Hardcore Exorcist: Reborn to Grind Chapter 65 : Avenger

Teruno Sakaki.

Sixty. Female. De facto head of the Ember Creed—the leadership core of the Hidden Fla. Charismatic as hell.

They say she’s the most favored priestess of the Demon Homura. Estimated Category Five. High-risk target. Only Ophelia can handle her.

Retsu Shido.

Fifty-five. Male. Number two in the Creed. Forr Self-Defense Force. rcenary background.

Leads a trained unit of demon cultists. Estimated Category Four. Also Ophelia’s territory. Way beyond regular firepower.

“Please take care of these two, Lady Ophelia. I’m counting on you.”

“I intended to without being asked.”

Those two are top priority.

After them co the younger execs—recent promotions riding the cult’s expansion wave.

Suzuri Tomoshigawa.

Twenty-nine. Female. Demon Contractor. Controls mindless Demons.

Most of the cult’s summoned beasts are holed up in her lair. She’s also got a knack for Demon creation.

If we don’t neutralize her, collateral damage could get biblical.

Imito Kurenagi.

Forty. Male. Owns the nightclub Neon Circle. Also runs a pachinko parlor and a hidden bar in the city—both functioning as safehouses.

He’s the cult’s face in the legit world. No one’s sure if his powers are Code techniques, spells, or full-blown demonic abilities.

But one thing’s clear—he can make a car explode without breaking a sweat. Worst part? He’s unhinged. Even his own goons walk on eggshells around him.

Kuro Kemurishima.

Thirty-eight. Male. Lone wolf. Zero camaraderie. Goes by Kuro of the Demon Sword.

No real charisma, but acts as enforcer at Kurenagi’s pachinko joint. Probably the muscle. Definitely dangerous.

“That’s all the intel on the enemy execs.”

“I’ll inform the Exorcists.”

“Thanks.”

The plan’s straightforward: hit the identified safehouses with overwhelming force.

Six of us—Ophelia, her four Eighth-Class Exorcists, and .

We go for one target at a ti. No room for error.

“They’ll know they’re cornered after the Neon Circle incident. We hit them fast before they scatter. One hour from now.”

Ophelia sips her tea, elegant as ever. Tilts her head.

“Any questions?”

“Not a question. Just sothing you should know.”

I tell her about the high likelihood that the Coral Sisters—Reika, Ayano, Ouka, and Yukino Akai—were abducted and stashed in those safehouses. I also ntion the importance of recovering the stolen Relics from the vault intact.

I include Lady Ayano’s na deliberately. Omitting her might raise questions.

Not that I distrust Ophelia. But Ayano’s survival is best kept quiet for now.

“I’ll make sure the team knows. But would the Coral Sisters really get taken by so cult?”

“If you put it like that, Coral Eldarian wouldn’t have fallen either.”

“Fair point. Best assu the enemy’s stronger than expected.”

BOOM!

It happens. Sudden and violent.

A deep quake punches up from below.

“Huh?”

“What is going on...?”

The tableware skates across the table. Then crashes to the floor.

The table tilts. Chairs tilt. The whole damn building tilts.

Everything starts falling.

It takes two seconds from impact to realization.

The building’s collapsing.

“Oh, shit.”

“Wait… this can’t be real. It’s actually falling!?”

Gravity owns . Can’t move. Can’t control a damn thing.

I try to grab sothing, but nothing holds.

Doesn’t matter. No handhold’s saving us now.

So this is how I die?

The thought hits. A flash of mory.

Seventeen years of training. Twelve since I was reborn.

Started lifting at one year old. My whole second life poured into discipline.

Last ti, I lost to a six-inch blade.

This ti, I thought I’d gotten stronger. A lot stronger.

But not strong enough for this.

I was careless. Or was I? Who the hell expects hotels to collapse?

Even now, I maintain combat awareness. Always scouting for threats. People. Snipers. Exit routes.

But this? This is out of scope.

And still… I know I can’t die here.

I made a promise to be the aning of their lives. The people I held dear.

I was sent, blessed, entrusted. I carry the Akai family’s will.

I can’t die.

Not now. Not here.

But my brain won’t give a way out.

Only one hope left. If nothing else—I can pass the torch.

Top floor of the Matz-Carlton Akai. Two hundred and twenty ters up.

There’s not much ti left.

“Waaaah! I’m sliding!”

Ophelia’s screaming. She’s never looked more panicked.

I grab her white hand and pull her into . Hold her tight.

Even this aristocratic powerhouse feels small in my arms. A perfect fit.

The floor turns into a chute. No ti, no traction.

But I brace—drop into Force Release—and slam five fingers into the floor.

My index and middle fingers sink in. Good.

My weight: 160 kilos. Gear: 20 more.

Ophelia: 60. Total load: 240 kilos.

And I’m holding us up by two fingers. First joints only.

Grip training pays off.

The strain’s brutal. The floor groans.

But I’ve lifted double this in training.

The real issue’s the floor. Will it hold?

“Mister Akamuro!? You’re hanging on… with your fingers!?”

Her wide blue eyes flick between my hand and my face.

“Please listen carefully, Lady Ophelia.”

The building falls.

I keep my voice calm. These might be my last words.

***

A man watches from a neighboring rooftop.

Wearing a necktie on a sharp suit. Looks forty. Surrounded by twenty cultists.

Imito Kurenagi. One of the Creed’s top brass.

“Oh, Master Kurenagi, what destructive power!”

His followers watch the flaming skyscraper fall with rapture.

“Magnificent, ah, truly magnificent!”

“This is real power!”

They tremble, awestruck.

Kurenagi had learned from a certain source that Ophelia Luxor was staying here.

There was no way he could win in a fair fight. So he planned. He rigged the entire foundation with explosive techniques.

His power? Blood-triggered detonation.

There wasn’t enough juice in his own veins to bring down a skyscraper. So he brought volunteers. Martyrs. Fifteen of them.

It took nine hours to rig the building.

Fifteen cultists willingly sacrificed, and the result?

One luxury hotel reduced to rubble.

“Urrrgh…”

“I don’t want to die…”

“We didn’t want to go this far...”

Beside the mangled corpses of their fellow cultists—used as living explosives by Kurenagi’s Code—the weaker ones sob and shake.

Fools who’d fallen in with madn, chasing demonic power in the shadows of the world.

Kurenagi grabs one by the head. Crushes it like a tomato.

“Excuse ? They are Martyrs! Every last one! Blessed with the opportunity to demonstrate their proud faith! They should be honored, not lanted!”

He points at the wreckage, eyes wide with indignation.

“Behold our magnificent feat! We’ve wiped out the Luxor faction! The Del Church rats! Even the Avenger showed up just as our preparations were completed! Coral’s last hope is dead! Ah… How wonderful indeed!”

He grips his own throat, saring it with blood.

“A just punishnt for causing a ruckus in my establishnt. Violence can only be settled with blood, boy. Hahaha!”

He throws his arms up.

“Now—the second beacon is lit! Let’s finish this city next! Be fruitful and multiply, children of God!”

A cultist bows.

“Revenge is complete, Master Kurenagi.”

“Excellent. Shall we call forth the Blood Moon again? Return ho, all of you!”

They pile into five vehicles and drive through the flaming ruins like heroes returning from war.

***

Five Minutes Later

***

Far from the disaster zone, Kurenagi’s convoy hits a red light.

A car barrels up from behind.

The last vehicle’s driver watches it approach, casual.

Idiot’s going too fast.

The car doesn’t slow. It accelerates.

“Wait—wait—WAIT—!”

CRASH!

Black tal smashes the convoy at 200 km/h.

Whiplash. Screams. Every driver in every car jerks forward, clutching their neck.

“Guh!”

“Damn it! Who the hell!?”

“That fucker! My neck!”

Four n in the rear car fumble for their pistols. They never make it out.

BANG!

The driver’s head explodes. Red mist paints the interior.

“What the—!?”

“Shit! What is this!?”

Another shot. Another brain blown out.

The two survivors scramble out.

A third man falls, shot clean through. Guts on the pavent.

The last guy fires blindly, panicked.

anwhile, the black car’s driver steps out. A monster of a man.

Massive fra. Black coat, black shirt, black tie, black slacks.

One eye shut. Gash down his face. Caked in dust. Blood-soaked.

But alive.

Revolver in hand. Eyes burning.

Ikaku Akamuro, the Coral Terminator.

Back from the dead.

“Impossible…”

He fires again. Last bullet punches through the second car’s tire.

Shock freezes them.

He survived.

“He was in the hotel!”

“He escaped!?”

“No, look at him! He was in it!”

“Then how!?”

“He’s a monster…”

“He’s immortal…”

“Calm down! He’s just a man! No mana! Nothing special!”

“We can kill him!”

They rally, guns out.

The blood-soaked giant tosses his revolver aside and grabs a SCAR-H.

Clicks it into place. Starts shooting.

One by one, they drop. Culled by precision. Crushed by power.

“Gaaargh! My leg!”

“These rounds are piercing the cars? what the hell!?”

“Large-caliber rifle! He’s got a damn battle rifle! Gaah—!”

Kurenagi, watching from the lead car, pales as his n go down.

Panic grips him. His voice turns hysterical.

“No. No no no no—the Avenger!? He’s still alive!? Drive! Now! Get us out of here!”

The Exorcist they buried had just climbed out of the grave.