CHAPTER 134: DISC?

"Fast," Sylva muttered under her breath, eyes narrowing as she brought her sword up in front of her.

Razeal was already closing the distance no, devouring it. From below, his upward momentum was so rapid that to an untrained eye he would have appeared only as a dark, eerie blur shooting straight toward her. The black wings trailing behind him only made his silhouette more ominous.

Midway up, something changed. His black shadow blade began to glow faintly not with light, but with an ominous crimson aura. It bled over the sword, then spilled outward, crawling across his entire body. The aura seemed almost alive, swirling and writhing like it was eager to kill and devour whatever comes after killing her.

The black blur now carried a faint red edge, a streak of blood-colored menace tearing through the sky.

The clash came in a single explosive heartbeat.

BOOM.

Their swords met in midair, the impact sending a gust of wind rippling outward in every direction. The shockwave was sharp enough to ruffle hair, clothing, and even shake loose dust from the arena floor far below.

But what surprised everyone was that? Sylva didn’t even move. Not an inch. Her body didn’t tremble or stance faltering. She had caught his strike perfectly, holding her sword in a steady vertical block as though she had been expecting the exact angle of his blow.

She absorbed the blow without so much as being pushed back.

Strange... she thought. That didn’t feel heavy at all.

It puzzled her. This was the same man who had stopped her sword earlier with the bare palm of his hand, unmoving, like her strength hadn’t even mattered. Now, even with all the momentum from launching himself upward, the strike was well light. Sharp and clean, but lacking that crushing weight she expected.

What is this? Did he... hold back? Or...

Did he... misjudge his force? Or...

But before she could dwell on the thought, Razeal’s posture shifted in mid-air. In one fluid motion, he pulled his sword back, twisting his body as he redirected the blade toward another angle one that would be far harder for her to defend. The sudden change forced her to retreat half a step in the air, tilting her body to bring her sword around just in time to catch his strike. Even then, the block was tight barely enough.

From that moment, the rhythm changed.

Razeal moved like a warrior who had fought in a thousand battles. His strikes came in rapid succession, each swing precise and deliberate, the flow of his movements showing a mastery that went beyond brute force. Every blow was angled to push her defense to its limits, attacking not with overwhelming strength but with flawless control.

Sylva found herself on the back foot immediately. In terms of swordplay, she looked almost inexperienced in comparison like a child holding a blade for the first time, scrambling to keep up. The only thing saving her from being overwhelmed completely was her speed and her wings. She could shift position instantly, weaving up, down, and backward without the constraints of ground combat. Even so, his strikes followed relentlessly, forcing her to block or evade without a single chance to counterattack.

She could feel the pressure building.

Sylva wouldn’t deny she was fast faster than most seasoned fighters. Her blows, when she got the chance to deliver them, could be both swift and heavy. In that regard, she had held her own against masters before. But this was different. Against him, she was locked into pure defense. If they were fighting on the ground, with her movement restricted, she could easily imagine herself being defeated outright.

Of course, that was assuming she made the arrogant mistake of relying solely on sword combat which wasn’t her main specialty to begin with. She simply preferred the sword when fighting at speed. It was the most efficient for her hit-and-run style. And it wasn’t as though she had no training she had sparred under her family’s sword grandmasters, after all.

Still... in this duel, training didn’t seem enough.

She darted further back in the air, twisting into an impossible angle to block a strike aimed straight for her midsection. The effort forced a sharp exhale from her lips.

Below, Arabella’s eyes tracked the battle in the sky. Her expression was calm almost lazy but her mind was sharp, reading every movement. As someone who spent most of her time at the frontlines, she could recognize skill when she saw it.

"That boy has real combat experience," she murmured lazyly to herself. "Every swing... perfect."

Her gaze lingered on the way Razeal’s strikes cut through the air, the subtle shifts of his weight, the precision in his posture and turns even while airborne.

"And, matter of fact, he was just playing with her." Arabella added quietly.

Her lips curved into the faintest of smirks. She could tell by how he was now swinging his sword with only one hand, not even putting full power into his attacks as if to show Sylva the gulf between their skills. Ofcourse the physical power he showed before was just overwhelming and now just this? This could be the only reason.. Why is he doing? Trying to show off his skills?

"Hmph," she muttered, tilting her head. "If it were Areon up there instead... he wouldn’t even have a chance to defend himself. Not with those sword skills or even any of his skills."

Her eyes flicked briefly to the side, landing on the unconscious form of Areon lying on the floor below. Nancy standing beside him, as per Arabella’s earlier order to throw him at ground. Arabella turned her attention back to the fight, watching as the clash above grew faster, sharper the storm of blades painting streaks of black and red across the sky.

"Umm? But Mother... Areon is a sword master," Nancy said, glancing sideways while still keeping her eyes on the duel. She’d been listening to her mother’s earlier words, but they didn’t quite sit right with her.

"He wouldn’t?" Arabella finished with a slight smirk. She didn’t look away from the fight high above. "I’ve played with your ever so intelligent elder brother before. I know how precise and powerful his sword strikes are." Her eyes narrowed non interestingly as looking at Areon lying on floor, her tone stayed casual. "Obviously, it’s different when someone dedicates their life to the sword path compared to someone who just... learns how to swing one. Areon walks one of the most important, highest sword paths one that lets him harness sword energy. That’s what gives his strikes their weight. His sword aura, when active, makes his blade sharper, heavier, more devastating."

She tilted her head toward Razeal, following his movement without losing track for even a second. "But what that boy is doing? That’s completely different. If I put it in the simplest, most casual way possible... he’s just swinging a sword around but the way he moves is pure brilliance."

Nancy raised an eyebrow but stayed silent.

"This is pure combat experience," Arabella continued. "And if you strip away mana, aura, or any harnessed abilities... if this was just a duel of hands and skill, he would fuck Areon in most humiliating way."

Nancy frowned. "Seriously?"

Arabella didn’t look away from the fight. "I’m pretty sure you couldn’t even find one loophole in his guard. Not a single opening. Every step, every motion, every shift in weight... it’s all deliberate. There’s no vulnerability to exploit. And all that is natural"

Her voice deepened slightly. "This is what real combat experience looks like. The kind you only get by fighting. Not in a polished training hall or choreographed sparring partners. This is war-forged skill. Areon has never been through war. And in a war, do you think anyone will give you time to pull off those flashy, refined sword forms? Idiocity"

She gestured with a finger toward the sky, pointing directly at Razeal. "That" her tone sharpened "is how an actual experienced fighter fights."

Nancy let out a short scoff. "But she’s not even a swordsman or a close-combat fighter, Mother. She doesn’t need to be. Why waste time learning to swing a sword when you can just throw all kinds of elements at your enemy from a distance?"

Arabella sighed and shook her head slowly. "That’s exactly the kind of thinking that gets you killed. Times change, sure... but principles don’t. Close combat will never die out."

Nancy crossed her arms, leaning back slightly. "I understand the importance of combat, but seriously... in this age, no one fights like that anymore."

Her mother’s expression didn’t change, but there was a trace of amusement in her voice. "What do you know? It’s only been fifteen years since you came out of my cunt. You haven’t seen enough of the world to talk about what’s ’dead’ or ’obsolete.’"

Nancy gagged dramatically. "Ewww..." She wrinkled her nose. "Did you have to say it like that?"

Arabella leaned back in her seat, completely unbothered. "You’ll understand once I take you to an actual fight."

Nancy knew better than to argue further. There was no point. Old people were stubborn impossible to convince no matter how much logic you tried to throw at them. She just muttered under her breath and went back to watching the fight.

Up above, Sylva felt the mounting pressure as she blocked yet another strike. Her arms were starting to feel the strain, though her face showed only a thin frown. "Where did you learn these sword skills?" she asked between breaths.

"Ohhh, you’re not that bad," Razeal replied, his voice calm despite the ferocity of his movements. "But let me show you something else."

In the blink of an eye, the shadow blade in his hand began to shift. It melted, reformed, and reshaped entirely. The weapon was no longer just a sword it became a spear, then a war hammer, then something in between, constantly changing shape and size. And yet, despite these transformations, his control was absolute.

Sylva’s eyes widened slightly. It wasn’t just the weapon changing it was him. Each time the blade shifted into a new form, his stance, posture, and grip adjusted instantly to suit it. The transitions were so fluid they almost seemed unreal. He didn’t swing wildly; he only struck when each weapon type could be used at its most effective angle.

And now? Fighting him became ten times harder.

Her mind raced as she tried to predict his next move, but how could she? The moment she thought she understood the trajectory of one strike, the weapon morphed mid-motion, creating a completely different attack pattern. A downward slash with a sword became a piercing thrust with a spear; a side swing became the crushing sweep of a hammer.

The speed was inhuman.

She couldn’t even fathom how his mind worked fast enough to choose the perfect weapon for every single opportunity and not just choose it, but wield it with such mastery. His transitions were polished to the point where they never broke his momentum. Not even for a second did his flow pause.

Sylva gritted her teeth. Just how much experience does he have? She swung her sword desperately, blocking what she could, twisting away from the rest. Her body was starting to feel numb from the constant motion. She hadn’t trained this intensely in a long time. If not for her natural healing factor and the stamina boost granted by her nature affinity, she knew her body would be in agony right now maybe even broken.

Meanwhile, the spectators far above the battlefield squinted down at the scene. Most couldn’t even see the details of what was happening. All they could make out were two blurs one dark and one streaked with green and purple clashing over and over again in mid-air. The green-purple blur kept retreating, pushed back bit by bit, while the black blur pressed forward relentlessly.

Arabella’s gaze sharpened as she noticed the latest barrage of attacks. Her eyes followed the shifting forms in Razeal’s hands. "He... he can use that many kinds of weapons? And not just use them master them?"

She leaned forward slightly, her curiosity piqued despite her usual lazy demeanor. "And his body... it shifts perfectly for each one. The transitions are flawless. Natural. Effortless."

Her eyes narrowed further, trying to catch every detail. "Even though he’s moving so fast, I can still see it the way his form matches each weapon perfectly. A spear stance here. A war hammer grip there. The balance, the leverage, the footwork all spot on."

It was rare for Arabella to feel impressed by someone so vastly younger than her. But she couldn’t deny it what she was seeing was remarkable.

"I’ve never seen anything like him in all my years," she admitted quietly. "Not at his age. Not even close."

She was genuinely amazed, even though she sat casually, her voice lazy, as if it didn’t impress her at all. After all, he was still weaker than her. But to be that skilled at his age...

It seemed impossible. If she had been his age, she doubted she could have become proficient in even a single weapon let alone the ones he wielded with such mastery. Not even with her talent.

"Got you," Razeal whispered, eyes narrowing in sudden focus.

His shadow-formed axe dissolved mid-swing, shrinking and twisting until it became a dagger. Without a pause, he drove it straight toward Sylva’s right side more precisely, toward her chest.

It was the perfect angle.

She had just deflected his last axe strike, putting all her focus into blocking that heavy blow from above. Her guard was committed, her weight shifted just slightly off-balance. She wouldn’t have time to adjust not this time.

The dagger slipped past her defense like water through a crack.

The sharp, inky blade was only centimeters away from piercing flesh when

"Enough."

Her voice was cold as ice.

A sudden, deafening boom erupted from her body, a raw shockwave of force and wind exploding outward in all directions. The air itself cracked from the pressure, blasting Razeal away as if he’d been fired from a cannon.

His body tumbled backward through the air before he twisted mid-flight, regaining control. With a sharp exhale, he stabilized himself, feet finding invisible footing in the air as his shadow wings flickered behind him.

Sylva’s gaze followed him, her face losing the last trace of playfulness.

Enough playing around.

Her thoughts were sharper now, her irritation cutting through the usual lighthearted attitude she carried into battle. She’d indulged him long enough, matching his swordplay for the sake of her own pride she wasn’t the type to retreat, after all. But now, he was just annoying.

"You’re going to pay for that," she said, voice low but thick with the promise of retaliation. Her eyes narrowed into a glare, lips twisting slightly in annoyance. "Ugh... I wish I had my period today. Then you’d see what real terror looks like. But you’re lucky..."

Her muttering wasn’t meant for him to hear, though the venom in her tone was unmistakable.

Sylva’s usual demeanor in battle was relaxed, even playful, but Razeal had a talent for scraping against her nerves. He was relentless, clever, and irritating in a way that demanded she take him seriously and that was rare.

In her hand, the shimmering rainbow-hued sword she had been wielding vanished, dissolving into nothingness.

In its place, the ground itself seemed to answer her call. Pebbles and loose earth rose from the battlefield, swirling toward her palm in a slow, deliberate spiral. Piece by piece, the particles compacted and merged, shaping themselves into a bow. Its form was elegant yet deadly a curve of hardened earth polished smooth, veins of faintly glowing mineral running along its surface.

At the very center of the bow’s grip, set perfectly into the earthwork, was a strange mark: a hexagonal emblem, etched deep, like a seal.

Razeal’s gaze locked on the weapon instantly. His lips curled faintly. "Ohhh... getting a little serious now, are we?" he murmured to himself.

Her eyes never left him as her free hand dipped into her spatial ring. A ripple of light passed over her palm before she pulled something out.

A disc.

It was made entirely of polished material the color of soft, glowing lavender. The surface reflected light like glass, though it seemed to carry a faint pulse as if it had its own heartbeat. The outer edge was perfectly circular, but at its core was a hollow cutout, shaped precisely like the hexagon engraved in her bow.

The moment Razeal saw the matching shapes, his brow furrowed slightly. A key piece...?

"You’re about to get fucked now, boy," Sylva said bluntly, not even trying to hide her irritation. Her tone was cold, flat the casual playfulness gone, replaced by a predator’s focus.

She lifted the disc and fitted it onto the bow, the hexagon in its center clicking perfectly into place with the matching groove on the bow’s grip.

The moment it connected

Buzzzzz.

A low hum filled the air, vibrating through the ground and up into the air. A ripple of wind rolled outward from the bow as the center, but it wasn’t violent. It was... beautiful.

The breeze that spread in every direction was soft and cool, carrying the faint scent of blooming flowers and fresh soil. It stirred loose strands of Sylva’s hair, making them dance gently around her face. The bow seemed to glow faintly in her hands now, the lavender disc pulsing like a heartbeat, synchronized with her own.

Razeal’s eyes narrowed further.

Sylva, however, didn’t speak again. Her expression was calm now, almost serene, but beneath it was the clear, sharp promise of something deadly.

The duel had just shifted into a new phase.

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Yo guys, 3k words once again. Sigh... I don’t know what’s happening these days.

I’m trying my hardest you all know that, right?

Arhhh... thanks for reading, you all.

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