Chapter 464: Picking a Fight
Late autumn was bleeding steadily into the biting chill of early winter.
The wind blowing through the streets carried a sharp, freezing edge.
Down a narrow alleyway leading directly toward the heart of The Inside—the
Conflict Zone—[The Soul Combatant] Ren Shiroki and [The Second] J. Guevara
strolled side by side.
Ren had changed into a crisp, fresh set of clothes: a simple, patternless
button-down shirt paired with trousers and a light jacket, finished off with
sneakers and a pair of dark sunglasses.
Guevara remained in his trademark utility wear, a deep-blue bandana tied tight
across his forehead, his jaw shadowed by a rough, patchy stubble.
"..."
"..."
"The snow view around here must be pretty incredible when it hits," Ren remarked
casually.
"Ha! Is that so? It never, ever snows back in my country..."
They chatted idly, soaking in the bleak scenery of The Inside as they steadily
approached the Conflict Zone.
The closer they got to the epicenter, the sparser the habitable buildings
became.
In their place stretched vast expanses of shattered ruins, where deep scars left
by blades, axes, and heavy ordnance marred every standing surface. The air
itself carried the faint, lingering reek of cordite and gunpowder.
Some of the destruction looked weathered and old, but plenty of it was fresh,
smelling of burnt earth and recent violence.
It was a deeply bizarre state of affairs.
Shaped by the "ecosystem" forced upon it by the various foreign heavyweights,
most of The Inside's districts had achieved an uneasy, enforced peace.
Yet, precisely because of that compression, the chaotic pressure inherent to a
lawless zone housing some two hundred thousand hardened criminals had nowhere
else to go.
Ultimately, it had all funneled straight into the Conflict Zone, purifying
itself into something far more volatile and intense!
The strong-willed fighters looking to flex their muscles and the desperate thugs
unwilling to accept defeat—they had all swarmed into the Conflict Zone.
Any flimsy excuse was enough to spark a bloodbath, serving as an outlet for
their suppressed desires.
Ren and Guevara took it all in as they walked.
Perhaps because their presence carried an overwhelming, oppressive weight,
whenever they happened to pass by an active skirmish, the brawlers would
instinctively freeze, dropping their weapons and calming down on the spot.
The sheer gap in power between them and the combatants was so vast that any
"fierce battle" happening nearby instantly lost its meaning.
"..."
After walking a bit further, a wide-open plaza loomed ahead in the distance.
Several dozen thugs belonging to various rival gangs were milling about, thick
plumes of black smoke still rising from the pavement—clear evidence that a
massive melee had concluded just moments prior, judging by the scattered
shrapnel of hand grenades.
Right now, however, long before Ren and Guevara had even stepped foot into the
clearing, every single one of those thugs had ceased hostilities.
Because standing dead-center in the open plaza were two other figures locked in
a heavy standoff—
A bulky, rugged uncle with a thick beard, and a vicious-looking youth with
black-sclera, white-pupil eyes.
[The Devil Lance] Gensai Kuroki, facing off against [The Monster] Raian Kure!
Strictly speaking, both men had originally come to The Inside as contractors
commissioned by the Kengan Association to suppress the riots.
Now that their contracts had been fulfilled, the two veterans had transitioned
into free-roaming mode, planning to take a leisurely sightseeing tour of The
Inside before heading home. Naturally, they had managed to bump right into each
other here in the Conflict Zone.
"..."
"..."
Standing among the spectators gathered around the perimeter, Guevara caught
sight of Raian's eyes and nudged Ren. "His eyes look just like your
girlfriend's. Is he also from the Kure clan?"
Ren nodded. "That's Fusui's older cousin."
"Ah, the aura of unadulterated violence radiating off him is practically visible
to the naked eye..."
Guevara raised an eyebrow. "Not just his fingertips—even his teeth look stained
with blood. He definitely strikes me as the kind of relative you need a whole
lot of mental preparation to deal with."
"And the guy he's staring down isn't any slouch either."
Guevara's eyes darted back to Kuroki. "So those two are outsiders from a
different district. Are they your allies?"
"—More or less."
Ren offered a helpless, dry nod, staying put to watch the unfolding drama.
The 188cm Raian Kure squaring off against the 185cm Gensai Kuroki.
Though their heights were virtually identical, the energy radiating from them
clashed violently, displaying completely contrasting combat philosophies.
Gensai Kuroki's aura was "wide and deep," resembling a towering, pitch-black
fortress wall firmly rooted into the earth;
Raian's aura, by contrast, was intensely "sharp," feeling like an exploding
cluster of jagged briars, the stench of blood practically condensing into
physical mist!
"Kukaka!"
The corners of Raian's mouth split open in a bloodthirsty grin, baring a set of
razor-white teeth. "I've been hearing old man Wu talk about you for ages, old
timer. Care to trade a few blows?"
"Hmph..."
Kuroki stood his ground, running a critical eye up and down Raian's frame.
Taking in the fresh lacerations coating the younger man's skin and the veins
bulging in his pitch-black eyes, the master gave a slow shake of his head.
Raian's expression twisted into an ugly scowl as he stepped forward to pick a
fight.
Before he could close the distance, however, Kuroki let out a deep, rumbling
bark that froze Raian in his tracks.
"Brats like you haven't stopped fighting for days, have you? You've been trading
blows from dawn until dusk—doing nothing besides eating, sleeping, and killing!"
"And you expect to drag a battered, exhausted body like that into a fight with
Gensai Kuroki?!"
Kuroki's dark eyes flared with stern authority. "Go stuff your face, get a full
night's sleep, and come back when you're actually in peak condition!!"
Hearing that, Raian shoved his hands deep into his pockets, grinding his teeth
in pure frustration.
Yet, Kuroki was entirely right. Raian hadn't given himself a single day of rest
lately. Sure, the slaughter had been immensely satisfying, but his physical
condition was far from optimal.
Against an old monster radiating that level of "monster" energy, fighting in
anything less than pristine shape would be an absolute waste of a good brawl.
"Tch..."
Seeing Raian freeze, Kuroki gave an approving nod. "Hmpf. Through these trials,
you are slowly learning to master the brutal, overwhelming power of the Kure
bloodline."
Who would have thought those words would instantly trigger Raian's hair-trigger
temper?
"Ha!? What stupid nonsense are you blubbering about?!"
Raian's face twisted into a demonic snarl as he hissed through gritted teeth,
"Restraint, refinement... keep that touch-feely garbage to yourself!"
"You want me to take a break? Fine! Don't go crying when you regret it!"
"Sooner or later, I'm gonna show you what a level of violence way beyond mere
violence actually looks like—!"
In that split second, Raian's silhouette seemed to ignite, warping the
surrounding air with sheer, concentrated malice.
Even Kuroki, a man who had seen it all, had rarely witnessed a specimen of the
"Kure" lineage pushed to that degree of intensity, prompting him to mutter under
his breath, "Wu Erioh... you really've got a monstrous piece of work running
around in your family tree..."
Back in the peanut gallery, Ren and Guevara continued their casual chatter.
Ren cast a glance toward the open plaza, reading the situation instantly. "At
least for today, those two aren't gonna throw hands!"
Guevara was gently cradling his precious "jar," treating it as if it held the
secrets of the universe.
He lifted the jar to his ear, listening closely to the faint echoes inside.
Then, he turned the jar toward Ren, offering a friendly prompt. "Care to listen?
It's packed tight with wind, rain, waves, and thunder."
Ren leaned over, pressing his ear against the glass, before flashing a wry,
helpless smile. "I can't hear a thing."
Guevara chuckled. "Of course not. Because all those elements have melted down
and fused together into a single, concrete thing: Courage."
He cradled the cherished container, drifting down memory lane.
"It was the very day I set sail to track down Oliva—"
"A little boy handed me this jar to give me his blessing."
"Just the night before, our little island had taken the direct hit of a
record-breaking super-hurricane."
"That tiny little boy stood right up on the highest ocean cliff, holding this
jar with both hands, opening the lid wide toward the raging sea, capturing the
wind, rain, waves, and thunder inside for an entire night straight."
"People on the island always called that little boy the most cowardly kid
around, but in my eyes, he was the bravest warrior on the whole island."
At that, Guevara broke into a fond smile, looking over at Ren. "So when I tell
you that jar is packed solid with courage... do you believe me?"
"—I believe you."
Ren's gaze dropped, his expression turning deadpan serious. "Whether it's
Oliva's love or your courage—I believe every single word of it."
Guevara blinked. "Whoa, your willingness to just swallow whatever absurd
nonsense people tell you is truly impressive!"
Ren lifted the hem of his shirt, exposing his chest and turning his cheek
sideways to put it on display. Sure enough, two distinct red palm prints—now
fading into a bruised, mottled purple—were stamped clearly across his skin.
The very handprints left behind by Guevara and Oliva just days prior.
"..."
"With evidence like this tattooed onto my body, nobody in their right mind could
possibly doubt your stories."
"Hahaha!"
Guevara threw his head back, his mood brilliantly sunny as he gazed up at the
sky.
At that moment, Ren peeled off his sunglasses, stripped off his light outer
jacket, and beckoned to a nearby street thug from the Three Wolves District.
The guy happened to be someone who had previously served in General Zhang's
camp, so he recognized Ren instantly.
"Do me a favor and hold onto these. Be extra careful with the shades—they're a
matching pair with someone special."
Ren instructed him seriously, handing over his clothes and sunglasses.
Once the thug had scurried off, Ren rolled his neck, cracking his vertebrae
before his mood shifted abruptly, dropping into a petulant, complaining grumble
directed straight at Guevara.
"Speaking of which, Mr. Guevara... you hit me really damn hard the other day!"
"—Huh?"
Guevara blinked, chewing his lip in slight remorse. "Did I? My bad..."
Ren, however, wasn't about to let it go that easily. "An apology doesn't cut it!
You gotta let me vent it all out properly. A real, messy brawl where nobody
holds anything back—that's the only way to settle this!"
Guevara's expression cleared into understanding. He arched an amused eyebrow.
"You've been itching for an excuse from the very start, haven't you? Is this
your roundabout way of picking a fight?"
"..."
"..."
Ren wore only a short-sleeved cotton shirt now. He dropped his weight into his
shoulders, a sharp, brilliant light flashing deep within his pupils as he shot a
sideways glance at Guevara standing right beside him.
"Yeah. I'm picking a fight right here and now—"
"Sorry about this!"
With a sudden flash of intent, Ren's eyes locked hard. In one fluid,
hyper-compressed motion, he dropped his weight, twisted his hips, and snapped
his leg upward in a high-speed, side-angle lash.
[RYU: TATSUMAKI SENPUKYU (HURRICANE KICK)]!
Swish!
In the blink of an eye, Guevara countered preemptively.
Discarding any notion of raw power in favor of pure startup speed, Guevara
lashed out first with a swift, mid-level roundhouse kick that caught Ren
squarely in the rear end.
Thud!
The impact completely derailed Ren's high kick, sweeping his momentum forward
and sending him stumbling head-over-heels across the ground until he tripped and
tumbled face-first into the open dirt of the plaza with a dull thump.
The kick hadn't carried much physical damage, but it had successfully punted Ren
right out into the middle of the clearing!
——!?
Down in the plaza, Gensai Kuroki and Raian Kure both blinked, freezing
mid-argument as they stared down at the sudden human projectile that had just
rolled into their personal space, struggling to process what had just happened.
"..."
"..."
Following right behind, Guevara strolled out leisurely from the crowd of
onlookers.
"Was that 'picking a fight' enough for you?"
"——The Second Mr. Unchain!"
"It's the President of Tokita Niko!"
"You idiot, the guy's literally the president of an actual country!"
The murmurs swelled into a roaring wave of cheers—
"It's the greatest pirate alive~~~!"
"He's stepping into the ring for the crown of The Inside too!!"
"..."
Guevara cradled the jar in one hand, soaking in the cheering din before casting
his gaze down at the dirt.
Down in the plaza, Ren had just hauled himself up onto his hands and knees,
brushing a clump of dirt off his cheek while wearing a thoroughly satisfied,
easy grin.
Guevara looked left and right, flashing a relaxed smile. "If you wanted to pick
a fight, was that enough for you?"
Ren looked straight up at the sky, a profound sense of utter fulfillment washing
over him. "Yeah. More than enough."
☆☆☆
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