Chapter 99
At the height of Jin's rampage—
The Sword Saint and the Apostle stood facing each other.
A terrifying stillness, like the eye of a storm, enveloped them.
No matter how chaotic the outside world became, the suffocating presence between them proved that the beginning and the end of this battle would be decided here.
It was the Apostle who spoke first.
"A truly magnificent festival."
His pallid head, reminiscent of the dead, slowly scanned the unconscious spectators.
His bloodless lips curled into a faint, blue-tinged smile.
"It is exceedingly rare for so many purists to gather in one place. In these barren times, what a precious sight this is... If it were up to me, I would wish to see the end of this festival from among them."
"You're spewing nonsense. A wretch whose very existence is a sin dares to speak of revelry? There is no place for you here. There never has been, and there never will be."
Despite the sharp words, the Sword Saint's voice was composed.
Not just his voice—his entire demeanor remained unchanged.
He drew his sword from the scabbard at his waist.
A simple, ordinary steel blade.
It had no embellishments, no unnecessary flourishes.
A straight, unadorned blade that met at a sharp point, paired with a handle that served its function without excess.
Compared to the Apostle's ominous, blood-colored aura, which distorted the very air with its overwhelming malice, the Sword Saint's sword seemed almost absurdly plain.
Yet, he remained unfazed.
As if to say, this is enough.
And in truth, it was.
For all its nightmarish intensity, the Apostle's blood-red aura failed to breach even the Sword Saint's immediate surroundings.
A seamless boundary carved into the air.
The Apostle's malevolence swirled around it helplessly, making the clarity of the untouched space within even more pronounced.
From that pristine domain, the Sword Saint finally spoke.
"The others are late. Even if I wait, they don't appear."
His tone was as composed as before.
At this, the Apostle shifted his gaze away from the spectators and met the Sword Saint's eyes.
"It is only me here."
"I see."
A short response.
No, a declaration.
"Then die alone."
The moment the words left the Sword Saint's lips, the Apostle's right arm was severed.
A silver arc connecting heaven and earth.
From within, foul greenish-black blood erupted.
The Apostle's expression remained unchanged.
He spared not even a glance at his severed limb.
Instead, he calmly extended his intact left arm.
And then—
A burst of blood-red energy radiated from his open palm toward the unconscious spectators, forming a solidified beam of light in an instant.
At the end of its path, the slumped heads of the crowd were bathed in an eerie crimson glow.
Whoosh!
A wind-laced slash intercepted the beam midair, severing it near the stadium's midpoint.
The dissipated mana scattered feebly into nothingness.
The Apostle now turned his hand forward.
A tidal wave of blood-red aura surged forth.
A wailing chorus of tormented spirits sang from its crest.
In response, the Sword Saint pivoted on his right foot.
His steel blade traced a perfect circle as he spun.
A graceful, sweeping motion—
Like a lie, the crimson tide vanished in an instant.
Instead of crashing forward, it recoiled in the opposite direction, stretching into a long, flickering shadow.
Flash.
The sword wind reached the stadium's ceiling.
From the ground, it extended all the way up.
Even after dispersing, residual currents stirred the distant sky.
And then—
A thin red line appeared across the Apostle's palm.
Followed by a soft, crisp sound.
Tudududuk.
Four fingers, save for the thumb, slid down from his half-severed hand and tumbled to the ground.
Dark green blood pooled beneath them.
"…I cannot win."
The Apostle murmured softly.
For someone who had lost an arm and four fingers, his voice remained remarkably steady.
As if he had anticipated this outcome from the start.
Yet, the bitter smile on his lips seemed genuine.
"The gap has widened. How unfortunate."
A similar moment had once occurred in the past.
Back then, it had been the Mad Sword versus the Eleventh Apostle.
The difference in power was a mere handspan.
That missing handspan had led to the Apostle's defeat.
That missing handspan had prevented the Mad Sword from finishing the Apostle for good.
And now, over twenty years later—
The Mad Sword had become the Sword Saint.
The Eleventh Apostle had become the Sixth.
Both had survived the years, but their progress had not been equal.
At this moment, the Apostle's lifeless, dull eyes fixated on the man before him.
A lone sword that had risen to the peak of an entire city.
A blade honed by time, shaping the very era itself.
A giant now revered as the Sword Saint (剣聖).
The giant spoke.
"You are not enough."
A quiet statement of disparity.
To which the Apostle replied—
"I do not deny it."
A candid admission, followed by a sinister change.
The blood-red light at the center of the Apostle's chest darkened, swallowing the surrounding space.
Every part of the battlefield, except for the Sword Saint's domain, was engulfed in its grasp.
Even the unconscious spectators were not spared.
"But here, in this place, I will not lose."
There was no hesitation in using ten thousand lives as hostages.
His unshaken demeanor made it clear—this was why he had chosen this battlefield.
The essence of black magic was sacrifice and offering.
Grinning coldly, the Apostle balanced the scales with the price of the crowd's lives.
The Sword Saint did not grow agitated.
Instead, his gaze shifted—toward another fight unfolding at the stadium's edge.
At last, his lips parted.
"You laid a hand on Florence's daughter… That child never made such expressions before."
A series of explosions erupted.
Amidst the fierce clash, three figures tangled in a relentless battle—alongside a summon cloaked in deep blue mist.
The Apostle followed his gaze.
"A hand on her? That is a misinterpretation, Sword Saint. Whether you believe it or not is your choice, but Cecile came to us of her own will. She was the one who desired it most. I assure you, there was neither corruption nor betrayal—only a choice made by a single human being."
"What was lacking? She may not have been heir, but she was raised as the family's pillar. She lacked for nothing."
"She despised that assessment. Called it the foolish measure of so-called geniuses."
"..."
The Sword Saint's eyes darkened as he looked at Cecile.
Not with reproach, but with regret.
Then, without a word, he turned his head.
This time, his gaze stretched far beyond the stadium.
As if looking at something unseen.
At the same time, the Apostle's eyes narrowed.
And he acted immediately.
From the glowing core at his chest, a light unlike anything before erupted.
Krrrrrrkkk!
A deafening roar twisted the heavens and earth.
Something had taken root deep into the ground.
As the earth trembled violently, an overwhelming surge of mana extended skyward like countless grasping hands.
This was no metaphor.
It truly took form—expanding at an accelerated rate, its branches weaving a dense canopy over the stadium.
In an instant, the battlefield had transformed.
At its center now stood a towering, blood-red tree.
A colossus spanning forty meters in diameter.
A circumference so vast that it would take thirty grown men, arms outstretched, to fully encircle it.
A sight of absolute dominance.
Even from the highest point of the arena, one had to tilt their head back to take in the sheer size of the monstrous entity—so massive that it was difficult to grasp in a single glance.
The one who single-handedly cut down the ominous mana spreading from it like ripples was the Sword Saint.
"The seed of the corrupted World Tree. You've nurtured it quite well."
[Let us clash again, Sword Saint. Just as we did long ago.]
The response came not as a voice, but as a profound resonance.
Yet, the Sword Saint offered no reply.
He simply took a step forward.
Step.
As always, with a single sword in hand.
***
"Huh??"
"What the hell is that?"
Jin stared in dumbfounded shock.
The remnants of battle had yet to fade.
Adrenaline still coursed through his veins like an unshakable force, sharpening his mind and body to a razor's edge—yet, he couldn't stop himself from blurting out an idiotic "Huh?" in sheer disbelief.
That was how bewildering the sight before him was.
A massive tree had taken root in the very center of the arena.
How could something be so huge?
As he reeled from the shock, a realization struck Jin.
This was the source of the unease that had drenched his palms in sweat.
Towering branches, thick as veins, sprawled across the sky of the circular coliseum.
Each crimson leaf that bloomed upon them was a crystallized mass of mana.
A shiver ran down his spine.
Now that he had reached the second tier, his perception had evolved.
His skin instinctively recognized the sheer magnitude of this anomaly.
This thing was leagues beyond the world he stood on.
Its very essence existed beyond his sky.
He couldn't be certain, but it felt like it was at the very boundary of the third tier—perhaps even beyond.
Damn it.
The moment Jin fully grasped the gravity of the situation, his eyes widened.
The great tree trembled violently.
And at that instant, a flurry of red leaves began to descend.
Tens of thousands of blood-hued leaves fluttered toward the ground like an ominous snowfall.
Jin instinctively extended his lightning spear in response.
Whoosh!
The breath he had just taken felt as though it was being forcefully sucked away.
Then—a massive slash erupted.
For a brief moment, time seemed to freeze.
Silently, the falling leaves split in half, then exploded midair like fireworks.
The sky filled with chaotic mushroom clouds, leaving Jin's ears ringing.
As he turned away from the spectacle, his gaze landed on a distant figure, swinging an old sword.
Oh, right.
That guy was still here.
With a plain weapon in hand, the Sword Saint strode forward, completely unfazed.
His leisurely pace resembled that of a seasoned warrior casually cleaving through colossal monsters in nothing but a tattered loincloth.
Jin let out a sigh of relief, then finally took in his surroundings.
He quickly surveyed the area and was startled to see the unconscious audience members scattered throughout the stands.
Unaware that the Sword Saint had put them to sleep to prevent panic, Jin was briefly alarmed, thinking they had all perished.
Then—his wide eyes caught sight of an even greater disturbance.
From the entrances of sections A through P, hooded figures were pouring in like a flood.
Something about them felt eerily familiar.
The past resurfaced in Jin's mind—the day he had been abducted after wandering into a church by mistake.
The black mages who had transformed people into aberrations had worn robes just like these.
Those bastards?
Jin's gaze darkened.
Clang!
Swords were unsheathed in response to the sudden appearance of the black mages.
Not everyone in the arena had succumbed to the Sword Saint's wave of unconsciousness.
Among those who remained standing were the swordsmen of the Anarion family.
Without hesitation, they blocked the entrances and cut down the advancing foes, their blades carving arcs through the air.
Blood and embers erupted in an instant.
Dozens of battles erupted simultaneously across the arena.
And all of this had unfolded in mere minutes—ever since that monstrous entity descended upon the coliseum.
By now, it was impossible to be unaware of what was happening.
Black mages had infiltrated the tournament.
The undeniable truth sent a jolt through Jin—and surely, he wasn't the only one.
All across the stands, people began to rise like flames catching wind.
Among them were the sixteen contestants who had made it to the main rounds.
Naturally, that included the heirs of noble families.
Anna's White Flame and Katrina's Dark Ice scorched and froze their enemies.
Wrapped in his mana-forged armor, Dayor withstood the relentless onslaught.
Even amidst the chaos, they performed their roles flawlessly.
But Jin had no time to stand around and admire them.
"Aaaaaahhh!!!"
A piercing scream cut through the air as Cecile rose to her feet, bloodshot eyes chanting fervently.
"O king of all afflictions, felled by a blade in your back! O fleeting lord of usurped dreams, open your eyes!"
The moment the words left her lips, blood gushed from her mouth.
Oooohhh!
A deafening roar erupted from within the helmet of the summoned warrior clashing with Ryucard.
And then—it got faster.
For the first time, Ryucard, who had slowly been gaining the upper hand, showed a crack in his composure.
The once-balanced battle shifted.
A blade sliced across his cheek, leaving a deep, bleeding gash.
At the same moment, Jin moved.
The mana Ceciel was releasing carried a familiar scent.
Mana overload?
Shit, this was bad.
Recognizing the forbidden technique that burned one's very life to draw out power beyond one's limits, Jin hurled his prepared lightning spear at her.
Boom!
But before it could strike, a massive root burst from the ground and intercepted the projectile.
Though the impact shredded half of the root's body, countless others surged forth at supersonic speeds, whipping toward Jin.
Sssshhh!
Smoke rose from the ground as Jin was forced backward.
And almost simultaneously—
Ryucard's sword was knocked away.
For a brief moment, both men were immobilized.
Then—
An overwhelming mass of roots lunged for Jin.
And the summoned warrior's sword came crashing down on Ryucard's heart.
Crackle!
Boom!
Two distinct impacts rang out in unison.
The attack aimed at Jin was frozen in place, petrified mid-air.
Ryucard's would-be fatal strike was deflected by a long, dark spear, sending sparks flying.
Reinforcements had arrived.
There was no need to check who it was.
In this madness, there weren't many men who wielded a spinning spear while scattering astral embers.
And so—
"Cecile, what the hell do you think you're doing?"
Kendrick demanded.
"...Tsk."
Carlos clicked his tongue, spat on the ground, and glared at the summoned warrior before him.
Amidst the wreckage of the shattered arena—
Jin and the four contestants deemed the strongest contenders for the tournament finals stood tall.