Chapter Eighty-One: The Terrifying "Demon Spear"

“Damn it, damn it! What the hell is going on?” The employer of Muteba, a woman who nevertheless presided over a heavy industry and arms company, bit at her nails with teeth as sharp as a shark’s, completely losing her composure.

“Is this a tactic? It has to be a tactic! He’s waiting for that kid to be distracted, then he’ll strike at the perfect moment! That must be Muteba’s plan!”

She looked like a gambler who had staked everything on a single roll, only to lose it all and desperately tried to comfort herself, searching for an excuse for Muteba’s actions.

But behind her, the president of Steel Generation Company, who had allied with her after Guan Linchun lost to Muteba, pierced her illusions with a stony face.

“A clear gesture and a verbal concession. That’s an undeniable surrender, the referee’s already recorded it. There’s no chance for a reversal.”

“Shut up! As long as he’s still in the ring, there’s a chance!” Though the president of Steel Generation was a tall, scar-faced man who looked every bit the villain, her tone made it clear who truly held the power between them.

“Only garbage cares about rules! In this arena, it’s all about beating your opponent down!”

She still watched the ring with anticipation, waiting for Muteba’s desperate counterattack. But the heavily tattooed, powerfully built black man turned his back on the arena and walked toward the fighters’ tunnel, where she stood.

“Get back! Get your ass back in that ring! Kill that brat and claim victory!” She glared at Muteba with a look that could devour a man, her voice a furious roar.

He, however, approached her with that mocking smile seemingly carved into his face, utterly calm.

“Sorry about that, boss.” The apology, delivered with that infuriating grin, only enraged her further.

Ignoring her twisted, furious expression, Muteba continued, speaking for himself.

“You can’t feel it from here, but for someone as sensitive as me, face-to-face with him…”

“Him?” The woman guessed he meant that boy, Byakudo Kagami.

“The terror I felt was beyond anything I’ve ever known.”

The “King of Mercenaries,” who had moved with ease through battlefields where death by shrapnel and high explosives was a constant threat, now claimed to be terrified—by a mere boy’s presence?

Are you mocking me?

Her shark-like teeth nearly cracked in her jaw.

Muteba seemed to understand the absurdity and rage boiling inside his employer, and went on.

“It’s not the same, boss. Bullets, shells—unless it’s the world’s best equipment, handled by mere mortals, none of it’s a threat to my honed senses. But… that guy is different.”

Muteba turned back to the arena.

There, amidst the tidal wave of boos and shouts about the “fixed match,” the boy walked off the field, utterly unmoved, as though the jeering crowd were nothing but ants.

“If he gets serious, it feels as though the entire world around him gains a will of its own—a murderous intent aimed right at me.”

“I can dodge artillery, but I can’t stop breathing, boss.”

His infuriating smile remained, but the weight in his words was unmistakable—even the two company presidents could feel it.

His employer, however, was unmoved.

“You don’t think spouting some sensational nonsense will let you skate past your surrender, do you?”

“Honestly, I should’ve expected as much from an arms dealer. I give up.” Muteba scratched his face in resignation.

“No final payment, of course. I didn’t fulfill the contract to make you the president of the Arena League. But…”

Wearing nothing but briefs, Muteba produced a business card from who-knows-where.

“This is my private number. I’ll carry out one mission for you, free of charge. Out of respect for this prosthetic eye—and for those women you found me these past days.”

With lightning speed, she snatched the card, her former fury gone in an instant—now cool and composed.

The Steel Generation president couldn’t help but twitch at her whiplash change of expression.

“Fine. No final payment, a free ad for the prosthetic eye—seems I made out well enough on this deal.”

On that note, the pure merchant and the pure mercenary parted ways.

Neither of them were the sentimental type.

~~~~~~

Back in the stands, Byakudo Kagami sat beside Saeko, with his master and the two boys, Mitsuru and Yuta, in the same row.

“Why did Muteba give up so suddenly?” Saeko asked, handing the boy a bottle of water. “He didn’t seem hurt, and you said he even had a high-tech prosthetic eye. Even as a temporary fighter, shouldn’t he have had plenty of fighting spirit?”

“Don’t judge him by the standards of an arena fighter.” Byakudo took the bottle, sipping. “He’s a mercenary, first and foremost. For someone so acutely attuned to danger, my presence must have scared him more than he could accept. After weighing the cost of injury against the gain, a profit-driven mercenary would rationally choose to withdraw.”

“Forget about him. His style had nothing new—he relied entirely on specialized senses. Utterly dull.” The burly old man in a kimono gestured to the arena below.

“This is a real fight worth watching.”

The battle between Mikazuchi Rei and Kuroki Gensai.

On the surface, it looked like the lightning-fast ‘Raishin Style’ was running wild, but to any knowledgeable fighter, this was a showcase of Kuroki Gensai’s overwhelming dominance.

That speed—too fast for the eye to follow—even the stronger fighters could barely keep up for a few moments.

The only hope was to tie him down somehow, stop him from running, or take out his mobility altogether.

But the man known as the “Demon Spear”—

No matter how many times Mikazuchi exceeded his limits, spurred on by “love” in his heart, every attempt was met head-on and shut down by that bear-like man.

“If you put your fist in the right place at the right time, your opponent will defeat himself.”

Easier said than done. Every comic about fighting speedsters uses that trope.

But the ‘Raishin Style’ is no second-rate acceleration technique that loses control once it gets going.

Mikazuchi’s control is so precise, he can change moves in mid-dash.

Against such a sensitive and swift opponent, to land the “right fist at the right time”…

Kuroki Gensai’s terrifying ability to read ahead—he probably knows exactly where Mikazuchi will set foot next.