"DXD: Infinite Loot System"Chapter 308: Fist of Conviction
Thud. Thud. Thud.
All eyes watched as Sairaorg began to run.
No wild surges of battle aura now. No supernatural force propelling him, just the battered body of a man, each step spraying blood from open wounds. He ran—ordinary, unadorned, but with a presence that shook the soul of every witness.
This was Sairaorg at his purest. Every stride radiated a force that went beyond magic or muscle, a gravity born from the heart.
"Ddraig. Albion. Maximum output. Give me everything you've got," Tenra said quietly, watching the lion king charge.
"Partner... if you go all out, that guy might not survive," Ddraig's voice rumbled from the jewel.
Sairaorg was held together by nothing but willpower now. His injuries should have ended the fight long ago.
"It's fine," Tenra replied, voice low. "Because—this is the greatest respect I can pay him."
Neither Ddraig nor Albion spoke again. Seconds later, Tenra felt their power flood through him—raw, overwhelming.
He moved. Tenra sprinted to meet Sairaorg head-on.
"HAH!!!"
Sairaorg's fist crashed into Tenra. Armor splintered. Tenra stumbled back.
"HYAH!!!"
Tenra's fist slammed into Sairaorg. Blood sprayed. Sairaorg's vision blurred.
But neither gave ground. Neither fell.
They would keep fighting.
The sky no longer roared. The earth no longer wailed. Now, it was just two men trading blows, swaying, staggering, like any pair of exhausted fighters in a back-alley brawl.
Yet the arena outside the alternate space was silent as a tomb. Every spectator was transfixed by the final duel between these two men.
"Hah... hah..."
Gasping for breath, Tenra and Sairaorg charged once more, leaping into the air at the same instant.
"Tenra Kamiyo!"
"Sairaorg!"
They shouted each other's names. Their fists blazed—not with magic, but with pure light. The light of conviction.
There was an old legend: when someone poured every ounce of belief into a punch, it could unleash a force that defied explanation. Some called it a miracle. No one really understood how it worked, but everyone knew it was real.
Now, before a million witnesses, Tenra and Sairaorg threw everything—hopes, pain, dreams—into a single, shining blow.
Their glowing fists collided with faces. Armor cracked. Blood flew.
And in that instant—
"Waaaah... Mother, they call me trash! I'm not trash! I don't want to be trash!"
"You are trash. Trash without a spark of magic, Sairaorg!"
"M-Mother..."
"Sairaorg, face the truth. You're useless."
"But that's exactly why you must become strong. Stronger, stronger, and stronger! You have to work a thousand times harder than anyone else. Only then can you break this curse!"
"Otherwise, you'll always be trash!"
Images flooded Tenra's mind—memories that weren't his own. Sairaorg, called worthless, bullied by other children, running home to his mother only to be scolded instead of comforted.
A lonely kid, left to cry in the shadows.
But the scene shifted—
"I'm sorry, Sairaorg. I shouldn't have given birth to a child without magic. I shouldn't have brought you into such a cruel world."
"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry, my Sairaorg..."
Sairaorg, older now, lay sleeping in bed. Lady Misla sat beside him, tears of guilt streaming silently down her face.
Suddenly, Sairaorg's eyes snapped open. He reached out, grabbed his mother's hand.
"Mother, stop crying. Wipe away your tears."
"S-Sairaorg, I... I..."
"From now on, I won't be weak. I won't run away. I'll fight to become stronger—stronger than anyone!"
"So please, Mother. Wipe away your tears."
"Sairaorg! Sairaorg, my Sairaorg!"
She broke down, sobbing. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry..."
So that was the promise between Sairaorg and his mother. Tenra's lips curved in a faint, wry smile. What a guy.
Meanwhile, Sairaorg's mind was swept by images just as vivid—
"See that? That's Lord Phoenix's fourth child—the one who can't use magic or flames. What a waste."
"Really? He looks so cute, though. Poor thing."
"Cute doesn't matter. He's still a stain on the Phoenix family. A defective product, tainted by human blood. Why hasn't Lord Phoenix thrown them out?"
"Stop. That woman might hear you."
"Hmph. So what? I'm just telling the truth..."
A beautiful woman walked down the street, holding a cute little boy's hand. Passersby whispered, pointed.
The boy licked a lollipop, unfazed by the gossip. But the woman beside him bit her lip, face pale.
"Mother, you're squeezing too hard."
He looked up.
"Sorry, little Tenra. Mother didn't mean to."
She scooped him up, fussed over his reddened hand—blowing, rubbing, worrying.
"Hey, little Tenra, how about we go live in the human world?"
"Are you trying to run away, Mother?"
"Mm-hmm. Your mother is fragile, you know. Not strong like little Tenra."
"So? Let's go, let's go?"
"Mother, you're rubbing my face too hard. And you can act spoiled with Father, not with your own kid."
"Waaah... I don't care! If little Tenra doesn't agree, I won't let go!"
"..."
The scene shifted again. The beautiful woman now lay in a hospital bed, face drained of color—her life burning low.
"Little Tenra, I'm sorry. Mother's almost at her limit."
"You'll be fine."
"Little liar. You never used to lie."
"Remember to eat properly every day."
"I know."
"Remember to sleep properly every day."
"I know."
"And—find lots and lots of beautiful, capable wives to take care of you for me."
"Hmm, let's set a temporary goal of a hundred!"
He stared at his mother, expressionless. Finally, Tenra nodded.
"I know."
Tears welled in her eyes. She stroked his cheek, gaze overflowing with tenderness and regret.
"My precious Tenra, you don't have to restrain yourself anymore. Do whatever you want. Freely."
"Pursue power, destroy the world—whatever it is, live happily, work hard, and stay strong. I'll always be watching over you."
"I know."
"Then... goodbye, my little Tenra..."
"Goodbye, Mother..."
A peaceful smile softened her face as she slowly closed her eyes.
So this was Tenra Kamiyo's story.
Sairaorg's own eyes stung. Then, for a moment, everything faded to white...
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