Chapter 49: Those Who Have Been Drenched by the Rain
Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack!
Riehlvelt's twin whips became a blur, lashing against the ground with a series of sharp cracks.
Infused with Nen, these whips would shatter the bones of any ordinary newcomer, even if they managed to see through the flurry of strikes and tried to block them.
In Mord's eyes, calling Riehlvelt's whip technique mediocre was already giving him too much credit.
He merely pursued speed blindly.
A true master could wield a whip with fluid versatility, blending hardness and softness—like a venomous snake always ready to strike.
Unlike the clown before him.
Mord materialized his Zanpakutō, gripping it without even releasing any of its abilities.
With a single forward slash—
A dazzling blade light flashed, and Riehlvelt heard only the whisper of the wind.
Then, to his shock, the long whips in his hands shattered into countless pieces, falling from the air.
His hidden killing move, the million-volt electric current he had never used, would now never see the light of day.
Before he could even process his defeat, a sharp pain shot through his arms. Mord had appeared beside him without warning.
Grabbing his arms, Mord crushed his bones with sheer force.
"Ah!"
A piercing scream echoed throughout the 200th-floor arena.
No one had expected the match to end this way.
It was indeed a one-sided slaughter, as some had predicted—but not one of them had imagined that the victim would be the established powerhouse, Riehlvelt.
"I wonder if you're satisfied with this initiation from a newcomer like me."
Seeing Mord's "warm" smile, Riehlvelt felt genuine terror. A long-buried memory, one he had refused to confront, surged back into his mind.
Back then, as a rookie, he had been thrilled and overjoyed to fight his way up to the 200th floor.
He had dreamed of becoming a Floor Master and making a name for himself.
But reality had dealt him a harsh blow.
Faced with an opponent who toyed with him, knocking him to the ground with a mocking expression—it was a memory he would never forget.
But what else could he do?
Powerlessness was the ultimate despair.
His legs crippled by his opponent, he lay collapsed on the arena floor as the surrounding spectators dispersed.
Darkness gradually descended, yet he remained alone, lying there by himself. The mere thought of that scene was enough to drive one to despair.
If Aoba hadn't extended a helping hand in the end, he would have surely gone mad right then.
"Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah!"
At the memory, Riehlvelt began screaming like a madman.
Mord glanced over, withdrew his aura, reached out, and hauled the man from his wheelchair, tossing him out of the arena like trash.
Some people, having been drenched by rain, want the whole world to know how it feels to be soaked. When they see someone else holding an umbrella, they think of snatching it away and tearing it to shreds.
The trio of Gido, Sadaso, and Riehlvelt were exactly that kind of people.
After surviving their initiation, what was left broken in them wasn't just their bodies—it was their souls as well.
"The winner is contestant Mord!" the announcer declared loudly.
The audience roared Mord's name in unison. They were obsessed with power, worshipped the strong, and to them, bloodshed and cruelty were merely catalysts.
They only served to make the atmosphere more intense and the spectators more exhilarated.
After all, it wasn't them getting hurt, crippled... or killed.
But in the near future, someone would make them taste death as well.
They would learn that being a spectator doesn't mean you can go without a helmet.
As Mord passed through the contestant corridor, he spotted Gido and Sadaso. At the sight of him, they shrank back like mice spotting a cat, not even daring to meet his eyes.
...
Heavens Arena, 230th floor.
Dusk was approaching. Sunlight pierced through the clouds and windows, casting a golden glow across the hall's floor—bright and pristine, yet unable to mask the eerie, chilling atmosphere.
This was Aoba's domain.
Riehlvelt swallowed nervously, his words beginning to stumble.
"Mr. Aoba, my injuries are minor. Perhaps I should take my leave now."
It was no wonder. Anyone would react the same way upon seeing a room filled with displays of human organs.
Aoba turned to face Riehlvelt, a scalpel now in his hand, and slowly advanced toward him.
"You once said you wanted to repay my kindness."
"Your... your kindness is something I will never forget."
Aoba tugged open his own shirt, revealing his chest.
Riehlvelt's pupils contracted sharply at the sight. On Aoba's chest was a hideous, gruesome wound, through which his blackened heart was clearly visible.
"As you can see, I need a heart. Unfortunately, ordinary hearts are completely useless—even those of fighters who've reached the 200th floor."
Aoba lowered his right hand and pulled his clothes back into place.
"Originally, I had no intention of acting within Heavens Arena. For me, this place is a perfect refuge. But this time, I have no choice."
"I don't want to do this either. It's all that wretched woman's fault! All her fault!"
Aoba grew more agitated as he spoke, his face contorted, bearing no resemblance to the gentle, refined man he had appeared to be before.
"Now that you're nothing but a cripple, the only value you have left in this world is to give me your heart. A Nen user's heart might just do the trick."
With Aoba closing in step by step, Riehlvelt had nowhere left to run.
At this moment, the entire 230th floor had only the two of them.
As the Tower Master, Aoba's strength was unquestionable. Riehlvelt was not so arrogant as to believe he could escape alive from Aoba's grasp and reach the 220th floor.
Moreover, with both his hands broken now, he couldn't even fight back.
Yet, even with his hands and feet crippled, Riehlvelt's instinct for survival drove him to channel all the Nen energy in his body.
"It's useless." Aoba stood still, watching Riehlvelt as he spoke.
"I know your ability. That explosive move of yours may be powerful, but it can't last. Forget leaving this floor—you can't even make it past the door behind me."
Ignoring Aoba's words, Riehlvelt continued to amplify his own energy output, as if determined to burn his entire being to ashes.
The Nen energy activated the specially made wheelchair he was sitting on.
"Aura Burst!"
Riehlvelt shouted loudly. Instantly, the released Nen energy formed a powerful thrust, controlling the wheelchair to reverse direction and charge forward with unstoppable momentum.
Watching Riehlvelt's actions, Aoba's face showed an expression of disbelief. He wanted to stop him, but it was already too late.
"You're insane!" Aoba shouted loudly.
The direction Riehlvelt charged towards wasn't the door behind Aoba leading out of the room, but the floor-to-ceiling glass window facing the sky.
Crash!
Glass shattered everywhere.