Chapter 35
In a pristine infirmary with white walls and a soft scent of medicine in the air, a figure was being tended to by one of the top healers in the Scarlet Faction. His body looked like a lump of smoldering coal—burnt, cracked, and lifeless. The healer, identifiable by his distinct mushroom-shaped hairstyle, pressed a glowing hand against the patient's chest. A soft white light enveloped the man's body.
At first, nothing changed. The tension in the room rose as sweat dripped from the healer's forehead. Then, slowly, the charred skin began to lighten, black cracks retracting like shadows at sunrise. Several minutes later, the figure's eyes snapped open—blood-red orbs with three black tomoe swirling within them.
Jayden was awake.
After the treatment, Jayden left the infirmary, his steps steady, his face blank as always. But behind the emotionless mask, his mind was anything but calm.
He overheard two doctors talking just around the corridor corner. He recognized the voice of the mushroom-haired healer.
"It was him, right?" the first doctor asked.
"Yeah," Mushroom Head sighed. "He nearly drained all my spiritual energy."
"But why is he even trying?" the first doctor continued. "He'll die tomorrow. Honestly, he should've just accepted his fate. He's only at the peak of the Blue Plane. There's no miracle that can save him now."
Jayden continued walking, not breaking stride, but inside... the words echoed like cold steel against his thoughts. Everyone believed he was going to die tomorrow.
The worst part?
So did he.
Not because he was weak—no, Jayden had endured hellish training under Grand Elder Jake. But because he still wasn't strong enough.
Many thought he had grown stronger, being a personal disciple of a Grand Elder. But Jayden scoffed internally at anyone who believed that. Those people clearly hadn't undergone Jake's "training"—which he considered a glorified term for "brutal torture."
Jake's philosophy was simple: Destroy and Rebuild.
The training grounds? A volcano.
The sessions? Jayden getting mercilessly beaten, bones broken, then dunked in lava for extra pain. Every day was worse than the last. Yes, he had grown tougher—his defense, strength, and speed had increased—but not enough. Not nearly enough.
He finally reached his room and collapsed onto his bed, eyes blinking up at the brown ceiling.
"Is there really no hope? Am I really going to die tomorrow...?"
Tomorrow was the Death Duel.
Jayden had trained like a madman just to survive, while Blake, that lunatic, had probably been sipping fruit juice with his feet up.
At one point, Jayden had believed that sparring with Toph would give him confidence.
But that belief died a tragic death the moment the spar began.
---
Flashback
"DEATH DUEL?!"
The voice practically shattered Jayden's eardrums. Mephina had screamed so loudly, birds had likely fled the city.
"What were you thinking?!" she shouted, eyes filled with tears. "Are you insane?!"
"I knew you were crazy," Toph added, arms crossed, voice dry, "but this... this is a new level. I pity you."
Toph then turned to Mephina and sighed.
"You shouldn't have fallen in love with a dead man."
Jayden's brow twitched.
Even his allies had already buried him in their hearts.
Then came Rictor, the Overreactor.
"Don't worry, man! I'll do everything in my power to cancel that match!"
Jayden stared at him, deadpan. "You can't."
"Really?" Rictor blinked.
Jayden's eyes narrowed. He had already tried begging his own forceful master, Jake.
Jake had said, "Sure, I can cancel it."
Jayden had mentally celebrated... until the man continued, "But I won't."
"Why?"
"Because Scarlet Faction members fight with dignity... even in death."
Jayden's eye twitched. I don't want dignity—I want to live!
Back to Rictor:
"I see..." he nodded, then with a sunny smile, "Don't worry, friend. There's always hope!"
He turned to Toph. "Out of ten, what's your chance of beating Blake?"
"Zero," Toph replied without blinking.
Rictor choked on his words and turned to Jayden with a sorrowful face. "Sorry, friend. You're doomed."
Jayden's eyebrow twitched. Again.
Rictor, completely unfazed, suddenly shifted gears. "Anyway! Let's not talk about death. Jayden—remember the Ultimate Club I told you about?"
"Nope," Jayden replied instantly.
Rictor grinned. "Come on! I've already recruited a few members. Isn't that awesome?"
Jayden stared at him in disbelief. This guy... is definitely a mental patient.
How can someone who doesn't even know if he'll live past few more days be excited about building a club?
Back to present
As Jayden collapsed onto his bed with a sigh, his thoughts swirled with uncertainty. Is this really how it ends...?
Then—
Ding!
A familiar screen blinked to life in front of him:
> System Alert:
Your student Eren has reached a new grade!
Bonus Reward: 1500 SP, +10 Stat Points
Current Grade: Junior Warrior
A faint smile crept onto Jayden's face. Ever since Eren had learned about the death duel and the possibility of Jayden's death, the kid had been training like a madman—determined to become strong enough to stand beside him, to protect him.
Jayden didn't claim the reward just yet. He clenched his fist.
"I'm not dying tomorrow. Not when there are still people I want to protect."
With that silent vow, he closed his eyes. Despite it still being evening, he drifted into sleep—his heart conflicted, but his will sharpening.
---
Meanwhile—far from Scarlet City...
BOOM!
A thunderous impact echoed across a massive underground training chamber.
Standing shirtless in the center was a crimson-haired man, his body covered in black scars and a glowing blood-red axe tattoo sprawled across his back. His burning red eyes locked onto the smoldering remains of the Lanite punching pad—and the body that once held it.
The corpse's upper body was completely gone, and a massive crater lined the wall behind it.
The cause?
One punch.
"Rene's dead..." a soldier in black murmured, his voice shaking. Sweat drenched every soldier watching from the sidelines, each bearing black armor emblazoned with a crimson S that pulsed ominously.
"You idiot," another hissed. "The general's power is too vast for someone like us. Rene was a fool for volunteering to hold the pad."
"But that pad was made of Lanite," someone else whispered.
That metal was ranked just beneath the legendary Magnazite—unbreakable under normal conditions. And yet… it had been disintegrated like paper.
"That was insane," one new recruit whispered, trembling.
Then the man at the center finally spoke. "Weak."
His voice was deep, calm… and terrifying.
He looked around. "Anyone else want to hold the punching bag? Two at once this time. Maybe three."
Silence. Not a single soul moved.
"Really? None of you?" His voice raised slightly. "Refusing your general's request now?"
The air turned heavier. Everyone tensed. Being chosen was a death sentence.
Just as he was about to pick someone—
"Commander Silver, reporting to the general."
A voice cut through the tension like a blade. From the shadows stepped a calm-looking man with mid-length silver hair, dressed in similar armor—but instead of the crimson S, his bore a silver insignia.
He stopped before the general, bowed slightly, and delivered his report.
"Commander Scythe and Commander Bon are confirmed dead. However, they completed their mission—the traitor has been eliminated. They perished fighting one of Scarlet's Grand Elders."
The room went still. Every soldier was stunned.
Scythe and Bon… are dead?
They were feared monsters—yet taken down in the end.
"Tch," the general clicked his tongue, visibly displeased. "Those two always went overboard. I told them not to attract attention. Still… their loss is a blow to the organization."
"What are your orders, sir?" Silver asked, his voice still composed.
The general stroked his chin. "Gold's still tied up with his mission. I want you to take over the R-Project."
At the mention of 'Gold', something flickered in Silver's eye—just for a fraction of a second. Then he nodded.
"Understood, General."
He turned and walked away, quiet and calm as ever.
But every man in that room knew—beneath that composed expression was a storm of destruction. There was a reason he was known as "The Calm Storm."
But the members couldn't dwell on their fear for long—the issue with the general still hung over them like a guillotine. "Disperse," the general said, his voice sharp and clipped. "My mood is sour now."
That was all it took. The soldiers didn't wait for a second command. They scattered like terrified animals, boots slapping against stone, leaving the once fearsome training room emptier than a grave.
The general stood alone.
His crimson eyes narrowed.
"If I'm to guess... it must be him," he muttered. His hand curled into a fist as an image surfaced in his mind—a young man, short white hair, steely gray eyes, and a long scythe slung across his back like the reaper he resembled.
"The White Reaper... I'm coming for you," he growled.
He turned slowly, facing the enormous sculpture at the end of the training hall. The statue depicted a robed figure, long hair cascading nearly to his knees, carved with eerie precision and reverence.
"I don't know what you're truly planning with all these projects," the general said, voice low and haunted. "But I've made my decision... I'll fulfill every one of your twisted wishes."
"No matter what it costs."
---
Next Morning – Scarlet City
The normally bustling Scarlet City had fallen into a ghost town's silence.
A tall traveler, dusty from the road, stepped through the city gates, looking around in confusion. "Yo! Where the heck is everyone? Did the city get evacuated or something?"
An old man at the gate, chewing on a stick of ginger root, glanced at him and snorted. "You new here or just brain-damaged? Today's the Combat Trial Duel—death match style. Whole damn city's watching it."
"Death match?!" the traveler blinked. "What kind of city throws a party for people trying to murder each other?"
"Scarlet Faction business," the old man shrugged. "You either fight, or you watch. Simple philosophy. Now quit cloggin' up the entrance."
---
Combat Trial Ground
The usually desolate arena was now transformed into a coliseum of bloodthirsty excitement. Hundreds of spectators filled the surrounding stands, their eyes gleaming with anticipation. Murmurs and betting tickets flew through the crowd.
At the very top, the three Grand Elders sat with calm intensity, each one radiating enough power to silence the whole city with a cough.
In the center of the vast arena stood Blake, the fighter dressed in black and red battle robes. He wore a serene smile, arms crossed casually as he scanned the crowd.
"This will be thrilling," he whispered to himself.
On the sidelines, Rictor stood with Mephina, Toph, and Eren. Mephina's expression was dark, a cocktail of sadness and helplessness.
"You shouldn't be sad. There's no guarantee he'll die," Rictor said, attempting comfort.
But before the words could land, a venomous voice cut in.
"Stop feeding her false hope. You and I both know your friend isn't facing just anyone," Zon sneered, arms folded, a smug look in his eye. "He's up against Blake—The Crazy Fighter. That name alone should make you tremble."
Rictor glared. "What's so special about him?"
"You're new, so I'll give you a pass," Zon replied, voice dripping with disdain. "If you've never seen Blake fight, you'll never understand. Every duel he's had ended with his opponent either in a coma or a kiss away from the afterlife. And those were normal duels."
A pause.
"This one is a death match."
Rictor fell silent, the words hanging heavy in the air
Yet—the arena remained one-sided. Blake stood alone.
"Where's your friend? Did he finally grow a brain and run?" Zon jeered.
And truth be told, Rictor would have been relieved if Jayden had run. But no Scarlet warrior was allowed to flee a challenge. Doing so would guarantee death.
Just as the murmurs reached their peak, whispers dancing like wildfire through the crowd about Jayden's cowardice… a voice tore through the noise.
"Wait… isn't that him?"
All heads turned.
From the distance, a lone figure approached—black coat fluttering behind him like a shadow unchained, walking with a calm, lethal grace. His gaze was cold, unreadable. Deadpan, yet magnetic.
The girl who first pointed trembled slightly. It was him.
The face. The look. That blank, beautiful face and expression that seemed almost too still for someone about to die.
"So… he actually came," Zon sneered from the sidelines, his lips twisting in hatred. His eyes narrowed with a venomous glint as Jayden stepped into the massive arena.
"What a brave fool. Let's see how long that courage lasts."
Zon didn't just dislike Jayden—he loathed him. And seeing him walk into what looked like certain death? It brought him sick satisfaction.
Mephina's hands clenched at her chest. Her heart raced. Tears welled up at the corner of her eyes as she watched Jayden stride forward—no hesitation, no fear.
"Why did you come...?" she whispered. "You should have run."
But it was already too late. The moment Jayden's foot touched the center ring—a colossal array flared to life beneath the arena, casting shimmering golden runes that circled the entire battlefield.
The death arena had sealed.
There was no going back.
---
Far above the noise, perched silently on a tree at the edge of the courtyard, a young man watched the scene unfold—short black hair, eyes like obsidian, and a dark mask covering the lower half of his face.
Conner.
The second-greatest genius of the Scarlet Faction. The type who avoided the public eye, who preferred the shadows over the spotlight.
Which said only one thing—
This duel wasn't just a fight. It was a spectacle. A storm. And everyone knew it.
Another figure appeared beside him, serene and regal in presence—Elder Xandred, the most powerful elder in the faction and Conner's master.
"Who do you think will win?" the elder asked, voice calm as the wind.
Conner's eyes narrowed on Blake, who stood lazily on his side of the arena, cracking his neck like he was bored.
"It's a mismatch, Master," Conner said plainly.
"No matter how talented this 'One-Shotter' is... he's only in the early stage of the Purple Plane."
A pause.
"He doesn't stand a chance."
Xandred raised a brow. "You sound certain."
Conner's jaw tightened.
"I was the favorite to beat Blake. And I believed it—until I fought him."
His hands trembled faintly at the memory.
"That guy… he's not human. He's a monster. And the worst part? He doesn't hold back."
Xandred narrowed his eyes. "So you're saying the One-Shotter… will die."
Conner didn't hesitate. "He'll die, Sensei."
---
At the Grand Elder's box, a wrinkled hand stirred. The old man sitting at the middle turned toward the figure on his right.
"Jake. He's your student. What are his chances?"
Jake didn't even blink.
"Zero."
The Grand Elder flinched. "At least pretend to believe in him..."
---
Down at the betting stands, chaos ruled. Coins clattered. Tickets flew. Almost every single bet fell on Blake.
Even Rictor, after a long, painful pause, put his money on Jayden. Not because he thought Jayden could win, but because...
He didn't want him to die.
Rictor's eyes shimmered faintly green as he stared into the arena.
"Now I know why... I feel connected to him."
He clenched his fists.
"Don't you dare die on me, best friend."
Mephina was praying in her heart, clutching her pendant so tightly her fingers turned white. She wanted to believe… but doubt coiled inside her like a snake. How could Jayden survive Blake?
Even Toph, the iron-faced bodyguard, couldn't stop frowning. His arms were crossed, muscles tense. His brain ran every calculation possible. Every one led to the same outcome: Jayden wouldn't survive.
---
At the center of the arena, the Referee—or rather, the Duelmaster—raised his hand.
He raised his hand, and his booming voice echoed through the silence:
"By decree of the Scarlet Faction, the rules of this Death Duel are as follows!"
– Once activated, the battlefield array prevents all forms of exit.
– External interference results in instant disintegration.
– Surrender is not an option.
– The victor walks away.
– The loser dies.
"There will be no consequences for the victor, regardless of the outcome."
A deadly silence followed. Then—
"Combatants. Step forward and speak."
---
Blake walked up first, grinning like a demon with something to play with.
"Please give me a good fight, One-Shotter."
His smile was wide enough to cause heart attacks.
Unhinged. Hungry. Ready.
Jayden remained still.
Inside, his mind was spinning.
He wasn't trying to win.
He was trying not to die.
And this lunatic... just wanted entertainment?
"One-Shotter,"Duelmaster prompted. "Do you have anything to say?"
Then—he moved.
Slowly, his head lifted.
His deadpan expression hadn't changed… but his eyes had.
They glowed red—a deep, ominous crimson.
Three tomoe spun in each iris like cursed comets orbiting a dying star.
A ripple of energy surged from his body as his short black hair stirred, caught in a gust that came from nowhere.
One step forward.
Then–
"I'm not going to die."
His voice wasn't loud—but it echoed like thunder across the battlefield.
Blake smiled wider.
"We'll see."
The duel master raised both arms.
And with a voice that thundered across every soul present:
---
"By decree of the Scarlet Faction—"
"Let the Death Duel—"
"BEGIN!!"
---
To be continued...
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