CHAPTER 131: ALL MUST DIE

Chapter 131

The massive screen above the arena flickered to life, displaying the names of the eight contenders who had made it to the quarterfinals of the Tournament of Power.

Matchups:

First Match: Han vs. Ronan

Second Match: Null vs. Elexa

Third Match: Clara vs. Almighty

Fourth Match: Jay vs. Little One

A wave of excitement rippled through the crowd. Cheers erupted from every corner of the stadium, the air practically vibrating with anticipation. Each fighter had proven themselves capable of astonishing feats—now, they would face off in battles destined to become legend.

Han narrowed his eyes, staring at the screen.

Ronan? he thought. Why him?

He had expected to be matched up against Jay or even the enigmatic Null. But Ronan? That was a surprise. A tense one.

He glanced to his side—Ronan wasn’t even looking at the screen. His gaze was locked onto the seat where Buster once sat. His expression was unreadable, but the intent in his eyes was sharp.

Han let out a quiet sigh. That thirst for revenge... It’s eating at him.

But now wasn’t the time. Not yet.

The quarterfinal reveal concluded, and the arena was soon dismissed. The crowd scattered to enjoy the rest of their day, while the fighters were granted some time to rest.

Han and his companions decided to check in on Clara, who was recovering in the infirmary.

Though she was out of immediate danger, the medics had insisted she remain under observation for a while longer. Clara offered the group a warm smile the moment they entered, her eyes lighting up at the sight of her worried friends.

"Any word from Aiden?" she asked Han.

Han shook his head. "Nothing yet. Which probably means the cursed organization is being extremely cautious. Too cautious."

They talked for a bit longer before making their way out. Moments later, the door creaked open again.

Clara blinked in surprise, then smiled. Standing in the doorway, arms folded and a soft grin on his lips, was her older brother.

"How are you feeling now, little sis?" he asked.

Clara gave a small nod. "Physically? Fine. Just a little drained."

Their father entered shortly after, giving her a brief scolding before scanning her for any signs of injury. After a long moment, he looked her dead in the eyes.

"You should come back home after this tournament."

Clara met his gaze without hesitation. "I can’t, Dad. I have a guild now. A family. They need me—and I won’t let them down."

There was a pause... then a slow nod.

He had done his research on the Tryst Guild. To his surprise, Clara wasn’t just a member—she was one of its founding elites.

"I’m proud of you, girl," he said. "Be safe."

He left the room, and Lord Tech followed shortly after, kissing Clara on the forehead. "Be safe," he echoed, before turning to leave.

Clara leaned back and closed her eyes, finally letting herself sink into the mattress. But just as she drifted toward sleep, the door opened again.

She frowned and opened her eyes. Standing there was someone she didn’t expect.

"Kalen?" she said, eyebrows furrowed. "What are you doing here?"

Kalen walked forward with her usual blank expression. Her voice was quiet but firm.

"Why?"

Clara blinked. "Why what?"

"Why did you pull back?" Kalen asked, her tone edged with something strange—confusion? Frustration?

Clara sat up slightly, her brows knitting together.

Back in the arena, when Clara had unleashed her Omega Beam and Kalen had countered with her Sonic Wave, the outcome had seemed inevitable. Kalen had felt it—the immense pressure from Clara’s attack, overwhelming and absolute. Had Clara not pulled her punch, Kalen would have been obliterated.

"You held back," Kalen repeated. "You could’ve ended it. You could’ve killed me. Why didn’t you?"

Clara closed her eyes and drew in a slow, steady breath.

"Because I knew," she said softly. "I knew you weren’t a bad person."

Kalen scoffed, her lips curling in disdain—yet her voice trembled slightly.

"You’re a fool. I’ve done things—terrible things. Things you can’t even begin to imagine."

"Do you enjoy doing them?" Clara asked quietly.

Kalen opened her mouth, then paused.

"You don’t need to answer," Clara added gently. "Your face already did. You aren’t a monster, Kalen. No matter how much you try to believe otherwise."

Kalen’s fists clenched at her sides. "Stop it. Just... stop. Monsters don’t feel regret."

"No. But you do," Clara said. "That’s the difference. Monsters delight in their cruelty. You’re just trying to survive the hand you were dealt."

Kalen didn’t speak. Her silence was deafening.

She was one of Buster’s creations. Raised under his iron grip, shaped into a weapon. A Smasher, like the others. And yet, somewhere inside that cold shell, Clara had seen a flicker of something else.

"You could join us," Clara offered quietly.

Kalen turned sharply toward the door. Her hand rested on the knob—but she paused, her voice low.

"You think he’s a monster. A lot of people do. But you haven’t seen what he’s really capable of."

And with that, she stepped out, closing the door behind her.

Clara turned toward the window, watching the sun as it began to set. A sigh escaped her lips.

She pitied Kalen—but she also knew... as long as Buster lived, there was little she could do.

Later That Night...

Han stood silently atop a rooftop, the cold breeze tugging at his coat. Above him, the moon hung high in the sky, casting a silvery glow over Maurina City. The usual calmness in his eyes had long faded—replaced by something sharper, colder.

I’m going to break his bones, he thought darkly.

A face flickered in his mind. Jet-black hair. A faint scar running down the cheek. Jay.

Earlier, just after they’d left Clara’s room, Han and the others had run into Jay near the infirmary. Apparently, he’d come to visit his friend Dave. It had been a coincidence—one Han wished never happened. And what made it worse?

Laura knew him. Not just a passing acquaintance either.

They had looked... close.

Far closer than Han expected. Than he wanted to believe.

It took everything in him not to stop Jay in his tracks when he casually said, "I have something to show her."

Han’s fists had clenched then. He could still feel the phantom tension in his knuckles now.

Stay cool, he had told himself at the time. Laura can take care of herself. Don’t ruin it.

But now, hours later, standing under the night sky, the silence pressed in. And so did doubt.

Why isn’t she back yet...?

The thought stirred something bitter in him. An unwanted image formed—Jay and Laura, lips locked in a kiss.

Blink. Blink.

Han forced his eyes shut, shaking the image away with a sharp exhale.

Don’t overthink. She can handle herself. And I have a match tomorrow.

His gaze dropped to the training yard far below, where Ronan sparred with Kira.

The young girl moved like a whisper, her small katana glinting under the moonlight. Her form had become precise—lethal.

Han smirked faintly. If she had been sent to deal with Rin... it wouldn’t have taken long.

He slapped his face lightly, snapping himself out of the thought.

Rin’s probably gaming right now, and Xin’s likely off shopping somewhere. Can those two ever focus on training for once?

His eyes returned to Ronan, who lunged forward, blade flashing. The memory of Ronan’s brutal battle against Argon resurfaced.

I wonder... how strong would he be if he truly went all out?

A slight grin tugged at Han’s lips.

---

Meanwhile, Elsewhere in Maurina City...

Inside a lavish, candlelit chamber adorned with velvet drapes and crystal chandeliers, Drake sat calmly before three figures. Despite their lack of armor, the weight of their presence said it all.

Dark Emissaries.

One of them—a man with striking crimson hair tied into a thick braid—leaned forward.

"We should initiate the plan now," he said coolly. His name was Striker, Drake right hand known for his ruthlessness.

But Drake shook his head.

"No. We’re changing the strategy."

The emissaries went silent.

Drake leaned back in his seat, eyes narrowed with calculation. "After watching today’s matches, I’ve concluded that too many strong individuals are gathered here in Maurina City. If we stick to the original plan, there’s a high chance we’ll fail."

"So what now?" Striker asked.

Drake’s smile was thin but confident.

"Plan B. Its success rate is 98%."

He turned to Striker. "Contact the Vine. I want ten Red Vanguards deployed to Maurina City immediately."

Striker gave a short nod and walked off without a word.

Then Drake’s gaze shifted to the second man—a man with messy red hair and a calm expression as if nothing in the world bothers him. His aura was composed, but the danger he carried was unmistakable.

"Magus," Drake said, "Begin your phase tomorrow."

Magus gave a brief nod and exited.

Drake’s eyes locked onto the final figure in the room—a tall, quiet man with an ominous third eye glowing faintly at the center of his forehead.

"And you..." Drake said with measured authority, "...will serve as my personal guard from now on."

The man gave a silent nod before turning and exiting the chamber.

As the heavy doors closed behind him, Drake stepped over to the window, folding his hands behind his back. The white moon hung above Maurina City, cold and unblinking.

His reflection shimmered faintly in the glass, but it was the image in his mind that held his attention—one soaked in blood and fire.

His lips curved slightly.

It’s complicated... but necessary.

If his plan was to succeed, the obstacles had to be removed—permanently.

Every participant in the tournament. Every single threat. Especially the Tryst Guild elites.

They all have to die.

---

Elsewhere, deep within a dimly lit room scarred with cracks, dents, and destruction, the air hung heavy with tension. The walls, once pristine, were now battered and torn—a reflection of the storm inside.

Bang! Crack!

Kalen’s fist smashed into the wall again, widening the already gaping hole. Dust trickled down as she stood, head lowered, her breathing sharp and uneven.

Clara’s words echoed in her mind like a haunting melody.

"You’re not a monster, Kalen."

Kalen’s voice was barely more than a whisper.

"No... I am a monster," she muttered, her knuckles bleeding from the repeated strikes.

Punch.

"I’ve killed too many people... There’s no redemption for someone like me."

Punch.

Blood smeared the wall, yet Clara’s voice—gentle, stubborn—kept cutting through the noise.

"You’re not defined by your past."

Kalen stumbled back, slumping against the wall. Her body trembled, not from exhaustion—but from the war inside her mind. Her eyes stared blankly at the floor, distant yet full of emotion, detached from everything and yet somehow still clinging to it all.

Then—click.

The door creaked open behind her, and slow, deliberate footsteps echoed into the ruined room.

Kalen didn’t even lift her head.

A bitter chuckle escaped her lips. "Tch... You sure took your time."

Her voice was raw. Hollow.

"You’ve come to kill me, haven’t you?"

She slowly tilted her head, just enough to glance at the figure now standing at the doorway.

"...Lord Buster," she said, her voice barely audible.

---

To be continued...

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