would not want the match to end with you collapsing from exhaustion, anyway.”
Zeke then lowered his own hips and settled into exactly the same stance as Koga. However, Zeke’s favored weapon was the straight longsword, and unlike the curved swords that Koga used, Zeke received no benefits from fighting in this stance. In fact, he was actually at a handicap—unsheathing his sword would inevitably slow him down.
But Zeke’s body language was a reply to Koga’s own resolve—with you as weak as you are, I don’t have to take you seriously. Zeke’s attitude vexed Koga, but he shut the frustration away and focused on his sword. Pride was useless if it did not help him achieve victory.
“And that victory,” muttered Koga. “Will. Be…”
He relaxed his body like melting ice, and at the very moment his upper body began to fall to the floor, the muscles in his whole body sprang to life with perfect timing. He flew toward Zeke at speeds even faster than a bullet. It was called Shukuchi—an Eastern technique for moving at godlike speed.
“Mine!”
He closed in on Zeke, charging his sword in its sheath before unleashing it with tremendous force. It was the Futsumitama skill, Amenomurakumo. If it hit, even Zeke would fall to its power. Koga’s blade flashed through the air, and just as it was about to sink into Zeke’s neck, he heard the Sword Saint whisper.
“He’s got good people around him. But this one is no match for me.”
If one thought about the flow of time, such an experience was impossible. It was the shortest possible instant in time, and Koga was locked in that eternal moment like a prison. His sword would never reach Zeke. The frozen moment was like a dream, and in it, Koga saw a sudden ending.
His vision filled with a blue flash, and it expanded until it drowned out his consciousness completely.
When Koga opened his eyes, he was in his locker room. He tried to sit up, but his body ignored him. Turning his head, he saw Hugo standing over him with arms crossed. Koga’s gaze pleaded for answers. In his heart he knew the result, but still he had to ask. Hugo paused for a moment, then slowly shook his head.
Tears flooded Koga’s eyes. Even after giving everything he had, he’d lost to Zeke. He had made a promise to Noel that he would emerge victorious. Koga had wanted to save Noel, and yet still he had been soundly defeated.
Koga wept and wailed. It was like the defeated, bitter cries of a wild beast. He could not forgive himself for his own weakness. He cried until the last of his energy was gone, and then he passed out again.
“You fought well. I am proud of you from the bottom of my heart.”
Hugo’s words fell upon his unconscious friend. He could not bear to speak them to the Longswordsman’s face, so he spoke them now. When he left the locker room, he picked up the scent of cigarette smoke in the air—an aroma so familiar he knew it immediately.
He chuckled. “Always with the tough-guy act.”