CHAPTER 150: RIFT & HELP

The clash between Baines and the 7th Star enemy roared with unrelenting ferocity, each strike reverberating through the shattered landscape.

Twenty minutes had passed since their duel to the death began, and the battlefield bore the scars of their relentless struggle—cratered earth, scorched air, and a pervasive aura of death.

Baines, drenched in his own blood, fought with a tenacity that defied his mortal limits. His twin blades, one gleaming with a faint ethereal light and the other a bladeless hilt pulsing with raw energy, met the enemy’s daggers in a symphony of steel and sparks.

Clang... Clang... Clang...

Magic circles of decay materialized around the figure, swirling above, below, and behind, unleashing torrents of corrosive energy. Yet, the enemy’s armor, as if forged from some unholy alloy, repelled the decay with eerie resilience.

Baines faltered for a mere heartbeat, stunned by the armor’s defiance, and paid the price, a deep gash tore across his shoulder, blood spurting as the dagger bit into flesh. Instinctively, he raised the bladeless sword to parry a follow-up strike, his mind racing.

’Decay’s useless,’ Baines growled, dismissing the spell to conserve mana.

He shifted tactics, focusing on his most devastating techniques: Absolute Cut and Destruction.

With a roar, he unleashed "Black Cross," a slashing wave of dark energy that tore through the air. The figure struggled to counter, his daggers carving through the attack with difficulty, but Baines pressed the advantage.

"Bomb!" Baines shouted, conjuring an explosive sphere of raw mana that detonated against the figure’s chest. The enemy screamed, a guttural cry of rage and pain, as the blast scorched his face, flaying skin and exposing raw muscle. Yet, the armor remained unmarred, a testament to its otherworldly craftsmanship. Instead of weakening, the figure’s aura flared crimson, his movements growing faster, more savage.

In an instant, he was beneath Baines, daggers slicing in precise diagonals. Baines’ hands, gripping his swords, were lacerated before he could react. Pain seared through him as the figure drove a dagger toward the fresh wounds. To evade, Baines released his swords, which clattered to the ground with a hollow ring.

"Now, you don’t have your weapons, let’s see what you do," the figure sneered, diving forward with predatory glee. Baines couldn’t pick the sword, unless he risked his body; however, he remained calm.

He had trained for this. He didn’t rush and raised both hands. It was for reasons like this that he learned to use his hands.

"Fuck you!" As the figure’s daggers plunged into his shoulders, Baines locked the enemy’s arm in place, trapping the blade in his flesh. With a snarl, he delivered a bone-shattering punch to the figure’s lower core.

Bang!

"Kuaahhh..." The figure roared, releasing the dagger and staggering back.

Baines seized the moment, summoning a magic circle behind his palm. "Blood palm Seal!" he shouted, unleashing a concentrated blast of mana that slammed into the figure’s chest.

The enemy stumbled, eyes wide with disbelief. How had things come to this?

His plan had been to toy with Baines, to break him slowly and take him, that was, until he sustained large internal damage. In the face of death, he grew stronger, but he was still losing ground, and now, he just felt a part of his strength sapped from him.

Baines didn’t wait and slammed his palm against his body severally, with each palm strike draining his strength, sapping his vitality. After the seventh palm, he shook Baines off and roared to the sky.

"I’LL TAKE YOU WITH ME!" He sacrificed his life energy, his dimming aura erupting into a blazing inferno.

Baines immediately retreated, his face in a deep frown as he activated the enchanted scarf around his neck to enhance his speed. But the figure was faster.

A blur of motion, and Baines’ left arm was mangled flesh.

"Kuuhh..." Blood gushed, but Baines didn’t stop retreating, while he pressed the acupoints on his shoulder, staunching the relentless blood flow. The pain was excruciating. ’Shit, I can’t keep this up.’

The pain of losing his hand was horrible, but not compared to snapping his streams. That feeling motivated him to move. His senses didn’t leave the figure as his movement suddenly blurred and appeared before him.

Slash...

Baines nearly saved his second hand from being mangled; however, it drew a long gash across his hand. Blood pooled from his body in waves as he weaved continuously through the attacks.

The figure’s attacks grew relentless, his daggers a whirlwind of death. He wanted to sever Baines’ limb, but it didn’t detach. It only lay limp and useless.

Baines was fortunate to have the remnant bones of the slave god. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t be standing.

This time, Baines barely dodged and sustained terrible injuries, blood pooling beneath him wherever he stepped.

With his right hand, he retrieved five medicinal herbs from his pouch, chewing them hastily. The herbs dulled the dizziness creeping into his vision, knitting his wounds just enough to keep him standing.

"Focus... focus... focus..." Baines muttered, his mantra anchoring him as the daggers carved countless cuts across his body.

The figure’s voice boomed, "I’LL TAKE YOUR EYES!" A diagonal slash tore across Baines’ face.

"Guahhh..." He couldn’t see anymore blood spraying as his vision went dark. Blindness enveloped him, but his resolve held.

"I’LL TAKE YOUR EARS!" The figure stabbed a dagger into Baines’ ear.

Stab...

With his dagger, he stabbed into one of his ears, but Baines countered, landing another devastating strike to the enemy’s core.

"Kuk..." The figure retreated, yanking the dagger free.

In that moment of darkness, Baines perceived something extraordinary—sword traces, ethereal lines encircling the figure’s body. Each trace converged at four points, marked by faint circles, forming a complex pattern.

"What... is that?" Baines whispered. A voice, one he hadn’t heard in over a year, echoed in his mind:

-Cut

The figure lunged, triumphant. "FINALLY GOT YOU!" His hand reached for Baines’ neck.

Baines was spent in everything, aura and mana; however, he still had a last card.

His mind went to a spot he hadn’t looked at in years. The energy of the dark sun.

As he reached for it, it flooded into him, engulfing his body in a beautiful swirling dark flame that exploded in all directions. His lips twisted into a grim smile, and his voice resonated with newfound power.

"[STOP]," he commanded. The enemy froze, his body paralyzed, eyes bulging in shock.

"[COME]," Baines intoned, and the bladeless sword trembled on the ground before soaring into his hand.

It pulsed with blinding light as Baines traced the sword marks he had seen, his movements precise and unerring.

"Rift," he declared, swinging the blade downward. The air split, reality itself fracturing along the path of his strike.

Baines collapsed first. His body spent, and the enemy’s form bisected, falling in two lifeless halves.

But the attack didn’t stop.

The rift widened, consuming earth and sky, a cataclysmic force racing toward the onlookers in the distance.

...

The people in the distance screamed in fright.

Their ally had lost, and the enemy was remaining standing. They panicked, with some running away. However, only a few, like Gilbert, stayed to see how it would’ve ended.

That was when the enemy’s body split apart, and the attack didn’t stop.

"RUN!" Gilbert screamed as he bellowed for his family members to run away. The attack hadn’t stopped; it continued, further consuming the floor and the sky, fast approaching them.

Unfortunately for them, not many of them were fighters, and they were in the way of the attack.

Death seemed inevitable until a commanding voice thundered, "Mountain Stance!"

A colossal force met the rift, clashing with a deafening boom. The energies canceled each other out, leaving the air heavy with silence. Gilbert turned, trembling, to see the source, a warrior clad in crimson armor, flanked by ninety-nine soldiers.

"4th Division of the Red Sun," the leader declared. "Save the survivors and kill the enemy."

"Yes, sir!" the soldiers responded, moving with disciplined precision.

Gilbert’s knees buckled, relief flooding him. "4th Division..." he murmured, collapsing.

Help had arrived.