A merciless slash, striking without warning.
By the time the twin brothers realized what had happened, it was already too late.
Two crisp snaps rang out as the Fighting Brothers' long braids dropped like excrement onto the cold ground.
"Waaaah!!!"
"Our braids… our braids!!!"
The two brothers slumped in the street, bound tight by chains, wailing as if heart-torn, howling to the heavens like children abandoned by their mother.
The onlookers gasped, pity in their eyes.
"Poor things…"
"But they proposed the bet themselves; now their braids are cut, there's nothing anyone can do!"
Having won the duel and personally severed the brothers' 'honor', the Punk Man's arrogance flared even higher.
"Hey, hey, hey…"
"What's with the waterworks?"
"You set the terms, didn't I? I'm just collecting my prize—where's the fault in that?"
The Fighting Brothers wanted nothing more than to tear him limb from limb.
Yet they had lost the duel and disgraced their clan; they could not lose their dignity as well.
"N-no… you're not wrong!!"
Kalu forced the words from his throat, every syllable laced with hate.
He vowed silently: once this was over he'd drag his brother out of the Seven-Legged Serpent, leave the City of Lawlessness, find a master barber to reattach their braids, and devote himself to training… "Crack-crack-crack…!!!"
The punk threw his head back and laughed. "Of course I'm not wrong!!!"
"But this still isn't enough to satisfy me!"
Falu, choking on rage, roared, "We've lost, our braids are gone—what more do you want?!"
"Want?!"
The punk's gaze swept the ground, a cruel grin blooming again.
Two chains shot from his sleeves, snatching the fallen braids and flinging them sky-high.
Kalu's face paled—an ominous premonition gripped him.
"St-stop… don't!!!"
Swish-swish-swish—
The blade danced.
In an instant the braids were shredded into countless flecks drifting down like snow.
"Aaaaah—!!!"
All hope was gone!
No barber, however skilled, could resurrect those 'corpses'.
The brothers' minds snapped; they wept uncontrollably.
Yet the punk still wasn't satisfied.
He raised his foot and stomped the hair-strewn ground again and again, then spat—'ptooey'—over and over, coating the scraps with slime.
"Damn you, you bastard!!!"
The onlookers stared, pupils dilated, scalps tingling, hands clamped over their mouths in horror—
"No way?!"
"That's brutal!!"
"Too far!"
"Utter scum!"
He'd won, taken their pride, and now trampled and desecrated it with spit?!
Corpse-whipping!
Outright corpse-whipping!!
"Kah-kah-kah…!!!"
Deaf to the curses, the punk laughed at the brothers, pleased at last. Only then did he retract his chains and swagger away.
Once he'd vanished, the crowd's voices rose.
"Where are the Seven-Legged Serpent folks? Their own were humiliated—won't anyone stand up for them?"
"It's an Assassin Guild—since when were they warm and cuddly? They're more likely to kick you when you're down!"
"Damn it! Are we letting the Dark Night Poison Scorpions run wild forever?!"
"At this rate no one in the City of Lawlessness will be able to stand against the Dark Night Poison Scorpions…"
On the rooftop.
Weston nudged Precht with his elbow.
"What's your take?"
"A tiresome farce."
"What?!"
Weston gaped in mock horror. "How cold-hearted of you…"
Precht swallowed a sigh at his guild-master's antics and stayed silent.
Seeing no response, Weston sobered up.
"Truth is, I find the whole thing pretty absurd."
About as absurd as… back in the original Grand Magic Games when that Raven Tail Mage shredded Lamia Scale's dog-headed man's sock.
"Still, those braids meant everything to the Fighting Brothers."
"Imagine someone tearing down Fairy Tail's flag, stomping on it, spitting on it…"
Before Weston finished, Precht's aura shifted, murderous intent rolling off him in waves.
"See? Now you'd want the guy dead too."
"…Yeah. I can relate to how they feel."
As they spoke, several figures stepped out of the tavern.
"Look! Members of the Seven-Legged Serpent!"
"Great—they're here to avenge the Fighting Brothers!!"
"That punk's still close—go teach him a lesson!!"
The crowd's cries pulled Weston and Precht's attention back to the street.
Both perked up, curious what sort of oddballs would name a guild like that.
The five newcomers stopped in front of the brothers.
Weston finally got a clear look at them—
Four were stock-character faces, tall and short, fat and thin, armed with sabre, sword on back, sniper rifle on shoulder, and nunchaku at hip respectively.
Behind them stood the leader of the Seven-Legged Serpent.
A burly, white-haired, muscle-packed middle-aged man.
"Falu, Kalu, what are you doing?!"
"B-Blake, sir… we…"
Before another word, a huge sole filled their vision, growing larger—
Bang—!!
The boot smashed into Falu's face, blood spraying.
Blake had actually kicked his own man flying.
"Big brother!!"
Kalu scrambled over, only to find Falu half-dead from that single casual kick.
A brawler famed for body arts, half-killed by one effortless kick?!
Just how strong was Blake?!
The crowd drew a collective sharp breath, stunned.