I revived the Demonic Sect in North America

Meanwhile, in Lincoln, a town dozens of miles away from River Valley College.

The Lincoln College Lumberjacks' home stadium, Camp Lumberjacks Stadium, was like a giant, burning bonfire.

The lights were bright, and the noise was deafening.

The stands of this old stadium are made of heavy dark logs and exposed dark red riveted steel frames.

The large bolt heads gleamed with a cold, hard luster under the light.

A huge flag bearing the emblem of a lumberjack team, featuring a crossed axe and saw, hangs above the main grandstand.

Everywhere you look, you see the ruggedness associated with forestry and machinery, as well as the pioneering spirit of the frontier.

It is quite different from the modern-style traditional community courts at River Valley College.

In the stands, there was a surging, dazzling sea of ​​bright yellow.

This is the support color for the lumberjacks.

Most of the students at Lincoln College and residents of the surrounding community were wearing work pants or flannel shirts.

Waving yellow and black striped towels, blowing shrill plastic horns, and stomping their feet, they made the entire wooden stands rumble and groan.

The slogans were also uniform:

"Lower the trees! Lower the trees! Cut down the knight!"

"Lincoln! Lincoln! Invincible!"

In stark contrast was the small patch of melancholy blue in the away team's stands.

The shouts of River Valley College students, parents, and scattered supporters who had traveled from afar were like pebbles thrown into a raging sea.

The sound was completely swallowed up by a deafening yellow roar as soon as it was uttered.

On the sidelines, at the Cavaliers' half of the court.

Coach Duke gathered all the players into a circle and began to introduce the main aspects of their opponents.

"Listen up, all of you!"

"Those hillbillies in yellow shirts over there, Lincoln Academy lumberjacks! They're not into technical skill, they're all about brute force, muscle, they'll smash you to pieces and run you over!"

He jabbed the lumberjack team's emblem hard on the tactical board with the pen in his hand.

"Do you know how they dealt with St. Mary's College last time? Like a bulldozer cutting down trees, they just crushed them without any reason! Let me tell you, they're even more troublesome than those charlatans who took down our Fordham Prep School last week!"

The players unconsciously followed the coach's words and turned their gaze toward the opposite half of the field.

The lumberjacks, dressed in bright yellow jerseys, were doing exaggerated warm-up exercises.

They bumped shoulders and roared at each other.

They were all burly and muscular.

Moving around is like a walking oak forest, filled with a primal sense of oppression.

The Cavaliers' hearts sank.

Soon, the pre-match warm-up began.

The River Valley Academy team members began practicing running and passing.

The Lumberjacks' supporters on the field started to exert their influence, constantly booing the Cavaliers' players.

Under immense pressure, even the movements they were practicing became tense.

Jonas Miller, the Cavaliers' starting quarterback in his third year, was deathly pale in this game.

Fine beads of cold sweat kept seeping from his forehead.

He tried several short passes, but the ball's trajectory was always crooked.

The balls either went too high or crashed to the ground, drawing subtle frowns and shakes of the receivers.

After finishing a set of stretches, Bruce walked over to Jonas, patted his trembling back with his large hand, and said in a deep voice:

"Relax, Jonas. Don't think about anything else, just pass the ball out, and we'll take care of the rest."

Jonas, holding the football, looked up, trying to force a grateful smile at Bruce.

But his lips only twitched slightly, and his voice was dry:

"I...I know, Bruce. I just...couldn't control myself, my legs were a little weak."

His knees were indeed trembling slightly, almost imperceptibly.

The trembling was even getting worse.

Just then, a buzzing sound of electrical static came from the on-site broadcast.

Immediately, a voice filled with excitement and thick Midwestern rural accent resounded throughout the venue, instantly drowning out all the noise:

"Ladies and gentlemen! Ladies and gentlemen of the lumberjack camp! Good evening—!!!"

"I'm your old friend, and also the Lincoln Academy Athletic Department's Larry Jensen, the one who always speaks the truth! Yes, it's 'Big Mouth' Larry himself!"

"Tonight, let me use this voice, steeped in whiskey and cigars, to show you firsthand how our brave and invincible lumberjack lads use axes and saws to tear those pampered foals from the valley into pieces!"

"Ladies and gentlemen, are you ready to cheer?!"

The commentator for Lincoln College's home games was their own physical education teacher, Larry Jensen, nicknamed "Big Mouth".

They are known for their unbridled favoritism, their extremely sarcastic remarks, and their passionate roars that can get the home crowd fired up.

Although countless away fans hate him to the core.

But in the hearts of the home fans, Larry remains a hero of Lincoln College.

He is the Lumberjacks' best twelfth man off the field.

Even in many home games, he was the culprit who directly caused the opposing team's players to lose their composure.

"Alas--!!!"

"Larry! Well said!"

"Tear them apart, tear them to pieces!!"

The stands were instantly ignited, erupting into a deafening roar of cheers, whistles, and screams.

Many burly men in overalls waved beer mugs and shouted in unison:

"Crush the Cavaliers!"

"Down with the city bumpkins!"

"Down with the rich young master from downtown New York!"

Larry was pleased with the initial enthusiasm and continued in his exaggerated, theatrical tone:

"Alright, enough chit-chat, let's shine the spotlight on our guests tonight—the Knights from the River Valley community!"

"Look at this melancholy blue, tsk tsk, how perfectly it suits their current mood! Like a flock of little lambs lost in a storm, shivering in fear!"

A burst of laughter erupted from the stands, mixed with sharp whistles.

"However..."

Larry then changed the subject, feigning impartiality:

"Among these lambs, there's a rather intimidating beast lurking. Yes, it's that big guy who stands out the most in their group..."

"Bruce Keaton!"

"He's a monster on the front line, he can run, he can tackle, and he can receive the ball. Last week, he gave those old priests from Fordham Prep Academy, whom we defeated, a lot of trouble!"

"Oh, although they lost in the end. But I still hope he can give our lumberjack lads a decent challenge tonight, so the game won't be too boring!"

The commentator, Larry, paused, then his tone suddenly turned questioning as he asked:

"Wait... what am I seeing? Who's that poor guy standing at the Cavaliers' quarterback position? Jonas... Jonas Miller? Isn't that the kid on the bench from their second team? Where's their starter? Where did that Jack Davis guy go?"

"Although that kid is only at the level of someone who can use a pencil sharpener compared to our star quarterback Kyle, he's still watchable! What's wrong? Is he so scared that he's hiding in his mother's arms to nurse? Or did he get drunk at some bar in Riverdale last night and still can't figure out which way the stadium gates open?"

Larry Jensen's merciless taunts were clearly transmitted to every corner of the stadium via the broadcast system.

This immediately triggered even more enthusiastic and unrestrained laughter and boos from the home team's audience.

Many people even imitated the sound of a baby crying and started making noise in the direction of the River Valley Academy's bench.

The faces of the River Valley Academy substitutes on the bench were extremely grim.

Jonas Miller is trying to warm up with a simple turn pass.

Hearing the mockery on the radio, his hand trembled, and the rugby ball slipped from his stiff fingers, falling onto the grass with a "plop" and rolling a long way.

He hurriedly picked it up, his back view showing a disheveled state.

The vein on Coach Duke's forehead throbbed.

The plastic water bottle in his hand snapped with a "crack" as he squeezed it, then he slammed it hard to the ground.

"You son of a bitch... When I win, I'll shove that damn microphone up your ass..."