Chapter 176: The Rising Star of the Distillery, Conan, Returns Like Lightning
Before Conan could utter a word, Ichigo Kurosaki, leaning in beside him, spoke first:
"And the rest? Why is it gone!?"
Ichigo's use of the Purity Radar to peer into the past was actually quite limited. By using "powerhouses" as coordinate nodes, he could clearly see fragments of a peerless expert at a specific moment, but it was difficult to discern the cause and effect.
Simply put, Ichigo could see the fierce battle of the God-Slaying War, the peak duel between Gin and Edogawa Conan, and deduce a portion of the truth through their strength and conviction. However, he lacked a personal understanding of why they fought. Therefore, he watched the contents of Shinichi Kudo's diary in Conan's hands with great excitement.
To Ichigo, a powerhouse throwing a punch filled with conviction and resolve was one kind of "intensity." But the journey from weak to strong, climbing upward through thorns and fire, was another kind of "intensity."
What? You say Ichigo didn't show empathy for the despair and pain recorded in the diary, which seems unlike his usual character?
The answer was obvious: Edogawa Conan was still here, and the people he once "killed" were all alive and well in this world. This proved that the despair and pain of the past had eventually found an answer. The quality of that answer was up for debate, but it didn't matter—Conan had reclaimed his diary and reconnected the unresolved karma.
This time, history would not repeat itself. Because the protagonist, Conan, was no longer alone. Beside him stood Moriarty, the ultimate hidden villain, and Ichigo Kurosaki, the alien antagonist. With these two super-muscular "Big Guys" of the villain world joining forces, they would ensure the protagonist knew exactly what it meant to be "intensely epic" at the critical moment!
Conan didn't notice Ichigo's internal musings. The trembling in his hands had stopped; the veins on his face had receded. He looked exceptionally calm, but the look in his eyes was terrifying.
The total madness that had erupted was now bound tight by a logic cold as eternal ice. He stood on the knife-edge between insanity and reason—it was impossible to tell if it was rational madness or a mad rationality.
In fact, this gaze mirrored the state of mind found in the later entries of the diary. The closer Shinichi Kudo got to the truth, the more he perceived its horror and cruelty. Yet, unable to stand by, he struggled for a sliver of hope. As time went on, that struggle became purely manic.
Like the Final Ball!
Shinichi Kudo knew everything back then, better than anyone. He no longer felt sorrow or despair; he recorded the cruel reality with calm, almost smiling prose.
He had... already gone mad.
This wasn't a look a "protagonist" should have. It was too dangerous. Even Ichigo, facing Conan in this moment, smelled the faint scent of "Death."
A thought crossed Ichigo's mind: "Current Conan might not be able to defeat me, but he could potentially kill me..."
But that intuition only made Ichigo smile deeply. Since he had mounted his white horse, raised his sword, and won victory after victory—even beating the world into submission until it sang of its defeat—it had been a long time since he felt such excitement.
Simultaneously, Ichigo faintly discerned Mo Yu's intention. Perhaps, one day, the protagonist Edogawa Conan could become his colleague—a new Apocalypse Knight under Chairman Mo Yu of Heavenly Media. Ichigo had no objection; he welcomed it.
Conan exhaled slowly and said calmly, "It's normal. A detective can find clues nearby, but they are usually incomplete and only serve as inspiration. After all, if all the evidence were found at once, the case would lose the joy of its twists and turns..."
Conan no longer felt confusion regarding his "Protagonist" status. He had pierced through many rules of this Eternal Stage.
"So," Ichigo asked, "continue looking for clues?"
Conan shook his head. "No point. I won't find them. Usually, after a fragmented clue appears, there's a cooldown period. I need to go through some events—at least talk to witnesses and suspects to advance the plot—before the next clue triggers."
Ichigo pouted. "Even clues are split into parts? Sounds boring."
Conan shrugged. "I agree. If my world were a manga, it would be a kid's show. The rigid, formatted creative style is too obvious. Every plot and case follows set rules. Well... I mean the old cases. Now, with Moriarty, things have changed. Some things differ from the diary."
Solving one mystery only brought more enigmas. What happened after Shinichi woke up during that Final Ball? Why did the world replay itself across ten million years? These remained unsolved.
But it didn't matter. Conan was ready to step back into the abyss to shoulder the truth.
"Alright," Ichigo said. "You've got the initial clues and know what's what. What's the plan?"
Conan looked up, gazing at the Nightmare Beika Park. "First, we leave this nightmare and go play through some other plots outside."
Ichigo started stretching. "Good. I've adapted to this form and can exert some strength. Not sure about other opponents, but beating up this broken nightmare shouldn't be a problem..."
The fight with the End-Time Witch had left Ichigo with some "wounds." If described in text: a shattered right hand, fingers broken into eighteen pieces, and vaporized flesh. Not a major injury—if he used full Reishi Restructuring, it would heal instantly. But Ichigo had his combat aesthetic. He didn't want it to heal too fast; he wanted to savor the sensation. Power that could actually hurt him was becoming rare. Once encountered, he might never see its like again.
The growth of the War-God never stopped. This endless growth was built on a solid foundation: as a protagonist, Ichigo was the world's sole "Ultimate" from birth. The "Grand Finale" only marked his mastery of his innate power. His true training began after he became invincible.
Thus, he cherished every injury as a landmark for growth. Of course, that aesthetic came with a price. To fight the Nightmare Beika now, he'd actually have to prepare.
But Ichigo didn't care. He was invincible in top form, but could he not fight when injured? Don't be ridiculous! It was because he clenched his fists that he became invincible, not the other way around.
Just as Ichigo was gearing up, Conan stopped him. "No need. It won't be that much trouble. I have a better way."
With that, Conan walked toward the deepest part of the Nightmare Park.
Conan now knew his roots. He was the absolute protagonist of this stage, the indestructible Evil God in the eyes of all beings. How could such a person be trapped in a mere nightmare park? If that were true, what would the heroes from ten million years ago—those who sacrificed their lives just to leave a scratch on him—think?
The howling darkness and shadows, carrying the will of Nightmare Beika, flowed from all directions to coil around Conan. A will surged within the shadows, speaking wordlessly:
Thou art the Child of Beika, thou shalt wear the mantle of Nightmares. Thou art the King of Beasts, thou shalt wear the crown of Horns. Thou shalt run across the earth, using savage fangs to tear the false flesh and despairing claws to lead the lost to the endless dream. Thou shalt use rotted flesh and broken bones to build an altar, offering pious sacrifice to the Supreme Pitch-Black Will, the Thrice-Great Shinichi Kudo, to welcome His advent!! Nightmares and the Swarm shall be immortal!
As the Nightmare will manifested, the King's Mark on Conan's hand glowed with intense blood-light. The riot case, sublimated by the old man into a calamity, was trying to influence Conan into becoming the "Child of Nightmare Beika."
Previously, Conan would have avoided this. Being blessed and cursed as the Second King was one thing; becoming a puppet driven by the Nightmare will was another. There is a distinction between the killer of a case and a thrall of the case.
But things were different now.
As darkness seeped into his body, Conan didn't evade. He walked forward quietly. Gradually, his iconic blue suit gained some stains. His skin grew dull and parched. A true Child of Nightmare should be a vagrant.
The Nightmare will felt a flicker of joy—it was going so smoothly! But then, it noticed something wrong. Why were his clothes only "stained" and not ragged? Why was his skin only "dull" and not withered?
The change started, then came to a screeching halt. It was as if Conan's body gave a perfunctory response to acknowledge the interaction, then ignored the rest entirely.
The Nightmare will was confused. Was my blessing and curse like a homeless shelter lunch—already past its expiration date?
To test this, the binding force of the shadows intensified. Outside the park, the mutated animals and shrieking vagrants sensed it. The Lord of the Forbidden Zone was walking out... in a posture that even a nightmare could not obstruct.
Conan walked in peace. He actually wished he could be stopped, but as he moved, he realized the truth. No person and no thing could stop the Detective Protagonist from moving from one case to the next.
The heroes from ten million years ago couldn't do it, and neither could the Nightmare will of today. Even as the shadows turned into layer upon layer of tentacles to hold him in place, Conan just strolled. He didn't use force; he just lifted his leg and put it down. Yet the Nightmare will, using strength enough to pull mountains, could not slow him by a hair.
No reason. No logic needed.
Question marks flooded the Nightmare will's mind. It wondered if it was born "defective" or "expired."
Conan reached the edge of the park and paused. He looked back. His eyes, a mix of reason and madness, became an invisible but physical light.
He gave the Nightmare will a "glance."
In the next instant, the shadow-tentacles rooted in his body felt... something. The Nightmare will let out a high-pitched shriek as the tentacles withered and snapped.
The glance was a silent question: Which is heavier—the nightmare I carry, or the nightmare you hold?
The hysterical scream of the Nightmare will provided the answer.
Conan turned back and stepped out of the park. The moment he crossed the boundary, his clothes became pristine and his skin regained its luster. As he stepped onto the nightmare streets, mutated beasts and vagrants bowed their heads. Even the twisted plants growing on the walls drooped their branches.
They didn't even have the courage to look at his face. They weren't fooled by his child-like appearance; like the Nightmare will, they felt his terror.
Ichigo bounced after him. "Your protagonist-power is interesting. It's not raw strength; it's more like a cryptic Law."
"My friend, that isn't a Law," Conan replied flatly. "It's just... Common Sense. Detective Common Sense."
Ichigo thought for a moment and laughed. "True. Natural existence, unquestionable absolute. I like it."
Ichigo grew even more eager for their future battle. How would "Detective Common Sense" manifest in a real fight? But he remained patient. Conan's transformation was just beginning.
"So, Great Detective," Ichigo asked, "where to?"
"Let's go see some... old friends."
They walked through the nightmare streets. The silence was absolute, the madness suppressed by their footsteps. At the end of the street, they stepped into a void of darkness.
A moment later, they appeared in a dark alley in Beika!
Immediately, both sensed something off. The air was filled with a bone-chilling scent, like a sinister gaze watching them. The invisible gaze noticed them instantly.
A strange mix of rejection and welcome followed. Beika welcomed them, yet rejected them. They quickly found the reason: the "Nightmare" scent on them was repulsive to the city, but the "Criminal Aura" they radiated—the aura of senior Beika citizens about to cause world-shaking cases—was so powerful that the city ignored the dislike. Beika decided it needed talents like them.
The welcome wasn't just a feeling. Beika whispered wordlessly, providing a hint. Following the whisper, they found a bag of money buried shallowly under a tree. Some criminal's loot, no doubt, but now "appropriated" by the city.
Ichigo was puzzled. "Is this a 'Criminal Talent Acquisition Grant' from Beika?"
Conan thought. "Probably. I have to say, Beika is better than the Nightmare. Both recruit talent, but the former gives you money while the latter stabs you with tentacles."
Just then, the gun hidden in Conan's coat twitched. It wasn't an illusion. Conan felt a premonition.
A Porsche crossed through space, turning from phantom to solid, and stopped nearby. Gin sat with one hand on the wheel, his cold gaze locking onto Conan. Vodka was in the passenger seat, and the scarred yakuza was tied up and gagged in the back.
"First a riot, then an alien invasion. You seem unhurt. Lucky," Gin said flatly. His tone didn't betray concern, but it shifted when he reached the next part—becoming cold, professional, and murderous. "So... how did the mission go?"
Gin's job was to audit missions. If anything was amiss, his gun showed no mercy. He didn't care that Conan was a kid. Conan had proposed a plan and Gin had provided backing. Despite the chaos, a mission was a mission. Gin felt he needed to teach the "Future Star" a lesson so he could adapt to the Organization's atmosphere and shoulder its future.
Conan, however, felt less hostility toward Gin than before. He smiled and waved the bag of money.
"Big Brother Gin, the plan was a success. We gained a massive asset that won't devalue, and I have some cash right here!"
Gin's eyes flickered with surprise. He hadn't expected Conan to complete the task amidst a riot and an invasion.
This is what the "Future of the Organization" looks like! A seven-year-old hoarding funds while fighting aliens! Hope was brimming!!!
But Gin kept his face straight. He patted the door. "Hmph. I trust you wouldn't dare lie. Get in. Tell me the details on the way."
Conan climbed in with the loot. Gin prepared to drive, but his foot froze on the pedal. His gaze fell on Conan's lap—on the black sphere that had naturally followed the boy in.
"What... are you?" Gin asked, voice full of confusion.
The black ball squirmed and spoke:
"Hello, Mr. Gin. I'm Ichigo Kurosaki, leader of the Alien Invasion Fleet. Nice to meet you..."
End of Chapter
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