Following the conclusion of the first round—in which Grey de Molière defeated William Falcona after unleashing his unique blessing—the competition was halted for two and a half hours for repairs, as the arena had been completely obliterated by Grey's final attack.
Meanwhile, the members of both teams gathered their thoughts, reeling from the events that had just unfolded.
In the quarters of the "Cannibals" team, a heavy, absolute silence hung in the air. William, who had sustained only minor injuries, sat in a chair with his head bowed. He remained silent, a bitter taste lingering in his throat—the bitterness of defeat, the shame, and the humiliation of having been bested by a mere fifteen-year-old. He had spent more time in training than Grey had spent alive; he possessed six centuries of combat and warfare experience, yet he had ultimately lost to a child—someone who could have been his great-great-grandchild, had he ever married.
A deep, despair-filled sigh escaped his lips, but as he looked up, his eyes burned with an intense, absolute desire—a craving to reach the pinnacle that spread like wildfire. Within his heart, he made a vow—a pledge he would break only if his own head were severed from his body:
"I shall reach the summit, no matter the calamities or challenges—even if it costs me my very life. I will become stronger, whatever the price may be. Let the world bear witness!"
He cast his gaze toward his teammates, finding them all dejected—save for Gother and Jian. He hadn't even been present to gauge their mental state—hardly surprising, given they were new recruits. (Gowther had departed for reasons unknown, while Jian had been busy training for his upcoming bout—a final showdown against both Yuta Caseral and Privka Aslahan. According to the intelligence Gowther had provided, both were formidable, with Yuta standing out as the strongest member of their team.)
William sighed, casting his gaze toward his team—defeated in spirit long before their bodies had given way. He unleashed his aura; the pressure was so terrifying that it left everyone stunned. After all, the aura of someone at the peak of the Semi-Ruler rank was not something they could easily withstand.
A few seconds later, he withdrew his overwhelming presence and spoke, his voice booming with authority and gravitas:
"You are nothing but cowardly fools—you don't deserve this power! Even the weakest among us is at the early Saint rank, yet you cower before mere fifteen-year-olds! Even if we lose, it is no disgrace; we are facing the elite of the elite—the greatest talents in the history of humanity! Do you feel no shame in surrendering so quickly, simply because I suffered a defeat? What a disgrace! What an embarrassment! Now, go and show me what you're truly made of! Come on—let me hear you! Will you fight as if there is no tomorrow?" The members of the "Cannibals" team rose from their seats, their eyes burning with determination and resolve. In a single voice, they thrust their fists into the air and declared:
"Yes, Captain! We shall fight, and we shall win—and if we lose, we shall lose with the honor of having tried!"
A faint smile appeared on William's face as he looked at his teammates. It was a smile of pride; their enthusiasm made him forget his own humiliating defeat, as if it had never occurred.
Elsewhere within the building hosting the competition—in a secret underground chamber—sat a man who appeared to be in his fifties. He had shoulder-length, blue-black hair and dark eyes, and was dressed in the formal attire of a high-ranking facility director. Beside him sat an elderly man clad in traditional white Chinese robes; his face and body were etched with the signs of age—wrinkles and gray hair—and he leaned upon a staff carved from jade, adorned with intricate golden patterns. Turning his gaze toward the competition director, the old man stroked his beard and asked in a calm, measured tone:
"Young Su-lu, is what we are searching for currently present in the competition?" Su Lu turned his gaze toward the old man, whose face was etched with deep wrinkles—a testament to the toll taken by time. Speaking with a tone full of genuine respect, he expressed his certainty that what they were seeking could be found here:
"Elder Yong Yu-jung, I am certain that what we are looking for is here. Subject No. 000002546 from Group D—known as Yuta Caseral—is right here. There is only one other individual left to account for, but that is nothing to worry about; the second one—or rather, the other half—is already in our possession."
Yong Yu-jung let out a sigh of relief. They had spent months searching for Subject No. 000002546 from Group D, yet had been unable to track him down. This was due to several factors—most notably that the student records at Versalkin Academy were encrypted and further protected by a complex array of advanced magical and mechanical mechanisms, all of which had been crafted by Boswal himself during his lifetime and gifted to the academy.
Moreover, every spy sent to locate Yuta Caseral had met a grim fate: some were found dead of "natural" causes, while others were discovered horribly disfigured or driven to the depths of insanity. The cause behind these strange and unsettling incidents remained a mystery, which had ultimately led to a complete suspension of the search for two full months. Yong Su-lu turned his gaze toward Yong Yu-jong and spoke in a tone filled with respect:
"Elder Yong Yu-jong, why don't you take a seat and have some tea while we wait for 'Subject 000002546' to be captured?"
Yong Yu-jong moved toward a chair crafted from exquisitely carved pine wood. Its unique design offered excellent back support—a welcome relief for the elder, whose spine had become hunched over the centuries. Having lived for well over a thousand years—and long since ceased his cultivation, as he was no longer in a condition to train—Yong Yu-jong held the rank of a Rank 9, Mid-stage Gu Master, equivalent to a High-level Demonic Overlord.
Yong Su-lu poured hot tea—brewed from the finest and rarest medicinal herbs found on the black market—into Yong Yu-jong's cup.
"Thank you, young Yong Su-lu."
Yong Yu-jong brought the cup to his nose, inhaling the fragrant aroma of the herbs; it smelled like roses in the springtime. He let out a deep, wistful sigh, reflecting on the youth he had sacrificed in his relentless pursuit of power. He had spent sixteen hundred years struggling to reach the rank of High-level Demonic Overlord, eventually earning the title of "Great Demonic Venerable."
He was the very same individual who had struck terror into the hearts of all the inhabitants of the human empire—and beyond, reaching into other realms such as those of the demons, the dragons, and the lower and upper planes (realms inhabited by various creatures, not necessarily rulers). For eight centuries, he had been a figure of dread before vanishing from sight upon joining the "Scorpion" organization at the age of one thousand. Typically, a user of spiritual energy at the "Demon Ruler" level would reach the end of their natural lifespan at one thousand years, after which their body would rapidly age and decay. However, thanks to the power and terrifying knowledge of the organization's leader, he had managed to extend his life by another thousand years—in exchange for absolute loyalty to the leader, known as "The Black Scorpion."
Yong Yu-jung's gaze sharpened, and he unleashed a wave of killing intent that swept through the room. The chamber was vast enough to accommodate three hundred people and sturdy enough to withstand an assault from a "Master Ruler" rank fighter, reinforced by powerful runes etched into its walls. Yong Su-lu was bewildered by his grandfather's sudden, unprovoked display of killing intent; it was entirely out of character and caught him completely off guard.
Before he could utter a word, however, Yong Yu-jung spoke, his voice heavy with a lethal threat:
"Show yourself—or you will regret it for the rest of your life, which won't even last long enough to see tomorrow's sunrise!"
Out of the pitch-black darkness, a figure gradually emerged: a young man with short black hair and violet eyes. He was of average build, dressed in charcoal-black trousers and a matching lightweight jacket, topped with a pale white apron. For a few seconds, expressions of surprise appeared on their faces, only to shift into satisfied smiles. Looking at him, Young Su-lo spoke:
"Well done, Subject 000002546, on your return! You are truly special to the Leader—the only successful outcome among millions of other failed (and deceased) experiments."
A faint smile touched his lips as he gazed at them, before it erupted into hysterical laughter:
"Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!"
Young Yu-jung and his grandson, Young Su-lo, exchanged bewildered glances; events were unfolding too rapidly for them to fully grasp. Yuta turned his gaze toward them with a mocking smirk. The reason for his laughter? They actually believed he had come to surrender himself to them! It was the funniest thing he had heard in a long time.
In truth, Yuta had not come to talk—he had come to act. His decision to eliminate the organization wasn't driven by a desire for revenge on behalf of the original owner of this body; rather, it was because he refused to leave anything in his path that might serve as an obstacle or offer no long-term utility. If Yuta had previously spared those who stood in his way, it was never out of pity or mercy—it was simply because they still held some long-term value. In Yuta Casiral's eyes, every individual possessed a utility that could be exploited, whether now or in the future; and for those who held no such value—well, he would ensure they became useful in some way, even if only after their death. The Scorpion Organization was one such case. They held no future utility, but in the present, they were useful; they—along with the demons—obstructed the King's vision, preventing him from seeing the Kingdom of Athrias and the events currently unfolding within it. This allowed him to execute his schemes seamlessly.
That is why he delayed their total annihilation, choosing instead to eliminate only those members whose absence would not compromise the organization—figures such as the "Great Demonic Venerable" Yong Yu-jung and his grandson, Yong Su-lo; Kaito Ishikawa, known as "Zero"; and Yamirzas, the former head of the Casiral family. Yamirzas's sole purpose had been to sire Yuta, making him entirely replaceable. Furthermore, Yamirzas knew the identity of the landlord from whom Yuta had rented a property—a property that had actually belonged to Yuta's brother, Yuzukara—so Yuta killed him before he could even consider reaching out.
Yet, there are other members who cannot be replaced—unless someone more capable is found—or who serve merely as a facade. Even someone who considers themselves a "right-hand man" might be nothing more than a front. One cannot trust everything one hears or reads; it could all be a lie. After all, beginnings are not always what they seem.
After several minutes of silence, Yuta spoke in a calm, measured tone—a voice laced with malice and an underlying, unspoken threat of death:
"Did you truly think I came here to surrender? How laughable! You've all gone senile—especially you, Yong Su-lo; you've lost your wits quite early, haven't you? No matter, though. I'm going to kill you all regardless, so don't you worry—there's no such thing as senility in hell!" The moment he uttered that word, more than 50 fighters surged forward—the weakest among them ranked at the 'SS' level, while the strongest held the 'X' rank. Most belonged to the 'X' tier—the 'Legends'—yet none could surpass that level.
Yuta kept his gaze fixed entirely on Young Yu-jung and his grandson, Young Su-lu. He paid no mind to the fighters charging toward him like stray dogs; to him, they were nothing more than trash—mere insects buzzing in his ears. He did not lift a hand, summon any runes, or unleash any attacks. He remained as motionless as a concrete statue. Yet, the instant the attackers drew within centimeters, demonic creatures manifested: giant, eyeless spheres—inky black voids that absorbed all light—equipped with maws lined with razor-sharp, knife-like teeth capable of pulverizing anything caught between them.
The creatures fell upon the warriors with ravenous ferocity, shredding flesh and shattering bone. Gore and tissue flew through the air like scraps of paper. Fighters ranging from 'SS' to 'X' rank perished with chilling ease—much like a school of sardines being devoured by a colossal whale. The screams of the Scorpion Organization's subordinates echoed throughout the entire space. And yet, no one came to check on the 657 fighters stationed on that floor—a group that included 24 warriors of the 'Supreme Ruler' rank—leaving both Young Yu-jung and his grandson, Young Su-lu, utterly bewildered. In the corridors of the lower level—which were drenched in blood—soldiers and followers of the Scorpion Organization were being dispatched with utter ease by both Gother MacTire and Rikudo Navi. Even fighters of the "Supreme Ruler" rank were cut down by the pair as effortlessly as if they were mere insects. The objective behind these killings was to preempt the organization's assault on Utah; however, such an action would inevitably cause a stir, alerting the Emperor's experts and spies—who were embedded among the public—that something was amiss, and leading them directly to their location. This This would draw the attention of the King and the great powers of this world toward him.
In the room where Yuta stood, the air was filled with the screams of the organization's subordinates—cries echoing with fear, agony, and despair:
"Aaaargh! Save me! Someone, help me! I don't want to die—aaah!"
"What are these cursed creatures? Why do my attacks have no effect on them?"
Before he could finish, one of the creatures lunged at his throat, crushing his chest and face—he couldn't even manage a final scream!
Yuta wore a faint smile, his gaze never once wavering from Young Yu-jung and his grandson, Young Su-lo, both of whom were frozen in shock. Their faces had turned ashen; the demonic energy radiating from these creatures was beyond that of a High Demon Ruler—it was even more potent than that of a Sovereign of Rulers! They were stunned—how could someone not yet two hundred years old possess such immense power?
Minutes later, the floor of the secret chamber and Yuta's own clothes were drenched in fresh, still-warm blood. The metallic stench was so overpowering that it caused the nearby ornamental plants to wither and the decorative fish to die.
Yuta glanced down at something gripping his leg—a survivor of the onslaught. He mused to himself:
(It seems someone managed to survive by a miracle. That's fine.)
The man clinging to Yuta's leg appeared to be middle-aged; his right arm and part of his left leg had been devoured by the demonic creatures. He spoke in a faint voice, having lost a great deal of blood; his tone was filled with desperate pleading and a profound fear of death:
"Please... I don't want to die!"
Yuta's gaze turned cold—devoid of any emotion and steeped in utter indifference. He lifted the leg that the subordinate had been clutching, his voice as frigid as a corpse and as sharp as a sword's blade:
"Those who show no mercy shall receive none."
With his left foot, he crushed the man's head, reducing it to a gruesome pulp of blood, bone, and brain matter. He then kicked the corpse toward Young Soo-lo with such immense force that 60% of the body was torn and shattered mid-air. It slammed into Young Soo-lo's chest, sending him flying several meters until he collided with the room's wall—a wall reinforced to withstand even the strength of a 'Master Ruler' rank cultivator.
The violent impact forced a torrent of blood from Young Soo-lo's mouth:
"Arghhhhh!"
Young Soo-lo's pupils trembled as he vomited a massive amount of blood. With several ribs, his spine, a shoulder, and his chest cavity shattered, he lost consciousness.
Young Yoo-jung's expression twisted into a rage so intense that his face turned bright red; this was his only grandson, and he had cherished him deeply. He turned his gaze toward Yuta, with primordial *qi* swirling around him like a shield:
"You wretch! How could you bring yourself to do this to my grandson? Has power clouded your mind to the point where your arrogance has reached such heights? A piece of scum who fancies himself the strongest!"
Yuta's eyes began to change; the whites turned as black as an abyss, while his violet irises became more vivid, and his pitch-black pupils dilated further. A malicious smile played across his face as he looked down at the unconscious Young Su-lu.
Yuta laughed inwardly at Young Yu-jung's pathetic words. Humans inflict pain and suffering on others, yet see no issue with it—like the torture and killing of millions of six-year-old children—and then have the audacity to speak of injustice and tyranny! How hideous and fragile human excuses are—as flimsy as a spider's web!
He began to move with steady, deliberate steps toward Young Su-lu—one step, then another. Soon, he was right beside Young Yu-jung, who stood frozen in place, caught off guard. Yuta simply brushed past him, continuing on his path toward the grandson. Even more startling was the change in Yuta himself: his height had increased from 1.74 meters to 1.85 meters, his physical strength had multiplied several times over, and his hair had grown long, reaching down to his waist.
Young Yu-jung's expression shifted to one of pure shock as he realized what Yuta intended to do—and he lunged toward him. Yuta remained indifferent to Yong Yu-jung's attack; with a simple wave of his hand, he reduced Yong Yu-jung's legs to a bloody pulp!
A piercing, agonizing scream erupted from Yong Yu-jung's throat. The searing pain radiating from his mangled limbs was intensified manifold by the advanced age of his body:
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"
He bit his lips so hard they began to bleed, desperately trying to suppress the agony. His gaze remained fixed on Yuta as he moved toward his grandson, Yong Su-lu. He was gripped by terror, his heart pounding faster with every passing second—yet, a mysterious smile lingered at the corner of his lips. Yuta noticed it, and a look of utter contempt curled his own lips.
Upon reaching Yong Su-lu, Yuta lifted him into the air using only a flick of his finger—a display of telekinesis. A chilling, terrifying smile spread across Yuta's face, causing Yong Yu-jung's expression to darken.
Yuta snapped his fingers, and a green, restorative aura enveloped Yong Su-lu's body. Yong Yu-jung, already suspicious and wary, was left bewildered—before his expression shifted into one of pure shock.
*Crack… crack… crack…*
The sound of Su-lu's bones breaking echoed like bamboo stalks snapping in the midst of a violent storm. Yuta muttered, his voice low yet perfectly audible to Yoo-jung:
"Not going to wake up, are you? ...Fine, that's alright. Let's see what happens when a man loses his most prized possession."
Yoo-jung's face darkened, beads of sweat forming on his skin. He cried out—his voice a harrowing blend of panic, terror, and profound sorrow:
"Don't! Stop!"
But Yuta ignored his desperate pleas. With a sharp snap of his fingers, he caused the genitals of Young-soo Lu—his penis and everything else—to explode. Blood gushed forth, pooling into a deep, crimson stain. Tears streamed down Yoo-jung's face as he watched his only grandson, Young-soo Lu, screaming before his very eyes—a nightmare made all the worse by his own utter helplessness.
Life is a difficult journey, yet it is also a turning wheel; centuries ago, when Young Yoo-jung was in his youth, he had tortured, oppressed, and raped women—and, at times, children—while instigating massacres and wars that claimed the lives of millions, both human and non-human. And so He was dubbed the "Great Demonic Venerable." Now, he finds himself in a situation where the person dearest to his heart is being tortured right before his eyes—much like how he himself used to torture others in front of those they held most dear. The screams of his grandson, Young Su-lo, grew louder with every bone that snapped. Yet, Yuta showed no intention of stopping; he was determined to make both Yu-jong and his grandson, Su-lo, fully witness the atrocities they had once committed—with Yu-jong forced to watch as Su-lo endured the agony.
Suddenly, a pair of massive, two-meter-long shears began to materialize, poised to cleave the victim in two. Yuta turned his gaze toward Young Su-lo, whose body was gushing blood. Su-lo stared back at Yuta with an expression entirely devoid of emotion; his features were frozen, cold as frost from the intensity of the pain. Having lost all will to live, he did not beg Yuta to stop—he longed only for a swift death. But Yuta had no intention of ending it so easily.
He drove one blade of the shears into Young Su-lo's waist, and the other into his rectum. Blood poured profusely from his waist and trousers, and a piercing, harrowing scream erupted—a sound so intense that it shattered Yu-jong's composure, leaving him to weep in utter, heart-wrenching despair:
"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!"
Tears streamed uncontrollably from Yu-jong's eyes as he watched his grandson being subjected to such a brutal, savage torment. He began to mutter in a low, faint voice—laden with sorrow, regret, and despair—while pounding the ground with his fists. He blamed himself for everything he had done in his life—or, at least, that is how it appeared. Inside, Yuta laughed derisively, as if watching a play performed by an actor who had become entirely convinced of his own role:
"It is all my fault! Why did I inflict such torture? Why did I kill? Why did I force myself upon women? Why did I conduct such heinous experiments on children? Everything happening to me now is a consequence of my past actions; the will of Heaven is punishing me for my deeds. It torments me in various ways—the very same methods I once used myself. It shows me my former self through my own grandson, but... hahahaha!"
A piercing cry—filled with despair, grief, and the choked sobs of tears—erupted from Young Yu-jung:
"Yuta Caseral, please, stop this! He hasn't lived long enough—have mercy on him, I beg you!"
Yuta ceased his torment of Su-lu, casting a sidelong glance toward Young Yu-jung. A sigh of relief escaped Yu-jung's lips; his heart felt a moment's respite—yet a faint flicker of anger remained. That feeling lasted only a single second before Young Su-lu was reduced to a rain of blood. He had been completely erased—down to the very bones, leaving nothing behind. The only trace of Young-su's existence was a white, powdery residue—resembling laundry detergent—mingled with droplets of blood that splattered across Yuta's face. A faint smile played on Yuta's lips as he murmured, his voice calm and solemn:
"Show mercy, and mercy shall be shown to you; kill, and you shall be killed; inflict torture, and you shall be tortured; devour, and you shall be devoured—such is life! If you commit an act, you must expect the same to be done unto you. You wanted me to be a demon, hoping to feed upon my power to grow stronger yourselves—but I shall be the very demon that puts an end to you, all to grow stronger still..."
"Hahahaha! To grow stronger by consuming wretches like you? What an utter disgrace that would be for me!"
Yuta's words—*show mercy and receive it, kill and be killed*—were not spoken in vain. They struck the mind and heart of Young Yu-jung like blades. His tears ceased, and his expression froze—devoid of sorrow, anger, or fear—leaving only pure, unadulterated shock. Those few words stirred memories spanning centuries: the pleas, the desperate entreaties, and the suffering of those he had tortured—or whose agony he had directly or indirectly caused.
He cast his gaze toward the spot where his grandson had stood moments before—now marked only by a crimson stain, like a splash of scarlet dye upon the walls. What a strange, fickle existence! Just minutes ago, he and his grandson had been locked in an argument; now, the boy was gone, leaving nothing behind. Despite everything he had witnessed, Yong Yu-jong refused to give up; the desire for revenge burned within him with every passing second. He swallowed a deep-red refinement pill known as the "Gluttonous Demon Pill." Blood began to gather around him, forming a complex array, while his demonic energy surged with every beat of his heart. His heart turned pitch-black, and his veins—now a pale violet—stood out against his skin as the demonic energy intensified at an alarming rate. Yet, Yuta's expression remained steady, showing no sign of hesitation; certain of his own victory, he remained entirely indifferent to whatever Yong Yu-jong might attempt.
As for Yong Yu-jong, his legs began to regenerate, though his skin took on a vivid, blood-red hue and became covered in serpent-like scales. It was the emergence of an indomitable monster—a return to the form of the adversary once known as the "Great Demonic Venerable, Yong Yu-jong."