Chapter 570: I want a reward for this
Vergil narrowed his eyes, almost impatient.
“Go back to being a monkey, please. I’m sick of watching this.”
Wukong paused, tilting his head slightly to the side, and the smile on his face widened. A mischievous glint lit his golden eyes.
“Um… no,” he said with an irritating calm. “I like that look. I think I’ll keep it that way, just to see your disgusted expression.”
Vergil ran a hand through his silver hair, letting out a deep sigh, as if he needed to summon the patience to deal with such nonsense.
“You really have nothing better to do?” he asked, his voice dry.
Wukong took a few steps around him, slowly, deliberately, like a serpent circling its prey. With each movement, the golden jewels jingled like a chorus of bells.
“Don’t you understand, boy?” “I don’t care,” she said, almost purring, with that same mocking tone. “It doesn’t matter to me whether I’m a man or a woman. I’m a monkey. Gender is just a… toy.”
Vergil looked away toward the incandescent horizon, trying to ignore the theatrics.
“You’re insufferable.”
Wukong laughed loudly, his laughter echoing like thunder across the mountaintop.
“And you love it,” she retorted, leaning closer, leaning her golden face close to his, just to tease him. “Admit it, kid: deep down, you enjoy me.”
Vergil slowly turned his head, facing him head-on, his blue eyes flashing like blades ready to cut.
“Having fun… isn’t the right word,” she replied with a cold smile. “But seeing how long you can play without losing your mind… that’s entertainment.”
Wukong’s smile remained, but there was a flicker of something else in his eyes—defiance, anger, and yet fascination.
“Careful, boy,” he said, his voice wavering between deep and melodic. “The last one who provoked me like that ended up buried under five mountains for five hundred years.”
Vergil didn’t flinch. He merely tilted his chin slightly upward, the cold smile remaining on his face.
“So… it remains to be seen how many mountains you’ll need to hold me back.”
Silence fell for a moment, thick, electric. Until Wukong took a step back and laughed again, satisfied.
“You really are a bastard, boy,” he said, still chuckling. “I think that’s why I enjoy playing with you so much.”
Wukong’s laughter took a while to fade, echoing across the mountaintop as if it were part of the wind. When she finally fell silent, she leaned back in the air, floating again, as if the ground were unworthy of her golden feet.
The smile was still there, insolent, but her eyes burned with a new intensity.
“So, boy…” she said, crossing her arms and tilting her head. “Are you just going to play games with me? Or are you going to answer what I want to know?”
Vergil remained silent, his hands still in his pockets, his gaze fixed on her with an irritating calm.
“Are you going to help me… or not?”
The question sounded direct, but there was something behind it. It wasn’t a request, nor an order. It was a challenge.
Vergil arched an eyebrow, almost amused.
“Is that the main reason you called me here, dressed as a cheap goddess?” he retorted, with his usual venom. “To ask for help?”
Wukong’s gaze flashed, and for a brief moment the golden aura surrounding her trembled like fire in the wind.
“Don’t get me confused, boy,” she said, her tone more serious. “I don’t ‘ask.’ I command. I am Wukong, the Great Sage, Equal to the Sky.”
Vergil tilted his head to the side, studying her like one might a bratty child.
“What a drag…” she muttered. “Whatever, just kill?”
“What a drag…” she muttered, her voice almost a lazy whisper. “Whatever, just kill?”
Wukong chuckled softly, as if the question had amused him more than it should have. The laughter echoed like muffled thunder, until it faded into an uncomfortable silence.
“That’s right,” she said firmly, her mocking tone giving way to a rare seriousness. “Just kill. I don’t want Yama to have a chance of winning this tournament.” Vergil leaned forward slightly, his head to the side, as if examining an insect trapped in a jar.
“Yama, huh?” he repeated, savoring the name. “The lord of the dead. Well… if I were to bet, I’d say he’s one of the few who can actually give you a hard time.”
Wukong’s golden eye shone brighter, his aura expanding like a sun about to devour the entire mountain.
“Exactly,” he replied, his voice echoing like multiple thunderclaps. “And it’s not just him. There are other gods, from other pantheons, who are also sending their candidates and apostles. Some are complicated… much more complicated than simple warriors.” Wukong narrowed his golden eyes, fixing them on Vergil. “But I believe you should win this tournament.”
Vergil let out a short, dry laugh, with a hint of mockery.
“You believe me? How sweet,” he retorted, running a hand through his silver hair, smoothing it as if that were more important than the conversation. “So the great Wukong, the Immortal Monkey, is placing his bets on me?”
Wukong leaned forward, his golden face inches from his, his savage grin wide.
“Don’t get me wrong,” he said, his voice deep and filled with menace. “I don’t ‘believe’ in you. I know you can. What intrigues me is whether you will.”
Vergil held his gaze, unwavering, as if staring into the abyss itself. Then, slowly, a lazy smile spread across his lips.
“So…” Vergil said, his tone soft, almost a purr. “You brought me here, put on this whole golden show, just to say you believe I should win. Just kill Yama’s candidate, deal with some ‘tricky’ candidates, win a divine tournament. It seems… easy.”
Wukong snorted and puffed out his golden chest, arching his body forward, as if to make it clear how much he shone in that provocative form.
“Hmph!” he exclaimed, his golden breasts shining like moons. “You just have to do what I say. After that, do whatever you want.”
Vergil slowly lifted his chin, a lazy, venomous smile curving his lips. His blue eyes sparkled like blades in the sun.
“Ruyi Jingu Bang.”
The sentence fell in the air like thunder.
Wukong blinked, his golden eyebrow arching in surprise.
“Hm?”
Vergil held his gaze, unblinking.
“I want you to give me a copy of it.” Just like you gave your disciple,” he said, with the calm of someone already calculating every word. His tone wasn’t pleading, it was demanding. An open door to greed.
Wukong was silent for a few moments, just staring at him. But Vergil knew the idea wasn’t absurd.
He had been pondering this for some time. Yamato, his blade, was an extension of his soul. Powerful, precise, unparalleled… but also risky. The more he used it against divine entities, the more dangerous the burden became. Every fissure, every impact, could directly resonate with his soul.
And even his ultimate weapon, Excalibur—Yamato’s unrestrained form—didn’t eliminate that risk. If something happened, it wouldn’t just be the sword that would break. It would be him.
A staff like Wukong’s, a divine weapon independent of its essence, could change everything. A trump card. A shield. A safeguard against the inevitable.
Wukong finally smiled.
“Hm? So that’s it? That’s it?” he asked, tilting his head like a child being teased. “Are you asking me for my treasure?”
Vergil merely arched an eyebrow and his smile widened.
“Treasures exist to be stolen. Or copied.”
Wukong laughed loudly, his laughter echoing like thunder that shook the mountaintop.
“You really are a wretch, boy,” he said between laughs, raising his hand to his face.
And then, without hesitation, he plucked a golden strand of hair. It flew free like a ray of sunlight, shimmering in the air.
Wukong breathed on it, channeling his energy. The hair began to expand, swirling, shaping itself into spirals of pure power. The entire sky seemed to tremble with the weight of the magic.
A staff appeared.
First translucent as crystal, then solid as celestial iron, until finally it took shape: black as the void, with flaming golden details running across its surface. The energy emanating from it was wild, fierce, alive.
Vergil extended his hand slowly, his eyes fixed on the creation.
“Hm…” he let out with a half-smile. “Seems decent.”
Wukong twirled the staff in the air with irritating ease, making the entire mountain vibrate with the movement. Then he handed it to Vergil with a careless gesture.
“Don’t be fooled, brat,” he said, his voice filled with authority once again. “This is just a copy. It will never have the strength of mine. But… for someone like you, it should suffice.”
Vergil held the staff in one hand, testing its weight. A soft crack resounded as the weapon attuned to his energy. He smiled, satisfied.
“I don’t need your strength, monkey.” “I’m not,” he said, twirling the staff in the air naturally, as if it were already a part of him. “Just the opportunity.”
Wukong smiled back, his golden eyes sparkling with amusement and challenge.
“Then don’t waste it,” he said, crossing his arms. “This toy will soon be drinking the blood of gods.”
Vergil tilted his head, his smile even sharper.
“That’s exactly what I plan.”