My Soul card is a Reaper-Chapter 970: The son of Blood and Death

The other three nodded. No arguing this time.

They walked to the counter together, pretending not to feel the eyes on their backs. The menu floated above the counter as a projection of glowing runes and moving images. Bowls of steaming soup... Skewers of meat… Layers of pastry and burgers… There are many options to choose from.

Lyra couldn't help but point upwards. "Look…" she spoke aloud in honest awe. "It's moving. And those battle puppets look so human..."

Before any of the boys could reply, a sharp sneer cut in from behind them.

"Looks like we've got one of those country bumpkins from backward clans in here."

The words were loud. Deliberate. Meant to be heard.

The four stiffened.

Rian turned around slowly. His eyes locked onto the group at the table. "Which clan are you lot from?" he asked, his tone no longer playful.

The word "lot" drew a few frowns from the seated group. One of them—a broad-shouldered boy with pale hair tied at the back—leaned forward and spoke calmly.

"We're from Asgard, bumpkins."

At that, Kale let out a soft, mocking smirk. "So it's Asgard, huh. I was wondering where these exhibitionists crawled out from. Look at you guys… Have no sense of decency..."

Lyra immediately grabbed Kale's sleeve and tugged it down. "Don't cause trouble," she whispered urgently. "There are more of them."

Before Kale could reply, another boy from the Asgard group raised his head. This was the Rank-6 one. His eyes were steady, not hostile—but not friendly either.

"You don't have to worry about that, dame," he said evenly. "We're a warrior clan. We follow the code. We don't bully the weak."

The words sounded noble.

But the way his gaze lingered on them—measuring, judging—made the meaning feel far less kind.

Kale slowly straightened. Rian's jaw tightened. Noah shifted his weight subtly. Lyra let go of Kale's sleeve, her expression stiff but controlled.

The café had gone quiet.

No one else moved. As for the two robots, they acted as if they didn't care.

But then Rian snorted loudly, the sound cutting straight through the heavy tension in the café. "Yeah, right… a warrior code that starts with mocking strangers," he said coldly. "That's rich. A bunch of hypocrites. No wonder your clan is on the decline—"

He didn't even get to finish the sentence.

The Asgardians' expressions hardened instantly. One of them slammed his hand on the table so hard that plates rattled and cups tipped over. Their relaxed posture vanished, replaced by sharp glares and tensed muscles. The air thickened with hostility.

Lyra spun on Rian and hissed through clenched teeth, "Are you trying to get us into trouble on purpose? Why are you adding fuel to the fire? We came here to eat, not start a war!"

Before Rian could reply, one of the Asgardians stood up slowly and rolled his shoulders. A thin grin spread across his face. "Since we're acquainted now," he said lazily, "and it seems like we've already formed some kind of enmity, how about we settle this with a spar? This place has plenty of training grounds."

Another Asgardian scoffed and leaned back in his chair, feet propped up rudely on the table. "Why bother walking that far? This hall is big enough. We can just beat them down right here."

The Rank-6 Asgardian rose from his seat.

The moment he stood, the pressure in the room shifted. His presence was calm, steady, and heavy in a way that made even the more aggressive members of his own group straighten unconsciously. He lifted one hand.

"Enough, Hjaldr," he said firmly.

The one who suggested beating them down clicked his tongue but fell silent.

The Rank-6 warrior turned his gaze toward Rian. There was no rage in his eyes, only resolve. "As I said earlier, we are a clan of warriors. Whether it is friendship or enmity, we resolve it through battle. If you do not wish to accept, you are free to reject."

He paused for a beat, letting his words sink in.

"But in our ways, rejecting a warrior's challenge is the same as accepting cowardice. And it weighs even heavier when you have already come here to fight in the tournament."

The four Death Clan teens stiffened instantly.

The playful mood from earlier was gone. Rian's hands slowly curled into fists. Kale's grin vanished, replaced by sharp focus. Noah took a quiet step back into a ready stance without even realizing it. Lyra inhaled deeply, steadying her breathing.

Rian lifted his chin and shouted back, his voice ringing through the hall, "Who says we're afraid of you lot? We're from the Death Clan, the strongest hidden clan to ever exist for a hundred thousand years!"

The words hit like a hammer.

"The Death Clan?" Several Asgardians exchanged looks, their expressions shifting from disdain to caution.

But before any of them could react properly, a surprised voice echoed from behind the counter.

"The Death Clan?"

A door marked RESTRICTED SECTION swung open, light spilling out from within. A white-haired, messy-looking young man stepped out casually, a half-eaten burger in one hand and his mouth still stuffed with cream and melted cheese. His red eyes blinked once, then twice, as he looked around at the tense scene.

He swallowed loudly.

His gaze drifted to the four teens standing near the counter. Slowly, a wide grin spread across his face. He lifted the hand holding the burger and gave them an excited wave. "Did you guys just say, Death clan?"

As Lyra nodded dumbfoundedly, sensing nothing from this person, the white haired boy cheerfully spoke through a half-full mouth. "Hello there… I'm Markeiran… Markeiran Garcia Blood. My father is also from the Death Clan."

Silence crashed into the café.

The Asgardians froze.

The Death Clan teens froze at the same time.

"Eh? Garcia Blood?"

They felt like they had heard the most nonsensical claim. The Death clan and the Blood Clan were at odds with each other, and their Monarch even kicked out the Blood Clan, 19 years ago.

Moreover, the Blood Clan doesn't allow copulating with outsiders, much less a Garcia. Lyra couldn't help but ask aloud in surprise, "Who is your father?"

The boy replied with a grin. "Malgrim Garcia."

"Eh? What!" All reacted at the same time.

The white haired body blinked twice and then took a sip of cola, "What? Is it that surprising?"