Chapter 468: A Punch from B.C.
Raian Kure's grenade toss had been so effortlessly fluid that even his cousin
Fusui barely had time to process it.
"——!?"
The young girl's black-sclera eyes went wide. "——Big brother———— what on earth
are you doing??"
Next came Guevara and Ren down in the center of the arena.
Staring straight down at the sizzling little object resting near their feet—a
grenade trailing a thin wisp of white smoke—the two fighters blinked in unison,
sheer bewilderment plastered across their faces.
"Ah..."
They looked down at the grenade, looked at each other, and then looked back down
at the grenade.
"Hiss—!"
With a sharp intake of breath, both men reacted simultaneously.
Guevara lashed out with a lightning-fast kick, flicking the grenade upward off
the ground so that it hovered slightly above his head.
Swish!
Ren immediately snapped his right leg upward, driving his foot straight toward
the airborne explosive.
[JAMIE: CELESTIAL KICK]!
Whack!
The impact launched the grenade even higher, sending it soaring far up into the
sky, safely beyond its effective lethal radius.
—KABOOM!
The grenade detonated mid-air, bursting into a fiery, smoke-filled display that
scattered burning shrapnel across the sky, its concussive roar rattling the
surrounding crowd to their bones.
The pungent, acrid reek of cordite triggered the raw survival instincts of
everyone from The Inside, snapping them violently out of their spectator trance.
Several onlookers even instinctively ducked for cover.
"Whoa!"
"A—a grenade?!"
"Are we under attack? Scatter!"
"..."
Crash-shatter—!
Black smoke and bits of jagged metal rained down from the sky, dusting Ren and
Guevara from head to toe, leaving them both coughing violently and looking like
a pair of chimney sweeps.
"Cough! Ptui-ptui—"
Guevara spat a mouthful of dirt out onto the ground, glaring up toward the
perimeter. "Who the hell threw a grenade?!"
Ren, on the other hand, needed only a single glance to figure out the culprit.
He turned his head toward Raian Kure, yelling out an accusation, "What the hell
is wrong with you?!"
"——Ha?"
Raian crossed his arms, raising his chin and eyebrow with a look that clearly
said, 'You've got a lot of nerve asking me that,' instantly flipping the script
to put them on the defensive.
"What's wrong with you two? Are you completely brain-dead, you idiots—"
"I should be asking you what kind of clown show you were putting on down there!
Not throwing punches, keeping your hands tucked behind your backs, playing
footsie in your pockets—"
"What kind of difference does it make whether you use your fists or not?!"
"So stupid! Boring! You were putting me to sleep! A real fight is supposed to be
paved in rivers of blood!"
Raian stomped his heel hard into the pavement, lecturing them furiously. "A
fight between two men is supposed to be simple! Every extra rule you pile on top
of it is just garbage!"
The rapid-fire tirade left the group standing around Raian blinking in stunned
silence, strangely feeling like the unhinged lunatic had a surprisingly valid
point.
Perhaps, the [Monster] who pursued the absolute limits of violence was the only
one being truly pure about this.
—That was the exact thought running through the minds of both Ren and Guevara.
The two men blinked, then caught sight of each other's soot-covered faces,
dusted white with gunpowder residue. Without warning, a sharp "Pfft!" slipped
past their lips.
"..."
"Pfft——Hahaha!"
Both men burst into roaring laughter, doubling over and slapping their knees as
they suddenly realized how ridiculous they had looked a mere minute prior—so
ridiculous it bordered on slapstick comedy.
This time, it was the audience's turn to be confused.
"Are they laughing?"
"They're not fighting anymore?"
"Are they calling a truce?"
"..."
The answer arrived a second later—WHAM!
Guevara pivoted his rear heel, torqueing his front foot as he unloaded a
ferocious left hook straight into Ren's face with a resounding CRACK.
"Ugh—"
The fist practically caved into Ren's cheek, sending blood and spit spraying
from his nose and mouth, his eyes squeezing shut from the impact.
Guevara was using his fists!
Yet, this didn't mean he was conceding defeat; rather, it proved that Guevara
was the first to snap back to his senses, stripping away the ridiculous
self-imposed rules and stepping right back into the pure, unadulterated domain
of a "street bight"!
"Ha!"
Having landed the left hook, Guevara didn't break momentum, chaining straight
into a vicious right uppercut.
This time, however, the punch was intercepted mid-flight.
[DRIVE PARRY]!
Whack!
Ren pivoted sideways, his left elbow shooting upward and outward in a rigid
horizontal sweep that batted Guevara's right uppercut wide off target.
Because of the parry, Guevara's recovery lagged by a crucial half-beat. Ren
seized the [Frame Advantage], moving a fraction of a second faster.
Simultaneously, Ren's right hand remained buried deep inside his trouser pocket.
This time, however, "tuck-in-pocket" wasn't meant to seal away his punch; the
reality was precisely the opposite.
For Ren's right fist, whether it was still pocketed at that exact microsecond
didn't matter anymore, because [Relaxation] had already begun.
Melting away the skin, stripping off the blood vessels, discarding bones and
nerves—leaving behind only the pure concept of a "right arm," leaving behind
only the soul of that punch!
Soul-tier [Relaxation]—Snap!
In an instant, Ren's trouser pocket shredded to pieces. His right arm seemingly
vanished from sight, only to reappear the next moment as it was whipped forward
in a devastating rear straight.
[ED: PSYCHO FLICKER]!
Whoosh!
The punch struck square against Guevara's jaw, instantly rattling his brain with
violent kinetic force. His eyes rolled upward into near-loss-of-consciousness,
plunging him into a severe state of dizziness.
"——!?"
In that instant, everything in Guevara's field of vision warped and smeared like
oil dropped into a puddle of water, fracturing into a kaleidoscope of brilliant,
unnatural colors.
Heh, caught him right on the chin~!
Ren snapped his right fist back, his thoughts racing at hyper-acceleration.
He figured he ought to send a silent thanks to brother Raian; he had genuinely
been overcomplicating things earlier.
If you want to genuinely face a challenge, you can't go inventing your own
arbitrary rules. You have to keep it simple—
Only by stripping it down to that level could one truly answer the question:
What does it mean to be strong?
"Shrah——!"
Ren let out a fierce, bellowing roar, opening and closing his hands as he
unleashed a three-hit combo.
[LUKE: TRIPLE IMPACT]!
Bang-bang-bang!
Three heavy, sledgehammer blows hammered into Guevara's cheeks, sending his
eyelids fluttering and his face drenched in fresh blood.
—Still not enough!
Standing before him was the man who had brought the President of the United
States to heel; a man honored with the title [The Second], standing
shoulder-to-shoulder with [The Unchained] Biscuit Oliva!
A punch like this wasn't enough to put a monster like that down!
"Hah-yah——!"
Ren clenched both fists tight, pinning his elbows into his ribs. Using his right
arm as a forward shield and his left arm trailing behind, he charged forward in
a low, explosive tackle.
The exact moment he moved, ink-wash ripples surged around Ren, sketching out the
spectral imagery of a heavy shield and a long spear that locked in sync with his
movements.
{——}
Marisa, watching intently from the spectators' gallery, involuntarily clenched
her own fist.
{This technique draws its inspiration from Spartan heavy infantry.}
{Their spears and shields were legendary; the infantrymen themselves were
ferociously savage, masters of brutal hand-to-hand combat wielding ancient
striking arts.}
{So let him witness it—a punch straight out of B.C.!}
{——}
Thud!
Ren drove forward with crushing momentum, using his right shoulder to plow
straight into the dizzying, half-conscious Guevara, driving a blow deep into his
abdomen that forced him down onto one knee.
Following through seamlessly, Ren shifted his right foot slightly forward,
dropping his left side as low as possible while raising his right fist high
above his head.
Snap!
His five fingers clenched into a tight seal, letting out a sharp, crisp pop.
With that fist locked, Ren's posture no longer resembled a standard martial arts
strike; it looked more like a golfer winding up a titanium driver, or an athlete
heaving an Olympic shot put—throwing every single scrap of his physical and
spiritual weight behind a single, unmitigated point of impact.
Supreme Secret Art—
[MARISA: GODDESS OF THE HUNT]!!
"——SHRAH!"
With a thunderous roar, Ren whipped his right hook in a looping, high-to-low
trajectory that smashed squarely against Guevara's jaw, completely hoisting his
entire body off the ground.
Boom—
Swish-la!
Guevara drifted weightlessly through the air, flipping backward as he hurtled
several meters before slamming into the earth with a heavy thud, bouncing off
the turf like a skipping stone.
Thump—thump!
He didn't come to a halt until his back collided squarely against the perimeter
wall, carving a shallow indentation into the masonry as a shower of broken
bricks and dust rained down.
Crash-shatter—!
Guevara slumped forward against the wall, sliding down before collapsing
completely flat onto the pavement.
"..."
The punch had been so devastatingly solid, so overwhelmingly cinematic, that it
left Ren's entire right arm tingling with numbness, while the audience stood
entirely paralyzed, temporarily forgetting all about the grenade incident as
their minds replayed the final sequence.
"He... he actually blasted him flying!"
"Uwaah! He hit the wall—"
"A relentless storm of attacks, capped off by an utterly terrifying punch!"
"..."
Ren lifted his right fist, wisps of white steam still curling lazily off the
knuckles.
He scanned the perimeter, realizing that the crowd's infectious enthusiasm had
returned in full force. They were currently cheering, roaring, and showering
praise upon the brutal exchange that had just concluded.
"Did Guevara go down?"
"Did the Soul Combatant take the win?!"
"Is... is that really it?!"
"..."
Ren raised an eyebrow, wiped a smear of blood off the bridge of his nose and the
corners of his lips, and spat out a bloody glob. "——Not a chance!"
"He's the Second! He's the second-generation Unchained!"
"He's J. Guevara—"
Ren's murmuring trailed off into silence.
Replacing it was a vibrant, ringing melody that echoed across the entire plaza.
"Iiyer-yah-ha——!!"
The crowd snapped their heads toward the source. Stunned, they realized the
voice was coming from the prone, fallen form of Guevara. His voice rang out with
crystal clarity, carrying like rolling musical waves that felt remarkably like
the opening notes of a sea shanty.
In that instant, everyone present fancied they could smell it—the crisp, clean
fragrance of the ocean breeze mixed with the raw fury of a tempest.
They transformed into the saltwater droplets of a hurricane night, washing over
the senses and stirring the soul!
☆☆☆
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