Chapter 439: Forbidden Freedom
The bodyguard assigned to record the Ten Tokita checkpoint felt like he had hit
the jackpot.
To witness Mr. Unchained in action with his own eyes from point-blank range?
What an honor! What incredible luck!
The guard adjusted the chest camera on his suit and offered a deep, formal bow.
"May victory be swift, sir."
"OK~!"
Biscuit Oliva turned his head, flashing a wink. He pivoted smoothly, facing
inward toward the Ten Tokita sector of The Inside. He took off his American
fedora, tossing it along with his designer sunglasses back toward the guard.
Then, with a sudden flex of his lats and traps—RIIIP!
The elaborate, paisley-patterned beach shirt shredded into ribbons under the
sheer expansion of his torso!
Before the mob could even process the sound, Oliva leaped into the air. In a
single, fluid motion, his legs kicked free from his trousers and shoes.
For a man of his colossal mass, the movement was light as a feather!
Slap!
Oliva landed barefoot in the dirt, wearing nothing but a pair of black
compression trunks. He tilted his chin upward, proudly displaying his frame to
the world.
The bodyguard behind him—and the hundred-plus outlaws in front of him—froze in
stunned silence.
What in God's name is that physique...?!
His bicep circumference was grotesque, thicker than the waist of an average
woman. Beneath his dark bronze skin, slabs of muscle locked together like
overlapping sheets of forged armor—dense, immovable, gleaming with the hard
luster of burnished steel.
Could a creature of the hominid genus truly pack that much muscle onto a human
skeleton?!
The video feed played across the screen by the campfire in the Three Wolves
sector.
Himuro Ryo, seeing Biscuit Oliva in action for the first time, swallowed hard,
his eyes glued to the tablet.
"So that's the [FREEST MAN ON EARTH]..."
"Indeed," Metsudo Katahara's voice echoed through the speaker, explaining the
origins of the moniker.
"In the United States, there are two Pentagons."
"One is known across the globe: the headquarters of the Department of Defense in
Virginia, commonly referred to as the 'White Pentagon.'"
"The other sits deep in the deserts of Arizona—a maximum-security state
penitentiary."
"Its alias: the 'Black Pentagon.'"
Metsudo chuckled. "Perhaps because the facility is shaped like a geometric
pentagon, or perhaps because it houses the absolute elite of America's criminal
underworld."
"Within that fortress, holding 4,071 of the most dangerous felons in the
country, Biscuit Oliva sits at the absolute top of the food chain as Inmate
Number One."
"In other words: he is the undisputed brawling champion of the United States!!"
On the recording, several well-traveled mercenaries in the Ten Tokita mob
recognized Oliva's face, urgently warning the men beside them.
Yet unlike the convicts of the Black Pentagon who had been broken by Oliva's
fists for years, mere rumors meant nothing to the outlaws of the Ward.
Especially in Ten Tokita—a slaughterhouse where the worst of the worst made
their home.
The mob surged forward!
Whish-whish-whish!
Outlaws bared their teeth, lunging with combat knives, pipes, and bare knuckles,
swarming the giant.
Oliva's expression didn't even shift. He stepped forward and drove a single
right uppercut into the crowd.
FWOOSH—!!
It didn't sound like a punch connecting with flesh. It sounded like an ocean
wave breaking against a seawall—or rather, a human wave being violently upended!
CRASH!!
Four or five outlaws were scooped into the air by the sheer volume of the
strike, spinning a dozen times like broken toys before crashing heavily into the
dirt, bones shattered!
"Phew~!"
Oliva rolled his neck with an easy grin. "I thought I'd get at least twenty
rotations out of that one. Guess the long flight stiffened my joints."
"That won't do at all. I need to calibrate my form."
He opened his eyes, flashing a smile that was both charmingly polite and utterly
terrifying.
"After all, once I've placed every single one of you under citizen's arrest, I
intend to indulge in an exquisite multi-course dinner to compensate for the
travel fatigue..."
CLICK-CLACK!
A nearby mercenary racked the slide of a 12-gauge tactical shotgun, aiming
point-blank at Oliva's ribs. He pulled the trigger with clear intent to kill!
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Three point-blank shotgun blasts detonated against Oliva's flank!
Oliva merely crossed his arms to shield his eyes and groin, leaving the rest of
his torso completely unprotected.
When the smoke cleared, Oliva took a breath and violently flexed his lats!
POP-POP-POP!
A dozen lead pellets were literally squeezed out of his flesh by his contracting
muscle fibers, dropping into the dirt with a tiny patter of blood! The buckshot
had barely pierced the surface layer of his skin!
"It seems you weren't briefed," Oliva mused calmly. "Against my muscle
density... that gauge doesn't have the penetration to matter."
He closed the distance in a single stride, driving an open palm straight into
the shooter's chest plate!
BOOM—!!
The shooter's breastbone caved in as he was launched backward like an artillery
shell, slamming thirty feet away into a cinderblock wall, leaving a massive web
of cracks across the masonry!
The recording fast-forwarded.
Within thirty minutes, the outlaws of Ten Tokita were indistinguishable from the
inmates of the Black Pentagon.
They had learned the true weight of Mr. Unchained.
The remaining killers abandoned the fight, dragging away the corpses of their
commanders and vanishing into the shadows of the Ward.
"Ho ho..."
Oliva turned toward the camera with a cheerful grin. Seeing the bodyguard
trembling with awe, Oliva chuckled. "Don't worry. Just a few shotgun scratches.
A good steak will fix it."
"Ah... r-right away, sir!"
The guard quickly produced a reinforced supply rucksack loaded with emergency
medical kits, cash, and two sets of fresh designer clothes.
Oliva was delighted. "Oho! How thoughtful! Even Doyle didn't think that far
ahead. Much appreciated!"
He gave the guard an easy pat on the shoulder, then stared directly into the
camera lens, his eyes narrowing playfully.
"Hey. I assume other fighters have taken up positions across the sectors to
handle this little mess? Send this footage to them. I have a message."
He cleared his throat.
"Don't push yourselves to save face, gentlemen. Go home, put your feet up, and
drink some coffee. I'll take care of this entire Ward alone."
"Just wait for my good news~!"
Oliva licked his lip, gazing deep into the labyrinth of The Inside.
"They call this place the 'Freest City on Earth'?"
"Heh... then I suppose I'll have to take a look around."
"Because I will never allow anyone in this city to be freer than me!"
The video clicked off.
Himuro Ryo remained frozen for several breaths, completely mesmerized by the
sheer biological absurdity of Oliva's muscles. Finally, he pulled out his
tactical map to cross-reference the sectors.
"[THE DEVIL LANCE] Kuroki Gensai locked down the Six Insects gate." "[MR.
UNCHAINED] Biscuit Oliva locked down the Ten Tokita gate." "Aside from those
two... there are still other checkpoints leading to the outside world. Who's
holding the rest?"
On the phone screen, Metsudo Katahara's gaze shifted toward Fusui Kure.
Ren and Fusui exchanged a look. Their eyes narrowed in identical realization,
and they simultaneously let out a long, knowing:
"Ooooh..."
Himuro: "..."
Himuro: "Wait, what? Is that another private couples' code?"
Then, Himuro's street-smart brain made the connection.
"The Kure Clan sent someone?!"
Given Metsudo's lifelong alliance with Erioh Kure, it was obvious.
Metsudo nodded, chuckling through his beard.
"Oho! The Association originally planned to hire a squad of Kure specialists.
But the moment their 'Number One Problem Child' heard that the other combatants
were going in solo... he threw a fit and insisted on taking an entire sector by
himself."
"He told my agents that if anyone tried to get in his way, he'd rip their
throats out. Quite full of energy, wouldn't you say?"
Hearing that familiar, unhinged description, Ren and Fusui rubbed their faces at
the exact same time.
There was only one answer.
The Kure representative was Fusui's older brother—the undisputed strongest
delinquent in the family:
[THE MAJIN] Raian Kure!
"I knew Aniki had taken a contract in Tokyo, but I didn't think he was sent into
the Ward," Fusui sighed, rubbing her temples with a wry grin. "The Inside has no
laws. Wherever he goes, it's going to be an absolute bloodbath."
[Nine Spiders Sector Checkpoint]
Metsudo instructed his tech crew to play the footage from the Nine Spiders gate.
Unlike Kuroki's clean precision or Oliva's playful swagger, the bodyguard
assigned to film the Nine Spiders checkpoint had stayed a hundred yards back,
terrified of being caught in the radius.
The footage was captured in the late afternoon.
A muscular young man with messy blonde hair stood at the threshold of the gate.
Raian Kure had already unleashed his [REMOVAL], his skin stained a deep, demonic
purple-black, his eyes completely consumed by ink. He was in a state of pure
frenzy, painted from head to toe in gore.
If Ren Shiroki's blockade had been a psychological display that forced the enemy
to concede...
Raian Kure's blockade was a literal, visceral slaughter.
The ultimate violence of the [MAJIN] had detonated inside the Ward, cutting down
the Nine Spiders garrison until the streets ran red.
The video fast-forwarded an hour.
The ground was a graveyard of broken limbs and scattered weapons. The few
survivors had scrambled into the dark, completely broken. Only then did Raian
stop swinging.
He was drenched in blood. You couldn't even see his skin tone; he looked like he
had crawled out of an abattoir.
He turned his head, his black sclera locking directly onto the hidden camera.
"...Huh?"
Raian bared his teeth, stalking toward the lens. The bodyguard holding the phone
audibly gasped, nearly losing control of his bladder.
"Tsk. Cowardly piece of trash. I'm not a lunatic."
Raian leaned down, his face filling the frame.
"This is recording, right? Hey! Can Shiroki see this?! Pass him a message!"
"Kukakaka!"
Raian laughed, thick crimson leaking from the gaps between his teeth.
"Tell that bastard: If he can't even clean up the garbage in his sector and runs
back to Tokyo with his tail between his legs, I'll hunt him down and butcher him
myself!!"
The killing intent practically seeped through the digital screen. It was not a
joke.
Himuro Ryo stiffened, his jaw locking as his body instinctively adopted a
defensive posture. That's the Majin... That threat is the real deal!
Yet right beside him—
Ren Shiroki had his arm slung lazily around Fusui's shoulder. Both of them were
grinning ear-to-ear, laughing softly as they reminisced about the brawl in Kure
Village.
They looked completely relaxed. Genuinely happy, even.
Himuro: "..."
Himuro: "...Are you serious?"
He clutched his forehead in absolute defeat.
Even a death threat from the Majin is part of their private comedy routine?!
Am I the only sane person in this damn Ward?!
☆☆☆
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