Boom—
Boom—F
Boom—
The territory expanded by the [Eternal Overlord's Royal Court] was, in truth, nothing more than an amplification of space and matter—so vast it formed its own "world." At first, this world held lakes and rivers, earth and mountains, flowing water and open skies.
But within five minutes of the battle between the Flügel and Arthur, everything had been reduced to a mournful wasteland.
The terrain shifted with every clash.
The earth's lament echoed like music.
Spiritual energy—dense enough to devour light—erupted in violent bursts. Dazzling slashes cut through the air, too brilliant to look at directly.
Think stood a short distance behind Arthur, watching the battle unfold.
From the start, she had believed her new master to be far stronger than even this extraordinary Flügel. His aura alone, reminiscent of the Old Deus, was proof enough.
But even strength had its limits.
As Jibril herself had said, Arthur possessed only the aura of a god—nothing like the power of a true deity.
In this world, strength was usually measured by the quantity of spirits—magic power—an individual commanded.
Arthur's spirit was vast, brimming with frightening vitality, but still only comparable to that of a Dragonite… and only an ordinary one at that. Jibril, on the other hand, had a record of defeating even the most formidable Dragonites.
By all logic, this battle should have been a long, drawn-out stalemate. Blow for blow. A brutal contest ending in one decisive strike.
But what she saw was—
"Complete suppression… total suppression of that demon in every aspect," Think whispered, stunned.
And yet, what she saw from outside could not compare to what Jibril experienced within.
Suppression?
To call it that was almost laughably generous.
There was no suppression. Not at all.
This wasn't a battle—it was a simple exercise in offense and defense.
Both sides attacked. Both sides defended.
But the difference was—
Jibril's thoughts and movements accelerated desperately as she fought, yet Arthur stood there unmoved, his expression never changing.
Her attacks, powerful enough to rend mountains, struck only pain. His two shields absorbed every blow effortlessly.
His swordplay wasn't fast, nor was it overwhelmingly strong—yet always, always, it was just a step quicker than hers. A tiny gap she should have been able to close, but couldn't. No matter how she tried.
And then, every so often, her movements became entirely predictable.
Every time, he struck her down.
In only five minutes, Jibril looked utterly humiliated.
"Miserable" wasn't too strong a word.
Yes, this was an exchange of attack and defense… but also the cruel mockery of the strong toward the weak.
"Fall—the sky itself shall bind your freedom."
The words rang out. Jibril's body faltered in midair, strength vanishing, inertia dragging her straight down toward Arthur. And there, waiting for her, was a close-range blast of light.
The beam struck her head-on, blasting her across the battlefield—straight to the world's edge.
Correction.
This was no "fight."
It was a one-sided demonstration, a display of the Flügel's limits.
"I truly underestimated you. I apologize for that," Jibril said, but the murderous intent radiating from her grew even darker, more suffocating.
As if it had no limit.
No—rather, until now, she had been holding back. Even as Arthur battered her about like a child's toy, she had never used her true strength. This had been no more than a test.
"Violent, savage, insane… so this is what a Flügel really is." Arthur's tone was calm, almost amused. "I was wrong about one thing—you're not arrogant. Compared to the elves behind me, you're almost humble. Polite, even."
And with that, he casually swung his sword, hurling her across the air once more.
Well—this was a battle, after all. Too much idle talk would seem lazy.
So, to prove he wasn't simply playing around, Arthur "gently" struck Jibril again, knocking her flying.
Two clean hits, back to back, delivered in the same span of time.
Jibril froze for a moment.
Whether or not it hurt was secondary. What she felt most was… cheated.
An unspoken rule had been broken. Until now, the rhythm of the fight had been clear: you hit me, I hit you back. All well and good.
But Arthur had simply ignored that. And struck her three times in a row.
Anyone would be unsettled by that.
Oh, right. This is a battle to the death…
Damn it, now I'm furious.
Jibril's aura swelled violently, though she never lost her clarity of thought.
That was what surprised Arthur most.
"I've heard the Flügel's strongest move is [Sky Strike]. You haven't used it yet, have you? You must realize a simple exchange of blows won't end this. It'll only leave you crushed, injured again and again. And yet, you still persist, waiting for an opening, hoping to catch me off guard with these meaningless attacks—hoping to force me into a position I can't escape."
"..."
"Don't worry. This time I'll be generous. Stay right here. Don't move. Use the [Sky Strike] your race prides itself on. Attack me with all your strength." Arthur's voice was calm, almost indulgent.
Jibril hesitated, tempted.
After all, this world itself was shaped by Arthur's magic. Only her spatial abilities were restricted. Arthur, by contrast, had been slipping through space since the beginning—his shadow techniques proof enough.
Even Jibril, the last of her kind, could not guarantee a perfect hit with [Sky Strike].
Lower races were always quick to call something a "sure-kill move." To brand the [Sky Strike] as such was arrogance.
In truth, only attacks that actually killed could be called sure-kill moves. Anything less was empty words.
And against Arthur, Jibril understood—conventional means could never bring him down.
To win this battle, she truly needed one decisive blow.
But the possibility of creating that chance… did not exist.
Not yet.
Not ever.
So you want to stew me?
-End Chapter-
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