CHAPTER 91: CHAPTER 10.19 : RINA VS JOGO

Rina fought against Jogo.

Rina was the first one to launch the attack. Her figure shot forward like a streak of lightning, her long hair whipping wildly behind her, flowing in harmony with the velocity of her movement. Every stomp of her feet against the ground sent out faint tremors that resonated across the floor, as if the very earth was acknowledging her advance.

Her kicks and punches, empowered by her inner strength, carried tremendous power and sharpness. Yet, despite the intensity of her assault, they were relatively easy to block and parry.

Numerous gaps and flaws could be seen in Rina’s technique—openings that could have been exploited to deliver deadly counterattacks. However, her opponent did not take advantage of them. Instead, he seemed to deliberately hold back, almost as if he had no desire for this fight to escalate further.

That very hesitation only served to fuel Rina’s frustration, for it felt like a blatant insult, a humiliation that clawed at her pride. What angered her more was the fact that the one she was fighting right now was none other than the man believed to be Jogo—a person whose true strength was said to be far beneath her own.

"You dare look down on me?!" Rina roared, her voice echoing with indignation.

The man suspected to be Jogo did not respond, not even with the slightest flinch. He simply stood there, staring at her in silence. His eyes appeared dim, his brows faintly furrowed, as though he was wrestling with some kind of inner turmoil that weighed heavily upon him.

Rina, utterly irritated, resolved to press forward with an even greater display of force.

She closed her eyes, steadying her breathing. Planting her feet shoulder-width apart, she stood tall and resolute. Then her hands rose, fingers weaving rapidly into a sequence of complex mudras. The air surrounding her body began to ripple, vibrating violently, as tiny whirlwinds spiraled into existence around her.

Palaka Art Technique: Twelve Kicks of Siraju. First Mode.

Her eyes snapped open, now blazing with determination. A brilliant azure energy surged forth, enveloping her body. The energy concentrated around her legs, glowing with an intensity akin to ethereal flames dancing across her calves and feet. The ground beneath her feet cracked under the pressure, fine fissures spreading like spiderwebs.

Jogo’s eyes widened in shock. He recognized that skill. It was an art so dangerous that even in his current form it posed a considerable threat. His stance tightened; his shoulders tensed, feet planted firmly, breaths drawn in rhythm, and his gaze sharpened with utmost vigilance.

Al, who had been watching from the sidelines, observed the martial art technique and a faint smile tugged at his lips.

His head tilted slightly, lips curling into a thin arc, eyes glinting with interest.

I did not expect this... There are still countless powerful skills out there that I have yet to know, he thought silently.

In the next instant, Rina’s body blurred. She lunged forward, executing a spinning kick at blistering speed, her movement strengthened by the infusion of Vita energy that coursed all the way to the tips of her toes.

Her form twisted like a cyclone, her legs sweeping through the air with such rapidity that afterimages layered over one another, creating illusions that almost made it impossible to tell which was real.

The figure before her crossed his arms, attempting to block. Dense black energy surged, manifesting like smoke that condensed into a barrier upon his forearms. The black aura churned violently, like a storm cloud compressed into solidity, sizzling as it came into contact with Rina’s blazing azure energy.

BLASSTTT!!

The impact landed. Even so, Jogo was forced backward a step. The arms he used to defend began to blister under the strain, skin cracking, blood dripping from his elbow onto the floor. Rina’s lips curved into a satisfied smile, her eyes sparkling with triumphant confidence, convinced her attack had succeeded.

But then—

"...Forgive me."

The words slipped from Jogo’s lips in a hushed tone, so low it was nearly a whisper, yet heavy—resonating with a weight that pierced directly into the heart.

BOOM!

A counterattack exploded forth.

It was a single strike, measured, brutal, yet not intended to kill. Jogo’s fist blurred, so fast it left only a dark afterimage as it ripped through the air.

His blow landed squarely against Rina’s abdomen.

Her body was lifted, thrown violently, crashing into the café wall with a thunderous crack. Blood spurted from her lips as fractures spiderwebbed across the surface she struck. Her head drooped forward, strands of hair—once carefully styled for this evening—now messy, falling across her pale face. Consciousness slipped from her as she collapsed in a heap.

Johan’s head snapped toward her. His eyes widened, breath hitched, steps faltering as shock overtook him.

"RINA!!"

His concentration shattered.

And in that moment—

BOOM!!

A single lapse in focus was a fatal mistake at this level of battle. Rudi’s fist crashed into Johan’s face, sending him flying across the room. His skull struck the wall, blood streaming down his head in rivulets. He crumpled beside Rina, barely conscious, his trembling hand stretching weakly toward her before falling limp. His vision darkened, and he, too, lost consciousness.

"RINA!!"

"JOHAN!!"

Zaza, Karen, and Armin screamed in unison. Their voices cracked, trembling with disbelief. Their fists clenched, faces pale with horror as tears threatened to spill.

Rudi’s laughter roared across the room.

"Hahaha! Pathetic... all of you are so utterly weak!"

His shoulders shook as he laughed, face smeared with blood, eyes gleaming with malicious delight at their suffering.

Jogo, however, gazed at Rina’s collapsed form with visible guilt flickering in his expression. But he did not retreat. He stepped forward, fists trembling before clenching once more. His shadow loomed larger as he advanced—his target now lay vulnerable and unguarded.

Yet Rudi was not done with Johan. His heavy steps thundered across the ground as he marched to finish the boy who had dared trouble him moments before. Each breath he exhaled carried a savage hunger for blood.

But then Zaza, Karen, and Armin rushed in, spreading their arms wide in trembling defiance. Their stances were stiff and unnatural, the bravado of desperation rather than true courage.

Al sighed, raising his hand to his forehead, shaking his head. To him, their actions were reckless—foolish bravery that would only result in their own injuries. If they had stayed away from the beginning, they would have been safe, for Jogo and Rudi’s real target was always him.

Al inhaled deeply, lowering his gaze momentarily, his eyes empty yet calculating. He readied himself to intervene, to pull those three ordinary humans out of certain death.

"Move... or you’ll regret it." Rudi growled, his voice deep and echoing like that of a predator about to devour its prey. His eyes glowed with feral intent as he loomed over the trembling youths shielding their fallen friends.

Al straightened his back, shoulders squared, his stance firm. His gaze sharpened, faint crimson energy swirling around him like a restless flame.

But before he could act, the sound of commotion erupted at the entrance. A squad of security personnel poured in, their numbers far greater than before, some wielding batons, their formation disciplined, steps in sync, radios crackling faintly as they communicated with each other.

Jogo and Rudi turned simultaneously to face them. Their gazes diverged—Jogo’s calm and calculating, Rudi’s twisted with suppressed fury.

"I don’t think we should involve them. Our target tonight... is that boy," Jogo said coldly, still unwilling to drag innocent lives into this battle.

Rudi gritted his teeth, his muscles taut as rage surged through him. His fists clenched until veins bulged along his arms. "Tch... fine," he spat reluctantly.

Despite his violent nature, he understood their current limitations. The security team, though weak compared to them, was numerous, and more reinforcements could arrive at any moment. Engaging in prolonged combat would be reckless. Their focus needed to remain on their true target—Al.

And sure enough—

BANG!

A gunshot shattered the air. Outside, heavily armed police officers advanced—an elite counter-terrorism unit. Their black boots slammed against the pavement, rifles gleaming under the lights, cold eyes peering through protective visors.

The café was immediately surrounded. Civilians were evacuated, while a tactical team moved in closer.

"Drop your weapons and surrender!" one officer barked, his stance solid, his rifle steady, his voice carrying authority that brooked no disobedience.

Jogo and Rudi exchanged glances. They both knew lingering here any longer would be suicide. Every direction bristled with lethal firearms.

In an instant, Jogo’s form blurred, dashing toward Al like a streak of shadow. His intent was clear—capture the boy.

Rudi, on the other hand, lunged toward the officers, intending to carve an escape route. His speed ripped through the air, each step resounding like thunder.

Al’s sharp eyes caught the figure of Jogo rushing straight at him. Yet Al did not flinch, not even the slightest twitch of hesitation appeared in his demeanor. His gaze was sharp, cutting like a blade honed to perfection. Hidden from everyone’s sight, a surge of crimson magical energy quietly began to gather within his hand. The scarlet light pulsed slowly, rhythmically, like glowing embers breathing with life, casting faint reflections across his face—a face calm, composed, yet radiating a dangerous aura. He was fully prepared to unleash a lethal strike at any moment.

Meanwhile, on the other side, the police had opened fire toward Rudi, whose monstrous figure darted forward with unnatural speed, rushing straight at them. Several bullets were deflected, others were narrowly evaded, and only a few managed to graze his hardened skin. Even so, the bullets that connected tore faint scratches across his flesh, thin lines of red blooming like shallow cuts.

The metallic roar of projectiles screamed through the air, each impact sparking against his almost impenetrable hide. Even minor wounds were proof that firearms remained an ever-present danger, their destructive power still far too lethal against combatants at their current stage of strength.

The police officers and the café’s private security team were shaken to their cores. The sight of their attacks being so easily blocked and dodged left them stunned, yet they were further restrained by the grim reality that they could not fire recklessly—innocent bystanders still lingered too close, and stray shots could prove disastrous. But Rudi’s form had already closed the distance, looming menacingly. The crushing pressure drove one of the officers into a panicked reflex, his fear overriding his training, and he squeezed the trigger at random. The bullet veered astray, flying not toward its intended target but instead cutting across the line of fire—straight toward Zaza.

Zaza froze. Her eyes widened, pupils trembling, her body stiff as though time itself had ground to a halt. The bullet carved closer with merciless speed, carrying the promise of certain death. To her, this looked like the inevitable end.

And then—

Advance Elemental Magic—Ice Type: Ice Romida!

BRWAAARRR!!

A surge of overwhelming elemental energy erupted. In an instant, a towering spell of ice manifested, intercepting Rudi’s charge, halting the stray bullet mid-flight, and clashing against Jogo’s strike that was aimed at Al—or, more precisely, saving Jogo from the death that would have certainly awaited him.

The brilliance of whitish-blue radiance burst outward, cascading across the battlefield. Freezing currents spread like a storm, weaving into spears and crystalline barriers that glittered with an otherworldly sheen. The air itself turned hostile, freezing cold seeping into bone, every breath crystallizing visibly as pale mist. It was a skill both defensive and offensive at once, a supreme art that reshaped the battlefield in a single, awe-inspiring moment.

From the shimmering frost, two figures emerged from the direction of the restroom.

Yura. And Devy.

The flickering neon lights of the café, short-circuiting from the chaos, cast their unsteady glow upon the advancing steps of the two figures. Their shadows stretched long and distorted, sprawling across the cracked floor that was littered with dust, shattered tiles, and scattered fragments of broken debris.

Yura dashed toward her friends. For the briefest moment, her gaze flickered toward Al, a glance heavy with worry and hesitation—but the image she carried forced her to quickly avert her eyes, compelling her to refocus on her terrified friends. They had planted themselves like trembling shields, their fragile bodies attempting to form a barrier to protect the unconscious forms of Rina and Johan who lay battered and motionless on the ground.

Yura’s hair streamed wildly behind her as she ran, whipping like banners caught in a storm. Her breathing came in ragged gasps, yet her eyes burned with unwavering determination. Her right hand clenched into a trembling fist, only to unfurl again as if she were restraining the eruption of emotions that threatened to spill out in violent waves.

Karen and Zaza had already succumbed to hysterical tears. Their shoulders shook uncontrollably, bodies trembling as sobs broke unevenly from their throats. Their hands, trembling violently, clutched desperately at each other’s clothing as though by holding on tightly they could anchor themselves from collapsing entirely into despair.

"Calm yourselves. You will be safe. I am here." Yura spoke in a steady voice, words imbued with firmness and warmth. She crouched slightly, lowering herself to their level, and gently brushed her hand across their heads in a soothing gesture. Yet her vigilant eyes never once shifted away from the looming enemy before them.

Her gaze then fell upon Johan and Rina, sprawled helplessly with grievous wounds. A bitter pang struck her chest. She stepped closer, accompanied by Zaza and Karen who followed instinctively, while Armin still stood firm in a defensive posture, his arms spread wide as if his fragile frame could shield them all.

Yura’s steps faltered for a fraction of a second when she caught sight of the blood trailing from Rina’s lips. Her shoulders trembled, her jaw tightening like iron, her expression darkening into a storm of grief and barely restrained fury.

Rage surged within her veins. Her vision tinged red, her aura flaring outward in suffocating waves. The sheer weight of her wrath spilled from her body, coiling around her frame like an ominous storm.

"You bastards!" Yura roared, her voice reverberating through the wrecked hall. Her glare seared straight at Jogo and Rudi. "Devy, annihilate them."

Devy, the very figure who had unleashed the earlier magic, responded with a firm nod. Her presence radiated focus as she prepared her spell. It was not ordinary sorcery, but a high-tier manipulation art, an advanced elemental skill that allowed complete control over the essence of ice itself—born from the dominant water element harmoniously interwoven with traces of fire and wind.

The tips of her fingers shimmered with a crystalline azure glow. Tiny shards of frost crystallized briefly before disintegrating into a mist of freezing vapor. The air thickened, the temperature plunging drastically, and each breath exhaled by those present condensed into visible frost that lingered in the frigid air.

Devy’s eyes narrowed sharply, a predator analyzing her chances of victory. She had just witnessed two formidable adversaries effortlessly bring down fighters of Rina and Johan’s caliber. That alone was enough to mark them as dangerous beyond measure.

And yet, Devy noticed something peculiar—their energy signatures, though undeniably powerful, radiated with an unstable, fluctuating rhythm. Her brows furrowed, her pupils quivering faintly, betraying the rapid calculations flashing through her mind as she weighed the risks against the necessity.

But another realization struck her still—there were too many eyes here, too many witnesses. This was not a place where she ought to reveal his true power so openly.

Murmurs rippled among the spectators. Some whispered in awe at the sight of his control over ice, others recoiled in fear, perceiving Devy not as a savior but as a new, unpredictable threat. Weapons were raised cautiously, and tension mounted.

"A sorcerer..." one of the café’s security personnel muttered in shock.

Devy’s expression hardened, discomfort flickering across her face. She cast a brief glance at Yura, a fleeting exchange that needed no words. That momentary meeting of eyes was like a spark, a silent confirmation that bound their resolve.

Yura gave a solemn nod, her expression resolute, her intent crystal clear—she would handle whatever consequences followed. She would shield Devy from the fallout, even if it meant silencing every witness in this place using the authority and influence of her family, eradicating anyone who dared defy. Her movements carried conviction, her stance leaning forward, prepared to confront the storm head-on.

Same as Devy, Al himself felt a twinge of irritation. Once again, his actions were restrained by the need to consider his involvement in a public battle. There were simply too many obstacles and too great a risk of exposure. To him, fighting in secrecy, hidden from the public eye, suited him far better. After all, what he and his organization were working on was still far too dangerous to be revealed.

His sigh lingered as his eyes lowered to the fractured ground beneath him, his fingers twitching slightly as though suppressing some force struggling to break free.

Yet the presence of Devy proved to be a considerable aid for him. With Devy standing at the forefront, Al could afford to act more passively, offering support from the shadows while simultaneously searching for a way to draw Jogo and Rudi out—away from prying eyes—so that he could face them in a far more private, concealed battleground.

Al’s sharp gaze caught the flicker of hesitation that crossed Devy’s expression. That uncertainty lingered only for a moment before it vanished entirely, erased by some unspoken signal or silent approval granted by Yura. Al understood the reason for that hesitation. Of course. Because Devy was... a DIAR.

People have already witnessed the ice sorcery you unleashed. Isn’t now the time for you to go all out? Al’s thoughts brushed against Devy like a quiet murmur, an inward commentary that never reached his lips.

Once fortified by Yura’s unwavering support, Devy began to advance. Her shoes struck the fractured floor with measured weight, each step leaving behind a delicate trail of frost that crackled and split as it spread. The air grew colder with every breath, the light from the hanging lamps refracting like shattered crystal through the veil of frost that now clung to the atmosphere.

Rudi and Jogo, meanwhile, were already bracing themselves. The obstacles before them had multiplied endlessly tonight—first Rina and Johan, whom they had already brought down, then the café’s hired security, followed by the heavily armed special police, and now this ice-wielding sorcerer who stood ready to confront them.

Both men bent their bodies lower, muscles coiling, veins swelling across their forearms, their heavy breaths spilling into the air like the growls of cornered beasts forced to bare their fangs.

Their glares locked onto Al, a figure who in their eyes seemed endlessly fortunate, as though some unseen shield always moved to protect him. Yet the grim reality was far more sinister—what they believed to be protection was in truth nothing but a restraint, a thin barrier sparing them from the nightmare Al could so easily unleash upon them.

Their eyes burned with venomous hatred, yet somewhere within that blaze flickered doubt. The unshakable confidence they once held had begun to crumble, replaced by a gnawing uncertainty—an unspoken fear that perhaps they were no longer capable of crushing this so-called orphan.

And so the inevitable loomed closer: a great clash between Devy and the two enemies, a confrontation nearly impossible to avoid. Tension only mounted with the looming interference of the café’s security and the heavily armed counter-terrorism unit, who could intervene at any given moment.

The very air tightened, brittle with suspense, until even the smallest sounds were swallowed into silence. Breath caught in every throat. Frost-laced sparks of ice clashed in the atmosphere with the suffocating swirl of blackened aura—opposing forces colliding in the air long before bodies ever moved.