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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Mod7
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“Is that all you pathetic weaklings have got?!”
““No, sir!!””
The same infuriating routine, day in and day out.
One bastard barking orders, the other bastard accepting them without question.
“You, the chosen moons of the empire! Is this… all… you’ve got?!”
“Aaargh!”
“W-Wait, don’t push—!”
The dull thud of a wooden club against flesh, followed by the sickening crack of bone.
The instructor, his face a mask of sadistic glee, continued his “torture resistance training.”
Of course, we hated it. Who enjoyed being beaten?
But we couldn’t resist. Any sign of defiance would bring the wrath of the other instructors. And he wasn’t just beating us randomly. He was careful, avoiding any permanent damage that might attract the attention of his superiors. He only targeted those who couldn’t keep up, his violence disguised as “discipline.”
“Heh heh, hello, Senior!”
“…Beaten again?”
“He didn’t hit me that much today!”
I was huddled in a corner, nursing my own bruises, a string of curses echoing in my mind, when a boy approached me.
An orange-haired boy, his cheerful demeanor a stark contrast to our grim surroundings.
I didn’t know his name. We were all just numbers, assigned by the instructors based on our height.
“…Why do you call me Senior? Everyone else calls me Number 6.”
“Well, you’re an older number, so you’re my senior~”
“…It’s just a height difference.”
I was Number 6, and this orange-haired boy was…
“And you’re stronger than me, aren’t you? So you’re my senior!”
“…Do what you want.”
He wasn’t particularly strong, but he was a good talker.
“S-Senior! This is delicious! Really delicious!”
“…Just eat quietly.”
He devoured the simple street food with a relish I couldn’t understand.
“Senior! I survived! I can work with you now!”
“…I thought you’d be dead for sure.”
“What kind of reaction is that?! Aren’t you happy I’m alive?”
“N-No, I am, but…”
Even on the day of our “graduation,” he’d survived, his cheerful smile unwavering.
“Haha, I’m sorry, Senior! I really didn’t want to do this!”
“…You… bastard…”
“I really do feel bad, Senior. You were a good person… but what could I do?”
On the final day of my second life, the boy who’d stabbed me in the back, his smile never wavering, his name was…
“Mother’s orders, you know. Hehe.”
“You… you… bastard…”
“See you again, Senior?”
Number 8.
The eighth child, the one who was always smiling.
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The battlefield, moments before filled with the sounds of combat, fell silent.
The elves, who’d been weeping for their fallen family.
The knights, who’d been raging against their fallen comrades.
The princess, who’d witnessed it all.
No one spoke.
Before them stood the boy, a monster in human form, and beside him, another boy, walking towards him, his steps measured, determined.
The knights tried to stop him. He was so young, so full of potential. Why would he throw his life away?
But they couldn’t touch him. Their hands passed through him, as if he were an illusion.
He walked past them, his gaze fixed on the boy, and stopped, a single hand’s breadth between them.
He was unfazed by the writhing mass of flesh and bone beside the boy, his expression unreadable.
“Aren’t you going to explain?”
“Senior, it’s been a long time! Remember when I said we’d see each other again?”
“Why you betrayed me. Why you’re still alive. Why you look like this.”
“I knew you’d be fine, Senior, even after all that!”
“Are you going to explain, or not?”
The boy just chuckled, a low, guttural sound, as if he found the situation genuinely amusing.
“Kikik… Senior… you’re still a terrible actor.”
“…”
“You already know the answers, don’t you? What you’re thinking… it’s probably right!”
“…”
“Ah, I never told you my name, did I?”
He took a step back, his right hand moving in a flourish, like a magician taking a final bow.
The tendril of flesh and bone mimicked the movement, a grotesque parody of grace.
And his smile, a stark contrast to his monstrous form, was bright, cheerful.
“Of the Lunar Church, the Seven Deadly Sins! I am Jeal, representing Envy!”
And then, another introduction, chillingly at odds with his cheerful demeanor.
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“Wow, Senior, you really are amazing!”
“…”
“I heard that humans from your dimension are usually weak, coddled by peace. They should have broken by now!”
“…”
“But you… you endured. How?”
I stared at him, his inhumanly black eyes, the red glint within them.
“That’s why we stepped in! We even had to ask another god for help!”
“…”
“But it all worked out in the end. You remained miserable.”
“…”
“But! Why! Haven’t! You! Broken?!”
His red eyes drew closer, his steps steady, unwavering. He tilted his head, a grotesque parody of curiosity, his smile widening.
“We interfered whenever you found a sliver of stability.”
“…”
“Not just me. All of us.”
“…”
“How are you still sane?”
Something tapped my shoulder. Thump, thump.
I looked down and saw a mangled eyeball, still attached to its optic nerve, dangling from a mass of flesh.
I heard a faint whimper, a plea for help.
All of it, crammed together in a single, grotesque tendril, and it was resting on my shoulder.
“Humans are weak, aren’t they? So fragile, they’d go mad from the mere thought of death.”
“…”
“So why are you different, Senior? Why haven’t you gone mad?”
The red in his eyes intensified, then darkened.
“Ah, I’m so jealous. You’re always so strong, Senior… even that makes me jealous.”
“…Is that all?”
“Huh? What do you mean?”
The overwhelming madness that had filled the air dissipated for a moment, and everyone stared, their eyes wide with disbelief.
“Hah… it’s been a while since I’ve seen that.”
“…Number 8.”
The tendril, the source of their revulsion, had been severed, its two halves floating in mid-air.
-Moonlight Nine Swords, Third Form: Crescent Moon Slash.
A beautiful crescent moon, inverted, hung in the air, and blood gushed from the severed tendril.
“You’re still the same, Senior! Not just anyone can cut—”
“You asked how I endured?”
“Huh? What are you—”
Something brushed past his ear. Small, thin, but undeniably there.
“Ah, I’ve seen this before—”
“At first, I endured because of the injustice. I kept asking myself what I’d done to deserve it.”
“Hey, wait a minute, I think there’s more…”
The projectiles continued their relentless assault, a steady stream of silver.
“Then, it turned into waiting.”
“Whoa, there’s a lot…!”
“Waiting for this endless cycle to finally end.”
The projectiles hurtled towards him, their speed increasing, a sight that would have stunned any other opponent.
But it wasn’t enough.
He still smiled, as if untouched, as if nothing could break his composure.
“Senior, I admit you’re an amazing human! Anyone would admit that!”
“…”
“But that’s all you are! A weak, pathetic human!”
“…”
“How much mana do you have left? You must be exhausted from creating all these blades!”
Jeal’s confidence wasn’t unfounded. The Seven Deadly Sins, the upper echelons of the Lunar Church, knew everything about him. His abilities, his limits, his mana capacity.
It was only natural. He was the most important piece in their plan.
And his knowledge told him that Jenison’s mana was almost depleted.
The barrage of projectiles had stopped.
“Haha, what are you going to do now—”
“Listen to the end.”
“Huh?”
But something was wrong.
He should have been gasping for breath, his mana exhausted.
“And now… it’s revenge.”
“…”
“Definitely… revenge. A deep, abiding revenge.”
But he was fine. More than fine. He was invigorated. As if he hadn’t used any mana at all.
The unexpected turn of events made the boy freeze for a moment, and Jenison’s right hand moved.
“Haha… I know that technique, don’t I? I’ve seen it before—”
“If you learned anything back then, you’ll be able to block it. If you still remember the teachings of the humans you so despise.”
And then, the fight began.
A deeper darkness, and a soft, shimmering moon, clashing in the night.
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Ts is peak