Viltrumite, Is Your Mightiest Chat Group Fake?

Maybe when the other side triggered a mission, or when the chat group unlocked an active world-travel function, he could go over and take a look.

In the end, Neos brought the discussion to a close.

[Yellow Weasel, Neither Man nor God: There is still some margin of error in the calculations. I have reason to suspect that the chat group will adjust the flow rate according to actual circumstances.

Perhaps in the future, a group member who has just completed a mission might come back online to find that decades have already passed. Everyone should be mentally prepared for that.]

The Warp had a master who loved to toy with time and mock fate. He was more than prepared.

After leaving the group chat, he continued burying himself in preparations for what came next, while keeping an eye on the situation on Terra.

"Rage Singer and the Ecclesiarch both suffered heavy losses... Escher is growing too powerful to contain... the number of Sigillites is steadily declining..."

Just how much time for the Great Crusade could he snatch from this pile of demons and monsters?

The thought gave Neos a headache.

Too many things had already been set in stone. The only die in his hand that had yet to be cast was this mysterious chat group.

Thinking of that young-looking man with weathered eyes and an efficient manner, Neos murmured to himself:

"I hope they can give me a few surprises."

Elsewhere, after going offline, Leon found an empty alley and slowly rose into the air.

Viltrumites did not have Superman's mystical senses, the kind that could hear Lois crying for help even in the vacuum of space.

But he could still hear everything that could be heard and see everything that could be seen.

Hanging upside down in midair, he sorted through the noise at his ears and followed it with his gaze.

The next second, a middle-aged man with an enhanced body who was freely pursuing entrepreneurship was swept away by a gust of wind right in front of his victim.

In midair, Leon grabbed the man by the leg and gave him an occasional shake.

"You can't even lift a steel coil and you're out robbing people? You want to live off prison meals that badly? But I figure the prison food here would be eating you instead."

Before the man could recover from his dizziness, Leon let go.

"Ahhh—"

After calculating the distance, he dove down and caught him again, lifting and dropping him several times in a row.

Finally, Leon looked at the middle-aged man clutching his chest and gasping for breath.

"Going to confess?"

"Good Lord, you haven't even asked anything yet!"

"...Oh, right."

After a friendly and civilized exchange between two planets, Leon placed the man at the entrance to the police station and headed for the location he had just learned about.

A bar in the underworld where intelligence was exchanged.

As expected, a Black security guard in a suit stopped him at the entrance.

"Sorry, sir. Only qualified people can enter through this door."

"Only this door?"

"That's right."

Leon did not waste any words. He pressed himself directly against the wall beside it.

With one step, he pushed through without resistance, as though the brick wall before him were a huge lump of cotton.

Then, while the guard was still stunned, Leon grabbed that bald head resembling a boiled egg and dragged him through with him.

He passed through plumbing pipes, through private rooms where men and women entertained each other, and through the backstage area amid screams.

Following the murmured passwords, he found the owner's office.

Looking at the dumbfounded people seated around the table, he spoke as if nothing had happened.

"Gentlemen, your man told me I couldn't enter through that door, so I followed your rules and didn't go through that door."

He brushed the dust from his shoulder and tossed the guard, covered in broken bricks, onto the table.

"He can testify for me."

In the first second, the white-bearded owner was about to furrow his brow.

In the second second, he saw the unfathomably deep new passage behind Leon.

In the third second, he broke into a smile.

"This gentleman... no, my lord, what can I do for you?"

In the end, among the extensive intelligence enthusiastically provided by the owner, Leon found a familiar face.

Mechanical Head, the one who spoke with an electronic voice.

Combined with the areas where several other familiar villains were active, Mark's family should be in—

"Chicago."

Leon rejoiced at his own super-intelligence.

Just as he was about to set off, a new group message popped up.

[West China Tiger: @All Members It looks like a mission is about to happen on my side. I'll try it myself first.]

[West China Tiger: But Fushiguro said the other side is only a Grade 2 cursed spirit. We should win, right?]

A dozen minutes later:

[West China Tiger: Why can't a Grade 2 sorcerer beat a Grade 2 cursed spirit?]

What Does My Mahoraga Look Like?

"Yuji, you're strong. Go save others. Within the limits of your ability, save as many people as you can.

It's fine if you feel lost. It's fine if no one thanks you. Just do your best to save them.

You must die surrounded by people. Don't end up like me."

Under the setting sun, the flowers by the window swayed in the breeze.

Itadori put down the phone after notifying the nurses' station, his grandfather's final words echoing through his mind.

If not for the chat group, he probably would not have truly grasped them yet.

But after experiencing little Amiya's crisis, when he assessed his own strength and decided to sign up—

He realized it.

Saving others was completely different from bringing drinks for classmates, helping upperclassmen train, or helping an old lady cross the street.

It was the weight of a person's entire life, something even the strength he was rather proud of might not be able to bear.

Itadori wiped at his slightly reddened eyes.

"Grandpa left behind one hell of a curse."

That was why, when Megumi Fushiguro came looking for him, Itadori keenly sensed the danger.

After notifying several group members, he immediately dragged Megumi toward the high school.

He had decided to try solving the problem himself first.

The facts proved that his judgment had been correct. They successfully rescued the two upperclassmen before the cursed spirit could inflict further harm on them.

He and Fushiguro's shikigami charged ahead, exorcising quite a few minor cursed spirits. The situation was looking great!

Then... then things took a sharp turn for the worse.

The ceiling rippled like the surface of water, and a huge hand instantly slapped Megumi Fushiguro out of the school building.

The Divine Dogs melted away, their dreams of defeating a Grade 2 cursed spirit shattered.

Downstairs, Itadori had just gotten hold of the finger when the cursed spirit grabbed him. Megumi Fushiguro struggled to his feet, swaying unsteadily.

Thinking of the explanation he had received on the way, Itadori was full of question marks.

In the end, he opened the group chat.

[West China Tiger: Why can't a Grade 2 sorcerer beat a Grade 2 cursed spirit?]

[Viltrumite Honor Student: It doesn't matter. Forget about it.]

[West China Tiger: ?]

At the same time, a new mission notification popped up.

[Emergency Mission—Group member Yuji Itadori's life is under threat.]

[Encountered a Grade 2 cursed spirit. With one hand, it crushed a Grade 2 sorcerer as though he were nothing. Defeat it with everything you have!]

[Mission requirement: Yuji Itadori survives. Number of participating group members: 0/1.]

[Mission reward: 1000 points. Participating group members may receive special rewards from this world.]

At this point, Leon's hand was already hovering over the participation button, but out of respect, he let the group members discuss it first.

Itadori roughly described what had happened, then sent several screenshots of the cursed spirit.

[Orange-Haired, Golden-Eyed Evil Human: Are you really going to become an exorcist, Itadori?]

[Spicy Donkey Head: How bizarre. Could Mr. Itadori's world be very dangerous?]

[Yellow Weasel, Neither Man nor God: Power formed from negative emotions... sounds rather familiar. I really want to go over and study the principles behind it. What a pity.]

[Kansas Farm Boy: Those things look somewhat troublesome.]

The boy with low magic resistance was sensing danger.

But Leon thought Superman was probably just being oversensitive. That place was full of elbow-strike enthusiasts.

[Yellow Weasel, Neither Man nor God: Then Leon should still go. Based on my guess, he has probably already prepared to press the participation button.]

[Viltrumite Honor Student: Neos is wise.]

[Group member Viltrumite Honor Student has accepted the mission. Constructing a connection between two worlds...]

[Special arrival method detected. If the host selects this option, unexpected effects may occur.]

"Interesting."

Seeing something different, Leon selected it instantly and vanished from the office.

Back in the world of jujutsu, perhaps due to Itadori's interference, Megumi Fushiguro's injuries were lighter than expected.

He had just hit his head and was a little dizzy.

Watching Itadori hold the finger in his mouth, eager to make a move, Megumi Fushiguro pushed himself up from the chunks of concrete.

"Don't you dare get any ideas about that thing. Whether you die or get possessed, neither outcome is good!"

"But if I eat it, I'll gain cursed energy, right?"

"Let me summon a shikigami! Let me think..."

After wiping the blood from the corner of his mouth, he had intended to choose Nue.

Yet, under the distortion of the system's will and a tiny bit of muscle memory, he suddenly assumed the ultimate stance of his life.

His left fist was raised above, his right fist held below.

"Why am I... With this treasure, I summon..."

All of a sudden, the campus seemed as though someone had pressed the moon's light switch, plunging it into darkness.

On either side of Megumi Fushiguro, black shadow wolves howled amid white shadow frogs. At the far end, a figure bound in white cloth and linked by countless ropes appeared.

"Eight-Handled Sword Divergent Sila Divine General, Mahoraga."

Then came a violent tremor. A hand blade thrust out from the white cloth and sliced vertically, tearing apart every restraint!

Megumi Fushiguro's vision was nearly obscured by blood, but from the corner of his eye, he saw that arm.

It was white, just as the records described, only smaller than he had imagined.

Had the previous generations exaggerated it? No, wasn't I just about to summon...