Chapter 95 - Do not… forgive me
The word "extraordinary" fit the situation perfectly.
The clash between the direct and collateral lines that shared the origin of Zahad had been a continuous shock from start to finish.
Two people who had fought as if to kill each other collapsed at the same time, and the victor helped the defeated to their feet so that they stood together.
If that didn't stir emotions, then something was truly wrong.
No, it was definitely strange.
That was the extent of the aftermath.
The tournament hadn't even ended yet, but people were already saying, "I don't care about anything else; this match was the best."
"Jin Evernight? The greatest among the collateral line that I know."
"Ryucard? What's that? New card? Does that mean a fresh card? Haha."
"Rebuttal? Why should I even entertain that?"
[TL: Korean puns, not translatable]
So many people had momentarily lost their rationality that they formed a massive crowd.
Naturally, every online community was in an uproar.
Even the Neo-Humanist fascists, who normally despised purists, were keeping a side-eye on this tournament.
As people passionately discussed today's match, the protagonist and victor of the fight—the dark horse, the underdog who had suddenly been promoted to a championship contender—
Jin, who had long since been cut off from the world, drooling in his sleep, finally opened his eyes.
It was accompanied by a groan that sounded as if his lungs were being squeezed.
"Hurgh—uuuuh—"
It was the sound of a castaway collapsing from exhaustion after going without water in the desert.
By now, his forehead was covered in cold sweat, and the next moment, Jin reflexively clutched his lower abdomen.
He was starving!
Yes.
Jin was hungry.
That was why he had woken up.
Grrrgle—his stomach churned like the unholy whispers of Cthulhu bubbling up from the depths of the abyss.
For Jin, hunger was just that—a sensation as terrifying as cosmic horror.
But he had eaten before sleeping.
Why was this happening?
Jin furrowed his brows.
Hadn't he inhaled three hamburgers despite his pain before lying down?
No way…
A sudden realization flashed through his mind, and he reached for the nightstand beside his bed.
He turned on his device and checked the date.
Sure enough, it wasn't just a few hours later—it had been 24 hours and a few extra.
That explained everything.
He had missed at least three meals in that time, and given his usual eating habits, he had effectively skipped over 15 portions.
An enormous loss.
And so, Jin scrambled out of bed.
Hundreds of messages from acquaintances had piled up, but he had no time to reply.
Right now, the monster named PTSD, residing in his gut, was grumbling irritably with every passing second.
So, he hurriedly threw on a jacket and left the room.
As he descended to the lobby, familiar hotel staff greeted him with nods and smiles.
They had always been polite people.
He didn't notice anything different as he immediately made his escape from the hotel!
Hopping into an autonomous taxi, Jin shouted at the AI navigator.
"Food! The best food!"
[Understood. Directing you now.]
Thus, he arrived at the dining district.
Regretting the long ride and thinking he should have just ordered room service, Jin jumped out of the taxi and dashed into the nearest restaurant.
"The usual!"
He blurted out whatever came to mind and grabbed a menu, realizing it was a taco place.
At that moment, an employee approached him with a look that clearly said, "What is this guy's deal?"
Jin scanned the menu with his index finger and pointed.
"I'll take everything from here to here. All of it. Quickly. I'm starving to death."
Seeing the nervous look on the worker's face, Jin heard them hesitantly repeat his order.
"He says he wants everything on the menu."
"…Are you sure?!"
"Yes! He said he's starving."
The employee exchanged words with the chef before turning away, looking utterly done with life.
Then, suddenly pausing, he glanced back.
"Tsk."
He narrowed his eyes suspiciously.
But only for a moment.
Seeing Jin anxiously bouncing his knee and chewing his fingernail, the worker smirked.
"No way."
Clearly, this guy looked like a drug addict.
Best not to get involved.
And so, the employee unceremoniously dropped the tacos onto the table and walked away.
Not caring about what others thought, Jin immediately dug in.
The word "devouring" fit perfectly.
In no time, he had demolished his entire order, then downed a cola to cleanse his palate.
"Ahhh—"
The sweet, fizzy drink washed everything down, leaving a refreshing sensation.
Carbonated drinks were an eternal truth—unchanging and absolute.
Bzzzz—
His device vibrated on the table.
Jin glanced at the screen and checked the message.
[Hey, you still alive?]
It was Raph.
Come to think of it, that guy hadn't seen the match.
After his brutal injuries in the fight against Kendrick, Jin had been taken straight to the medical bay.
The doctors had strongly advised him to drop out of the next match, insisting he needed hospitalization, but he had simply replied, "I'll be fine if I eat and sleep well," and stumbled back to his hotel.
That was the last thing he remembered.
He hadn't even checked how the Round of 16 had wrapped up.
Snatching up his device, Jin first began replying to the mountain of messages from his acquaintances.
Four from Khalifa, all warning him to be careful.
Five from Po, saying, "No need to be so proud."
Eight from Jecky and Jenny—Yeah, I miss RumPumPumPum too. Really.
Three from Natasha—That damn drinking promise again.
One hundred and twelve from D'Andre—What the hell is wrong with this guy?
Among them, some familiar names stood out.
His comrades from Mute Town, led by Albus.
He had heard they were now working as a vigilante group after wiping out the remnants of TB.
Despite their busy circumstances, they had sent their support.
Fenrir's name was among them, which was unexpected.
[I'll be there soon too.]
Why was he coming soon?
Jin had no idea, but since he got a message, he tilted his head and typed back.
[Watch out for the beast madness. Eat something good.]
He chuckled to himself as he replied to each and every message.
Then, after ordering another round of tacos, he finally checked the results of the Round of 16.
"Hmm…"
The second match of Group 2 had been won by Michelle, the woman from the rest stop who always seemed a little off.
She had easily defeated a well-known mercenary.
She was now his opponent in the quarterfinals, but Jin didn't feel much about it.
So we meet again.
He simply muttered that to himself.
The first match of Group 3, unsurprisingly, had been Ryucard's victory.
Nothing special there. Moving on.
The second match of Group 3 had been won by Dayor Hakan.
No surprises there either.
Although he was usually timid around his older siblings, he was still his family's representative.
He had overwhelmed his opponent and won in style.
However, since his next opponent was Ryucard, he had let out a deep sigh even after winning, making the audience burst into laughter.
Watching this tournament made Jin understand its purpose.
Even among purists, the great families often felt distant.
This was a rare chance to see the next generation of successors up close.
That sense of connection—realizing that even they experienced joy, anger, sorrow, and happiness—could significantly influence relationships.
Maybe those conspiracy theory posts he read before weren't entirely wrong.
With that thought, Jin checked the results of the next match.
Group 4, Match 1—Raph's victory.
Well, would you look at that?
That guy's persistence was a work of art.
Once again, he had barely scraped by, his face swollen like a beaten fruit, but it seemed that kneeling and wailing had now become his signature victory pose.
"Uwaaaah! The quarterfinals!!"
Jin chuckled as he watched the vivid moment captured in a video, reaching for the taco that had somehow made its way onto the table.
Taking a big bite of the tortilla, he chewed thoughtfully.
That guy might be overly expressive with his emotions,
but his skills were undeniable.
I mean, that's how he made it to the quarterfinals in the first place.
Then, all of a sudden, he shook his head.
Unfortunately, he had a bad feeling about Raph's next opponent.
Carlos Gerstein.
A man known as the 'Spear Demon.'
One of the top contenders for the championship this round, alongside Kendrick and Ryucard.
Raph had made it this far thanks to a mix of skill and favorable matchups, but this time, he'd finally met his match—or so Jin thought, as he checked the last match result.
And then, he dropped his taco.
"…Huh?"
Because the name he saw was completely unexpected.
Winner—
Cecile Florence.
***
The statue was magnificent.
A figure said to have burned away the evils of the world as the Sun God's apostle long ago.
Holy King Aldemain.
The sculpture of history's greatest paladin stood tall at the heart of the grand cathedral, gazing into the distance with a resolute expression, just as it always had.
And kneeling beneath it—
Was Cecile.
"Forgive me. Forgive me. Forgive me. Forgive me. Forgive me. Forgive me. Forgive me. Forgive me."
Despite her unexpected victory, she showed no joy.
Instead, she repeated the same words obsessively.
Beside her stood a knight shrouded in dark blue mist.
The very summon that had played a crucial role in her victory over Carlos.
At some point, the knight's helmet slowly tilted upward.
Its gaze, hidden behind the visor, turned coldly toward the darkness.
"…"
Like a lie, Cecile fell silent.
At the same time, a gust of wind brushed against the nape of her neck.
A shiver ran down her spine.
Every hair on her body stood on end, and her blood felt frozen.
She swallowed dryly as her face slowly turned backward.
Something descended from the sky behind her.
It slithered like a massive snake, silent as it crawled across the ground.
It swarmed like thousands of insects wriggling out of rotting flesh.
It carried the stench of blood that could never be washed away.
And yet, as it landed, its movements were graceful.
The terrible presence took on human form.
It was like the descent of a demon.
An existence that seemed to have one foot in the realm of the unreal, suffocating merely to face.
Sarak.
A flowing robe brushed against the ground.
In the next moment, cold, expressionless faces turned to Cecile, emanating a swirling aura of death.
Could something like that even be called human?
Cecile gritted her teeth.
And she realized—truly, deeply—what these beings were.
The Twelve Apostles.
Masters of all that is wicked, rulers of the black mages.
The man who held one of those seats, with his frigid gaze, spoke.
"Did victory taste sweet?"
Cecile couldn't answer.
It felt like something was caught in her throat, choking her voice.
And that silence acted as an unspoken trigger for her summon.
Srrng.
The knight drew his sword without a word, his cold stare locked onto the two apostles before him.
No.
Cecile squeezed her fear-crushed throat and forced out a cry.
"Eiron… Stop."
Her voice rippled through the air.
At the desperate command, Eiron—who had been striding forward—halted and lowered his sword.
The cold-faced apostle watched the scene in silence before speaking again.
"Isn't this the moment you've always dreamed of?"
His words cut through the conversation like a blade, but Cecile understood what he meant.
Her lips trembled as she struggled to form a response.
"I… I…"
"Don't bother thinking about it. You made your choice."
The apostle's icy voice pressed down on her, cutting off her words.
"I came to remind you of your role. When one of us draws the Swordmaster's attention, you must fulfill your part as well."
Again, Cecile remained silent.
The apostle's frigid stare locked onto her as he spoke once more.
"Guilt is the most useless emotion for a human to have. There's no need to unburden yourself with meaningless prayers.
Because no matter what you do—Thea Florence will never come back."
"…I know."
At last, Cecile answered.
The apostle said something more to her.
And then, it was over.
Like melting into the shadows, the apostles vanished without a trace.
Cecile stood there for a long time, staring at the empty space where they had been.
Then, finally, she let out a ragged breath.
"Gah—! Hah, haah—!"
Her trembling hands, drenched in sweat, wiped at her face.
And her gaze landed on the Holy King's statue.
A hero of an era.
A stark contrast to her own twisted, contorted expression.
And then, her lips parted in a hoarse whisper.
"Do not… forgive me."