Chapter 92 - Did You Just Laugh at Me?
Jin glanced around for no reason.
Then, with his greasy index finger, he pointed at his own face.
"Me?"
His silent lip movements failed to reach the other person.
Because, before that, the warhorn had sounded.
The match that followed was far fiercer than expected.
The absence of a dominant fighter meant that anyone could be the victor.
The battlefield unfolded in a way that mirrored a warzone.
When one combatant fell, an ambush would follow from behind.
Sparks flew as swords clashed.
Spells intertwined.
Alliances were formed and broken.
Fighters were eliminated, one after another—
Until, at last, the final warrior seized the flag.
A bloodstained yet beautiful face smiled from within the arena's giant display.
"Winner of Group 10! Michelle Riley!"
As the announcer's amplified voice echoed across the venue, the audience erupted in cheers and applause for the newest finalist.
Waaaaah!!
In the midst of it all, Jin let out an ambiguous sound.
"Tsk."
She made it through.
Still, since they were somewhat acquainted, he had observed Michelle—or was it Monchelle?—closely throughout the fight.
To be honest, she was just average.
Her martial skills were decent, her mana usage was decent, and her spellcasting was decent.
If he had to describe her style, she was like a small hexagon—well-rounded but unremarkable.
Predictably, rather than discussing her actual performance, the audience fixated on everything else about her.
"She's definitely pretty."
"And super tall. What, like 175? Maybe even 180?"
"Her name was Michelle Riley, right? Ever heard of her?"
"I looked her up, but nothing really came up. Guess she's not that famous."
"Then she's achieved her goal. Even just making it to the rounds of 16 will boost her worth. Plenty of people enter tournaments just for that."
"Alright, whatever. Let's move on to the next match."
As with most unremarkable fights, interest quickly faded once the formalities were done.
Jin silently watched the black-haired woman leave the arena.
That was when—
"Phew..."
A trembling sigh escaped as Raph slowly stood up.
He wiped his sweat-soaked palms on his pants and muttered vacantly.
"I... I'm up."
"Who are you talking to? Hey. Hey!"
Jin snapped his fingers in front of Raph's unfocused eyes, but the guy was already trudging toward the battlefield.
He'll collapse before the fight even starts at this rate.
Why is this guy such a coward?
Jin shook his head, exasperated, before cupping his hands around his mouth and shouting—
"Fighting!!!"
To sum it up, Raph won.
"I DID ITTTTT!!!"
Kneeling on the ground, he raised his arms and roared in triumph.
Maybe it was the way his face was swollen and bruised, but his desperate embrace of the victory flag couldn't have looked more dramatic.
"You worked hard!"
The audience responded with whistles and applause, and Raph, beaming, waved back at them.
Jin, cheering along with the crowd, couldn't help but think—
He actually fought pretty well.
Just moments ago, he had been trembling in fear, but on the battlefield, he calmly reduced his opponents one by one like a seasoned pro.
But something about his fighting style felt familiar.
Where had he seen it before?
Jin furrowed his brows, trying to recall—
"Your chicken order is here."
"Ohhh!"
Distracted by the arrival of freshly refilled food, Jin refocused on the match.
There were no surprises.
The representatives of the noble houses advanced one after another.
Group 13, Dayor Hakan.
Group 16, Cecile Florence.
And with that, the grueling preliminary rounds finally came to an end.
Next up was the draw for the final tournament bracket.
The Sword Saint would pick marbles, and the selected participants' faces would appear on the big screen.
Though the audience had exhausted their voices after cheering for hours, they quickly reignited their enthusiasm.
After all, just like there's always room for dessert, there's always room for a bracket draw!
Everyone held their breath, alternating their gaze between the Sword Saint's hand and the announcer's lips.
"Timothy Hunt! Anna Sollard!"
The moment their names were announced, their faces split the screen.
A man let out a quiet sigh, perhaps already sensing his defeat, while Anna remained expressionless and composed.
The audience immediately broke into heated debate.
"Anna's got this in the bag."
"Timothy fought well, but his luck sucks."
"You never know. Maybe the underdog will pull through."
"Then why don't you sell your house and bet it all on Timothy?"
"...What?!"
While the gamblers were busy arguing over odds, the next names rang out.
"Jin Evernight! Kendrick Zahad!"
Jin, in the middle of sipping cola, instinctively lifted his head.
His image, straw in mouth, filled half of the screen.
On the other side—Kendrick Jahad frowned.
The crowd erupted.
A battle between the direct and collateral lines!
And from the same household, no less!
As people stomped their feet and shouted in excitement over this unprecedented matchup, Jin simply shrugged.
Fine by me.
Might as well go for it.
After all, the reason he had even gotten interested in this competition was his first meeting with the Thunder King.
As that memory resurfaced—
WAAAAAAAH!!!
Another wave of cheers exploded, and Jin instinctively checked the screen.
Two more names appeared.
"Cecile Florence! Carlos Gerstein!"
It was no wonder the crowd was in an uproar.
For the first time, a match between the representatives of two great families had been arranged.
Florence, the masters of spirit arts.
Gerstein, the masters of spear techniques.
However, despite the deafening cheers that threatened to shake the stadium, the spectators' predictions were overwhelmingly one-sided.
"This isn't even worth watching. It's Carlos, no doubt."
"Agreed. If it were Thea, maybe. But Cecile? Let's be real—she just doesn't carry the same weight as Carlos."
"Wow, now that you say it, it really is a shame. A match between Thea and Carlos would've been something else entirely."
"Yeah, it's disappointing. Seriously, why did Thea suddenly withdraw...?"
"Ah, whatever. I'm all in on Cecil. Let's go, underdog bet!"
Jin, who had been listening quietly, smirked.
That underdog bettor had been making a fuss for a while now.
More importantly, it seemed people still didn't know that Thea was dead.
Thea Florence.
Once renowned as the strongest Esquire, now she was nothing more than one of the trophies in the Face Collector's collection.
Knowing the truth, Jin couldn't shake the uneasy feeling in his chest.
Perhaps that was why—his eyes kept drifting toward the screen, where Cecile stood.
Taking Thea's place, she was doing her best to act nonchalant, but a closer look revealed the faint tremble in her eyes.
The nervousness was clear.
Carlos, on the other hand, stood with his arms crossed, looking utterly indifferent.
With such a stark contrast between the two, the audience had already decided Carlos' victory was a given.
The drawing of matchups continued, and soon, the tournament bracket took shape.
Sixteen participants, eight matches, four groups.
Jin was placed in Group 2.
In other words, Ryucard and Carlos, who were in Groups 3 and 4 respectively, wouldn't face each other unless they both reached the finals.
Of course, that meant one of them would be eliminated along the way.
Jin found that somewhat disappointing.
If he was going to fight, he would've preferred to go up against all the top contenders.
Thinking thoughts that would make others recoil, Jin stood up.
"Ugh," he groaned automatically.
Sitting for so long had left his tailbone sore, and his lower back felt like it was collapsing.
He clenched his fist and lightly tapped his hip, trying to shake off the discomfort—just as someone approached and placed a hand on his shoulder.
It was Raph, who had returned after receiving treatment.
"Well, well! Look who it is! The finalist himself, Jin! Huh?!"
"Oh, please."
Jin smirked as he took in Raph's face, now wrapped in bandages.
"Bet you don't even feel the pain right now."
"What's pain? Finalists don't know such things!"
Their eyes met, and their right hands connected in a high-five that turned into a firm handshake.
"Good job, man."
"You too, dude."
With their brief exchange of encouragement done, the two were chatting and laughing as they left the stadium—
—when someone suddenly blocked their path.
"Greetings."
The polite voice belonged to a man with a sword at his waist.
Jin tilted his head.
"And you are?"
The unfamiliar man answered calmly.
"I am a messenger."
"Okay... but whose?"
Jin's question was met with a concise reply.
"The Sword Saint wishes to see you."
Why does he want to see me?
Jin scratched the back of his head.
He had no choice but to go since he was summoned, but he had no clue why.
Could it be?
Did he plan to eliminate his son's competitors to secure his victory?!
Entertaining the absurd thought for a moment, Jin followed the man who had introduced himself as a messenger.
Before he knew it, he found himself inside a VIP room within the stadium.
Feeling awkward in the unfamiliar setting, he hesitated, standing stiffly—until a low voice reached his ears.
"Have a seat."
The voice belonged to the Sword Saint, who stood with his hands clasped behind his back, gazing out the window.
"Ah, y-yes."
Jin quickly planted himself on the sofa.
The man turned his head slowly from the window, a faint smile on his face as he approached and sat across from Jin.
"A pleasure to meet you. I am Gale Anarion."
"Jin. Jin Evernight."
As always, Jin proudly stated the name he had bought for thirty-five million credits.
Then, he subtly studied the middle-aged man before him.
The Sword Saint.
At this close distance—barely two steps away—Jin was struck by something unexpected.
The man's presence was... shockingly faint.
It was as if he had blended seamlessly into the surroundings.
When did his hand move to the teapot?
Jin blinked, momentarily thrown off.
Even though he was looking directly at him, the sense of distance between them felt completely skewed.
"...Whoa."
"Hm? Something wrong?"
"Ah, no, it's just..."
Trailing off awkwardly, Jin was handed a teacup by the Sword Saint.
"Just what?"
Jin hesitated before sheepishly admitting,
"I was just thinking... no matter what I do, I probably couldn't land a hit on you. Haha."
"Couldn't land a hit? On me? With what?"
The Sword Saint, intrigued, prompted Jin to elaborate.
Seeing no point in playing dumb, Jin slowly raised his right fist.
"This."
"..."
A brief silence.
Then, the Sword Saint burst into hearty laughter.
Jin immediately joined in, grinning.
Why was he laughing?
No idea.
Just because.
Workplace survival tip #1:
When your superior laughs, just laugh along.
Of course, you should be wary—some people laugh when they're actually pissed off.
Read the room before using this tactic.
But this time was an exception.
When someone laughs while throwing their head back, it means they're genuinely enjoying themselves.
For a while, the laughter of the two men filled the room, and just as Jin's cheeks began to ache, the Sword Saint finally stopped laughing.
"It's not an easy thing to land a punch on my face."
"Agreed."
Jin gave a thumbs-up, and the laughter erupted once again.
Hmm, I'll just stay quiet this time.
My cheeks are hurting too much.
Jin, who had come to that conclusion, took the cup of tea he was handed and gulped it down.
Oh, this is good.
He didn't know much about tea, but the smoothness of it was delightful.
As he savored the gentle warmth spreading through his chest, only then did the Sword Saint finally stop laughing.
"Though it must've been sudden, thank you for accepting my invitation."
"Ah, no need to mention it. I should've come."
In response to the reply, the Sword Saint gave a subtle smile and continued.
"The reason I called you here is because of a personal curiosity. I have something I want to ask you. Would you be willing to answer honestly?"
It was a polite request.
It was hard to believe that someone like him had once been called the 'Great Sword' when he was younger.
Had the position shaped the person?
Or had the person shaped the position?
No matter what, it was clear the Sword Saint was a noble man now.
Jin nodded without hesitation.
"Yes. Ask me anything."
"What is your relationship with Lokan?"
"...?"
Jin froze for a moment.
If he wanted, Jin was more than willing to share the color of his underwear (navy blue), but that question had him speechless, almost like a lie.
It wasn't that he was guilty about anything.
He just didn't know how to answer.
What kind of relationship do I have with that guy?
Kidnapping motivation?
No, were we senior and junior?
Unable to speak for a while, Jin stood there in silence, until the Sword Saint waited patiently, not rushing him.
How long did it take?
Finally, Jin managed to come up with an answer he could accept, and slowly spoke.
"…He's my master."
Upon hearing the answer, the Sword Saint's pupils widened.
"A teacher-student relationship, you mean?"
"Yeah, something like that…"
Jin nodded awkwardly, in a hesitant and uncertain manner.
Then he thought to himself.
It's true that Lokan taught me how to awaken the Polar Radiance.
So, he's my master.
What does it matter what he thinks about it?
Don't overthink it.
Having come to a quick conclusion, Jin spoke again, this time with a more confident tone.
"Yes. That's right. He's my master."
"…I see."
The Sword Saint murmured softly, as though he had just solved a puzzle.
"I knew there was something about your demeanor that reminded me of him."
"Lokan... you know him?"
"Of course."
The Sword Saint nodded as if it were obvious, then spoke again.
"…He was always a friend who sparked competition. Every time we met, he was always just a step ahead of me. That used to frustrate me so much."
As he spoke, his eyes seemed to look past Jin, staring into a distant memory.
"I don't regret my youthful days filled with bloodshed, but if there's one thing I regret, it's that I never settled things with him. Even though I had a perfect opportunity when we both had a shot at the Revolution. I was so focused on surpassing him that I failed to look at anything else. By the time I was sure of my sword, he had already left the family."
Jin processed the Sword Saint's words in his mind.
Lokan and the Sword Saint were of the same generation (hard to believe).
The Sword Saint considered Lokan a rival.
The two never had a final confrontation.
Back in the present, the Sword Saint slowly spoke again, as he observed Jin scratching his cheek.
"I never thought our fates would intertwine like this. Lokan's disciple and my son…"
Huh?
Jin, who had been about to grab his teacup, froze for a moment, sensing something odd in the conversation.
"…Excuse me?"
"You must make it to the finals. My son will definitely be there too."