Chapter Forty-Five: Terror and the Struggle Among the Crowd

Before the girl could utter any more wild words, a deep voice echoed from the corner at the end of the corridor.

"Found you, Garuda. Don't run off anymore, everyone's worried about you."

Two men, each with the same black irises and white pupils, strode forward, completely disregarding the chaos strewn about the hallway. They approached the pair still tangled together.

"Come on now, get off this young man. The clan chief has been looking for you."

"Oh..." The girl, who had been fierce and ferocious during the fight, now spoke with a gentle voice as soft as a rabbit's. Reluctantly, she crawled off from behind Kyo Shirado.

The two men, despite their menacing eyes—hallmarks of the Wu clan—bowed politely.

"We sincerely apologize for the trouble our younger generation has caused you."

With that, they prepared to take the girl away.

This was in keeping with the rumors about the Wu clan in the underworld; outside of their missions, they were the very model of harmonious, respectful families, even courteous to outsiders—a stark contrast to their demeanor during assignments.

Kyo Shirado breathed a sigh of relief, nodding, and prepared to haul the unconscious Taizuke back to his room.

"Garuda. Wu Garuda—that's my name. Kyo, I'll come find you again."

Though her voice had softened, it carried a determined note. Kyo, already lifting the blond Taizuke onto his shoulder, could only sigh in resignation.

Of course—how could she not know his name, when she had forcibly mimicked his athletic skills based on Wu Fengshui's description?

"Alright..."

At this point, Kyo could only accept it, despite his reluctance.

The girl's cheeks flushed, her smile radiating youthful energy. But then, she saw the man who had remained unfazed even when she had locked his throat after her liberation, suddenly bristle like a startled feline!

An overwhelming murderous aura exploded from him, so intense that even the girl, now out of combat mode, instinctively hid behind the two men.

The two Wu clansmen immediately shielded Garuda behind them, veins bulging and skin turning bluish-purple.

"Sir, you..."

Without a mission, the Wu clan preferred not to resolve matters with violence. They adjusted their stance, vigilant, and questioned Kyo.

Kyo, carrying Taizuke, suddenly pressed himself against the corridor wall, away from the sea-facing side. His pupils contracted.

"You... don't feel it?"

For the first time ever, Kyo's voice trembled.

This had not happened to him since the night eight years ago when he received his fatal assignment. Not even when, as a novice, a knife was pressed to his throat.

Seeing the confusion on the faces of the three Wu clan members, Kyo realized—it was because he was too sensitive.

The ocean beneath the night was as deep as an abyss. The pitch-black waters reeked of brine, slapping against the hull, filling Kyo's highly developed spiritual senses with terror, as if everything would be devoured.

It was as if an enormous maw, belonging to a monstrous beast, lay beneath the luxury cruise's route, ready to swallow all.

His dragonblood inner power and aura surged wildly. Even Taizuke, slung over his shoulder, shivered from the [Aura Ability: Spirit Drain] despite his unconsciousness.

Yet, even with his dragonblood inner power at full fire, focusing his mind, the fear—the sense of crawling into the monster’s jaws, about to be torn apart—clung to him relentlessly.

"Sorry, I’ll be going ahead."

His will, tempered by years of martial training, forcibly suppressed his terror enough for him to speak normally. Fighting off the trembling, he left behind the confused and wary stares of the Wu clan.

After tossing Taizuke into his room, Kyo almost ran back to his own cabin, his body still quivering.

Gradually, the tremors eased, and the danger sensed in his spirit seemed to recede as the ship distanced itself from a certain place.

Only then did Kyo remember to take out his phone.

"Map—where’s the map?!"

His tense fingers cracked the screen as he frantically swiped, searching. At last, on the satellite map, he found the stretch of sea they had crossed ten minutes ago.

But—no information. That section of sea was so ordinary within the vast national waters of Japan, it barely had a name.

He opened the search engine, inputting the latitude and longitude. Still, almost nothing.

Only in a secret forum did he find a single cryptic mention:

"It was once a dumping ground for nuclear waste."

That was all reflected in Kyo’s eyes.

~~~~~~

Perhaps in this world, no one’s spiritual senses could be as keen as Kyo Shirado’s.

Thus, on the ship, no one would realize they'd just passed over a heap of nuclear waste.

Nor would anyone sense the profound horror lurking at its resting place.

Insignificant humans continued to tear at each other for victory in the Deadly Kengan Tournament.

"Bang—"

A thin, kimono-clad youth stomped on the face of a white-haired, dark-skinned man, wearing a victor’s smile.

"Thud—"

The prodigious young fighter—Cosmos Imai—having choked his opponent unconscious, turned toward the source of the booming sound.

There, the so-called "Tiger" Takeshi Wakatsuki had smashed a sturdy wall, leaving a gaping hole webbed with cracks. Inside, a mangled, bloodied body lay as if crushed by heavy machinery.

"Hiss—"

A handsome man, garbed in an odd cheongsam neither masculine nor feminine, clutched his left shoulder in a narrow corridor, disbelief etched on his face as blood seeped through his fingers.

"My, my, could it be the old man is out of touch, President Akano? These young fighters today, all favor sonic attacks? That 'Sorcerer' did it, and now this young man... I nearly fell for it!"

"Whatever do you mean? You’re the very picture of enduring strength!"

Across from the cheongsam-clad man, Hisayasu Takemoto, robed in a kimono, shook his wide sleeves, relaxedly complaining to his employer.

And standing behind him at a distance was the titan of Japan’s media world—the president of Byakuya News, Tetsusaki Akano—dabbing his brow with a handkerchief, smiling obsequiously.

Next to Hisayasu Takemoto, Hikaru Narushima was swaying, blood trickling from his ears, yet his face burned with fighting spirit.

"Master, his left hand is completely ruined by your attack, he can’t use that sonic move anymore. Let me—"

"No, stand down, Hikaru." The old man smiled, tucking his arms into his wide sleeves, then extending them from his kimono’s broad collar.

"How could you deprive an old man of his love for sport, my wayward disciple!"

His muscular torso was bared from the kimono.

To the cheongsam-clad man, the old man's smile was no longer gentle—it was a bloodthirsty grin.