The Gods spoke to him again.
"My, my… try to reach the Second Star before they do."
Their voice echoed in his mind like something far away, watching, waiting.
Jhonathan said nothing.
He walked outside.
Dexcalibur rested nearby, but he didn't use it. Instead, he trained with his bare hands.
He punched trees.
One after another.
Each strike shattered trunks instantly, wood exploding into splinters. His body—now visible without armor—was a scar-covered, heavily built frame shaped by endless battles and endless returns from death.
But he didn't stop.
Not once.
A shadow watched him.
Silent.
Patient.
Then it stepped forward.
A middle-aged man appeared from the trees.
"I heard you defeated Count Shiba," he said calmly. "A Reincarnation of Pride. He is the weakest of all of them. After all… he is only a mutt among us Sins."
Jhonathan slowly turned.
The man's eyes sharpened.
"I am Ricardo," he said. "The Sin of Wrath."
"And I will duel you. No weapons."
Silence followed.
Then Ricardo moved.
There was no warning.
No stance.
Just pure acceleration.
His fist slammed into Jhonathan's ribs with terrifying force, sending him skidding back as the tree behind him cracked apart from the shockwave.
Jhonathan recovered instantly, bones reforming as if the damage had never existed.
Ricardo exhaled.
"This is Wrath."
He stepped in again.
Faster. Heavier.
A rhythmless storm of punches followed—no openings, no gaps, no hesitation.
Jhonathan tried to read him, but there was nothing to read.
Only pressure.
Only force.
Ricardo's hook came from the side.
Jhonathan blocked late.
The impact twisted through his body and sent him crashing backward again.
Ricardo didn't stop.
He didn't even chase.
He simply walked forward.
"This is the ability of Wrath," he said coldly. "We don't wait for openings."
He raised his fist.
"We create them."
Another strike came down like execution.
Jhonathan was sent flying again—struggling to keep up with something that didn't fight like a man.
Only like destruction itself.