Translator: CinderTL
A deep, mocking voice spread through the night wind, carrying a cold, rusty aura.
Arno's pupils constricted sharply as he fixed his gaze on the tall figure emerging from the darkness. His voice, hoarse from vigilance and the backlash of his own power, demanded, "Who are you?"
"Me?" Roland replied, his tone carrying a peculiar ease, almost as if he had just confirmed a long-held theory.
His gaze swept over the scene around Arno. The smoke and dust were gradually dissipating, revealing the corpses strewn across the ground in disarray.
Watching this, Roland exhaled deeply.
His fierce battle with Leonard had given him his first taste of the dragon bloodline's astonishing boost to his strength. But only now, after fully integrating it, did he truly grasp the full extent of this power.
Slaughtering these ordinary transcendents was as effortless as mowing grass.
He calmly assessed the aftermath.
"Even if they had been at their peak, as long as they remained knights—a class I've thoroughly analyzed, understanding all its strengths and weaknesses—I would have had absolute confidence in eliminating them all. Of course, if they had been other, more mysterious and unpredictable classes, it might have required a bit more effort..."
As these thoughts raced through his mind, he flicked his wrist, shaking off the warm blood droplets from his sword. His gaze remained locked on Arno's every move.
"Just an ordinary student from the River Domain Nations' traveling scholar party."
He slowly revealed his identity.
"A student? You mean... you're a bug from the River Domain Nations?"
The muscles in Arno's face twitched slightly, the absurdity and disbelief nearly overwhelming his vigilance.
Those nameless pawns whose arrest warrants he had casually signed?
Those ants he had never given a second thought to, assuming they had long been crushed?
One of them now stood before him, radiating a heart-stopping aura of power, the corpses of his elite guards lying at his feet.
A powerhouse of this caliber needs to hide his identity by infiltrating a weak traveling party?
This is an utterly outrageous joke!
The sheer absurdity of the situation and the fury of being deceived shattered his composure.
In that instant, a cold glint flashed in Roland's eyes.
Without warning, his lithe figure tore through the brief distance between them.
The longsword, still dripping with fresh blood, sliced through the night wind with a sharp whistle, aimed straight at Arno's heart.
Exhausted to the brink, Arno's pupils contracted sharply. His battle-honed instincts drove him to retreat swiftly, while desperately channeling the last vestiges of his strength to parry.
Clang!
The ear-splitting clash of metal erupted, sending sparks flying.
The moment their blades met, a colossal force surged down the length of Roland's sword.
Arno's entire arm went numb, his palm split open, and blood instantly stained the sword hilt crimson.
He staggered backward several steps, each footfall leaving deep craters in the parched ground, his qi and blood churning violently within him.
Pure strength crushing me?
Arno's heart pounded with dread.
This strike was devoid of any finesse, relying solely on overwhelming speed and power—a level of strength utterly incongruous with that of a young trainee.
Yet Roland's assault showed no sign of relenting.
Having blocked the first strike, he closed the distance, his wrist twisting to send the sword arcing upward in a razor-sharp arc, aiming for Arno's ribs from below.
Speed, angle, power—every aspect of the attack was precise and ruthless.
In the span of a few breaths, the two had already clashed multiple times.
"This is... troublesome!" Arno gritted his teeth, his knuckles whitening as he gripped his longsword.
The opponent's control over his strength was nothing short of masterful.
That seemingly ordinary longsword could suddenly unleash sword qi sharp enough to tear through anything, then become as heavy as a mountain pressing down, or even emit high-frequency vibrations to disrupt Arno's rhythm.
Contrary to Arno's shock and bewilderment, Roland's mind remained clear, his movements far outpacing his thoughts.
The complete fusion with the dragon bloodline had not only granted him a leap in attributes but also a profound refinement of his control over his own power.
He could now clearly sense the exertion of every muscle fiber, effortlessly executing a vast array of combat techniques with fluid transitions, as if they were extensions of his own body.
Abilities and enhancements that once required conscious effort to activate now flowed seamlessly from a mere thought.
Forced to defend with all his might, Arno enveloped himself in a radiant aura of refined Battle Qi. His sword strikes were steady and practiced, relying on his vastly superior experience and honed combat techniques to parry Roland's ferocious onslaught within the confined space.
The blades clashed at speeds imperceptible to the naked eye, erupting in a continuous series of explosive clashes. The shockwaves from the collision of raw strength and masterful skill reverberated through the surroundings, cracking the ground and sending shards of stone flying.
After a particularly violent exchange, the two warriors abruptly separated.
Arno gasped for breath, the deep wound on his chest reopening and staining his robes crimson. He glared at Roland, his eyes filled with shock and disbelief.
What kind of monster is this guy?
Since when did the River Domain Nations produce someone who could reach this level solely through physical strength and combat instinct?
Roland, meanwhile, was rapidly assessing the situation.
As expected of a Ruling Duke. Even with just his peak-level knight combat techniques and refined Battle Qi, he's this difficult to deal with.
If he weren't exhausted and wounded, his movements and power flow wouldn't be so sluggish. Subduing him wouldn't be nearly this easy.
Roland clearly judged that Arno's current Battle Qi cultivation and combat technique proficiency, if displayed at his peak, would rival or even slightly surpass Graham before the latter activated his bloodline secret art.
Realizing this, Roland's gaze sharpened.
He couldn't give Arno a moment to breathe.
With a low roar, he charged forward again, his sword strikes like a tempest, completely engulfing Arno.
dragon force surged through him, each slash carrying the weight of a thousand pounds, forcing Arno into a desperate cycle of parries and dodges, narrowly avoiding disaster at every turn.
The battle clearly favored Roland, yet Arno fought like a reef enduring relentless waves. Though battered and teetering, he always managed to steady himself at the critical moment, employing the simplest, most effective combat techniques to barely maintain his footing.
Occasionally, relying on his vast experience, he would launch a precise counterattack, targeting the slightest openings in Roland's assault and forcing him to retreat defensively.
This was a clash between one side dominating with overwhelming physical strength and nascent power, and the other clinging to survival through deep-rooted foundations and seasoned experience.
Had Arno been at his peak, the outcome might have remained uncertain.
But now, the scales were tipping irreversibly in Roland's favor.
Realizing that continuing this way would inevitably lead to his exhaustion and death at the hands of this strangely powerful youth, Arno's eyes flashed with desperate struggle and ruthless resolve.
I have no choice... I must use that.
Even eternal damnation was preferable to dying at the hands of these insects.
Just as he was about to unleash the untamed, terrifying power within him, a cold, authoritative female voice rang out from behind.
"Duke Arno, your army has been routed, and your retreat is cut off! Lay down your weapons and face judgment!"
Gloria emerged, flanked by Sven and Fide. The firelight illuminated her young yet resolute face as soldiers surged forward like a tide, completely sealing off the valley's exit.
Arno's movements faltered slightly. He turned his head and saw Gloria, heavily guarded. Instead of despair, his face twisted into a sneering mockery.
"Surrender? Judgment? By what authority?" His voice was hoarse, dripping with venomous sarcasm. "Gloria, the milk hasn't even dried on your lips yet! What right do you have to stand here and lecture me?"
His words were deliberately cruel and insulting, both to provoke her and to buy himself a final moment.
Gloria's expression remained icy, unmoved by his taunts, but the surrounding soldiers bristled with anger.
Roland, however, paid no attention to their exchange. After catching his breath, he launched another attack.
And in that brief lull...
Arno no longer hesitated.
"Ugh... Aaaah!"
A guttural roar, barely human, erupted from the depths of his throat.
Without warning, a dense, tangible darkness surged from his body, moving with a speed that defied comprehension.
This darkness was no mere mist; it was a viscous, writhing shadow, like a living entity, that rapidly coiled around Arno's body.
Crimson, lava-like fissures erupted across his skin, while his eyes transformed into pure, pupil-less blackness, radiating a malevolent hunger that threatened to devour all.
His nails elongated into sharp, obsidian claws, and an suffocating aura of dread and oppression emanated from him.
Though he still retained a semblance of human form, Arno had become more akin to a demonic beast crawled from the abyss.
"Die!"
Fueled by the abyssal power, Arno roared, his speed and strength surging to terrifying levels.
Abandoning all finesse, he channeled overwhelming darkness into his longsword, transforming it into a space-rending black thunderbolt that crashed toward Roland.
The ground scorched and hissed where the blade struck, the air crackling with corrosive energy.
Just as the ominous, corrosive darkness threatened to engulf Roland...
He had long been prepared.
The faint glow of the Mithril Longsword in his hand suddenly blazed with intense brilliance, like a cold star ignited in the dark night.
Holy energy surged from the blade, meeting the onrushing abyssal tide head-on.
Holy Strike!
However, what followed completely defied his expectations.
The searingly bright light of the Holy Strike collided violently with the viscous, writhing darkness, yet instead of the anticipated annihilation, the two opposing energies became strangely entangled. A sickening, hissing sound filled the air, as if matter were being slowly torn apart and corroded.
Even more alarming, the holy light not only failed to dispel the darkness but seemed to sink into an invisible quagmire, its radiance visibly dimming and faltering.
The abyssal energy, as if a living entity, coiled, permeated, and even...
Began to gradually erode the positive energy that should have been its natural enemy.
Was the holy light actually retreating?
(End of the Chapter)
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