Ron's words were like a blade.
Each syllable that left his lips stabbed mercilessly into Jack the Ripper's heart.
His body began to tremble uncontrollably.
It felt—
Like being beaten by his mother in childhood, cursed with the most vicious words imaginable.
Helplessness. Despair. Collapse. Pain…
In an instant, countless negative emotions erupted within him.
Yes…
Brunhilde, also a demigod, had dared to confront Zeus and the chief gods head-on.
Then why couldn't Heracles?
Imagine—
If that match had been the final one.
If Heracles had won, only to kneel before the gods and beg them to spare humanity—
Why?
On what grounds?!
"Hahahaha…"
"You might be right. Or perhaps Heracles was simply too naïve."
"But!"
"If I could, I truly wish I had never been resurrected. Never been born by my mother."
"That way…"
"She wouldn't have suffered. And I wouldn't have killed her—or my father—with my own hands."
Jack lit a cigarette.
He didn't smoke it. He simply let the rising smoke veil his face.
He did not cry.
His expression remained calm.
His body stopped trembling.
But—
The right eye that once perceived emotions in color now saw only gray.
Perhaps, to him, the world had always been that way.
When the others heard that Jack had killed his own parents—
The pity in their eyes shifted into disgust.
Ron said nothing.
Instead, he quietly formed a soundproof barrier around Jack, isolating him from every outside voice.
Right now, he needed silence.
Ron crushed his nearly burnt cigarette, lit another, and began telling Jack's story.
It was a tragedy beyond measure.
Jack's birth itself had been a mistake.
From the moment he was born, he possessed a right eye capable of seeing emotional colors.
In his vision—
His mother's color was gold.
Warm.
The most beautiful color he had ever seen.
But she was a woman working in the fish market.
Her meager earnings could barely sustain them.
So Jack used his ability to secure food in the city.
In time—
His father, a writer, married into nobility.
When Jack's mother learned the truth, she broke.
"You were nothing more than a tool connecting me to the man I loved."
In that moment—
Her color changed.
It was a shade Jack had never seen before.
Pure hatred.
The vilest resentment humanity could produce.
He stabbed her in the neck with scissors.
He didn't want to see that color again.
He wanted the golden hue to remain forever.
And perhaps—
He wanted to release her from pain.
Soon after, he killed his father as well.
Thus—
A monster was born.
And it should be noted—
The man before them was not truly Jack the Ripper.
The original Jack had long been killed, drowned in the river of history.
This man had merely taken the name.
As Ron's cigarette burned to ash, the story ended.
The barrier dissolved.
The once lively tavern fell into heavy silence.
The contempt in everyone's eyes faded, replaced by something far more complicated.
Patricide and matricide were unforgivable.
But a fish-selling woman and a fickle writer—
Their mistakes had been forced onto a child.
Was Jack wrong?
It was a question without an answer.
No one dared speak.
After a long silence—
Demon Dragon suddenly stood up and wrapped an arm around Jack.
"My friend."
"Regarding patricide, I deeply resonate!"
"Because…"
"I've had the same thought. I've been trying for two years and still haven't succeeded."
The Holy Lord: "???"
What the hell?!
All that father-son bonding these past few days—was it meaningless?!
As expected…
Raising a backup account was absolutely necessary.
"If your father has never truly harmed you," Jack said quietly after taking a sip of wine,
"Then you shouldn't do it."
"Even if you are a demon and not human… he is still your father."
"That… makes sense."
"He just refuses to step down…"
Demon Dragon nodded thoughtfully.
Seeing this—
The Holy Lord slowly unclenched his fist and nodded in approval.
Excellent.
This young man is worth befriending.
Moments later, he dragged his foolish son aside for a round of "fatherly education."
Soon—
The two monstrous beings were hugging and crying together.
The scene was oddly harmonious.
"You may have lost faith in humanity."
"But since you've been resurrected…"
"Find something enjoyable. Consider it passing time."
"If you'd like, visit the tavern often."
"The 'people' here are interesting. And kind."
Ron spoke gently.
Jack shook his head.
"Brunhilde wouldn't allow it."
"In her eyes, I am the worst scum imaginable."
"If left unchecked, who knows how many would suffer."
"Bring her with you tomorrow."
"I'll convince her."
Ron smiled and handed him another bottle.
"I'll try."
Jack nodded.
Just then—
The system's mechanical voice sounded:
[Customer Jack the Ripper: Murder Techniques, Combat Skills… Host may select one ability.]
[Customer Jack the Ripper: Heracles-transformed gloves… Host may duplicate the item.]
Ron didn't hesitate.
"Select the gloves."
In the next instant—
A pair of black gloves appeared in the system inventory.
A true divine artifact.
Anything touched by them could become a weapon.
"How many points are these worth?" Ron asked.
[Ding. 7,000 points.]
"Because the world's overall combat level is relatively low?"
Ron stroked his chin thoughtfully.
Although Record of Ragnarok featured Zeus, Odin, and other mythological gods—
Their demonstrated combat power felt… underwhelming.
Poseidon being cut down by a samurai?
Ridiculous.
Ron smiled faintly.
"What match are you on now?"
"The fifth," Jack replied softly.
"Qin Shi Huang versus Hades."
Ron's curiosity flickered.
"Will Aphrodite take the stage?"
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