Each clash of spear against claw split the battlefield in two.
The ground caved into craters; the air burned with sparks of aura and the screech of steel.
Luiz’s body was pure pain — a dislocated shoulder, a shattered collarbone, crushed ribs.
Blood streamed in crimson rivers, and every breath tore at his chest from the inside.
Langris, Nightmare Number 0, watched in silence.
The number pulsed, cold and unshaken.
— You’ve already lost. The blood you spill is wasted.
Luiz spat blood and a broken tooth, grinning with a mouth of red.
— Lost? Hahaha… I’m still standing, you bastard. As long as I’ve got feet, the Cups never fall.
The keychain at his waist gleamed.
The tiny heart-shaped spear pulsed, and Arlec burst from it, spinning through the air like a jester made of fire and madness.
— MY KING! The stage is perfect! Blood, bones, guts! Let’s laugh till hell dances with us!
Luiz laughed, choking on his own blood.
— That’s right, Arlec… laughter’s all that’s left when pain tries to kill me.
His crimson aura exploded.
Flames wrapped the spear — liquid, alive.
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The link with Arlec broke its limit: 60%.
Flesh burned but did not consume.
His red hair caught fire, rising like a living mane.
Red vapor veiled his face — as if his own blood evaporated — and his grin widened into that of a joker bathed in divine fury.
Langris frowned.
— An unstable aura… but ferocious.
He lunged; black claws sliced the air like scythes of the abyss.
Luiz spun the spear. He blocked one — let the second pierce his shoulder to the bone — then countered with the shaft across Langris’s jaw.
A dry crack.
Bone snapped.
Langris staggered half a step, teeth flying.
On the walls, soldiers stared in disbelief.
— He should be dead… — an archer whispered. — How is he still fighting?
Kátia of the Cups, gasping, held her shield to her chest as her squad fought hordes of monsters.
— Luiz… you idiot… — Tears, sweat, and soot ran down her face. — Come back to us! Don’t you die out there!
But he only laughed — a hoarse, blood-filled laugh that defied even death.
Langris roared.
Black wings spread wide, forming a cyclone of shadow.
He charged with claws crossed, slashing Luiz’s torso.
The sound of flesh tearing was grotesque; blood poured in hot crimson sheets — yet the red vapor sealed his wounds for moments, letting the leader of the Cups keep fighting.
It was a terrifying mastery — berserker fury with awareness.
The mana around him was super-condensed, refining itself mid-battle, second by second.
Luiz staggered; his legs shook.
But the grin stayed.
— I… won’t fall. Not in front of my men. Hahahaha!
The air shifted.
Crimson flames spiraled upward, as if Arlec’s laughter fueled every inch of rage.
The Lumpa whirled, laughing madly:
— HAHAHA! YES, MY KING! Show him what it means to be a Cup in fury!
Luiz raised the spear, eyes blazing pure crimson.
Flame reflected in his pupils, shaping them into hearts of fire.
— You may be zero… but I’m the heart.
And the heart is what makes blood move.
He charged.
One strike. Two. Three.
Bones cracked like war bells.
Langris tried to counter, but Luiz was already upon him:
A blow with the shaft — a sharp crack; another — the Nightmare’s jaw shattered; the third sent him flying, carving a trench of blood and dust.
Luiz planted the spear into the ground and roared, voice hoarse, chest soaked in blood:
— The Cups don’t fall! They laugh in the face of death and wave at danger!
I’m not just a Cup — I’m their King!
I’m Luiz, King of Cups! Hahahaha!
For a heartbeat the whole army froze.
Even the wind hesitated.
Kátia, tears streaking her face, whispered:
— …Idiot… my invincible idiot.
While the monster hordes crashed against the Cups formation — perfectly aligned, a living wall — Langris rasped,
— A king without a crown, huh? Interesting.
Luiz just smiled.
Crimson fire danced in his eyes.
His body was wrecked, muscles torn — but still standing.
Because the Cups… the Cups never fall.
End of Chapter 35
