Euripython Belt Station
Euripython solar system
Euripython Star sector
Euripython Galaxy
21st Krios cycle, Solaris prime Solaris Prime
The Euripython Belt Station sat in a quiet corner of the cosmos, nestled at the threshold of the five great galactical empires of the Known Universe. This region, isolated in its own galaxy, held just one star—its sun—and around it, the station itself orbited in a peculiar cosmic dance with a scattering of asteroids. Between the celestial bodies, the station hung suspended, like a sentinel overseeing a vast expanse.
Built upon the only planet within the region, the Euripython Belt Station sprawled across the surface like an immense, intricately designed city. Its structures covered nearly the entire planet, sprawling from horizon to horizon, massive enough to rival entire countries. Towering edifices of steel, glass, and gleaming alloys rose in a symphony of modernity, their sleek surfaces reflecting the distant star's cold light. On the surface, the station was a marvel—a testament to the cooperative efforts of the galactical powers that constructed it.
A neutral ground amidst the tumultuous tides of galactic politics, the Euripython Belt Station was more than just a symbol of unity. It was a living, breathing testament to the fragile treaty that bound the five empires together. Though its origins were steeped in diplomacy, the station had always carried the undercurrent of ulterior motives. Each empire, while outwardly respectful of the treaty, found ways to leverage the station for clandestine purposes. Whether through covert maneuverings or the subtle expansion of influence, they all had their sights set on increasing their dominion—often at the expense of one another.
The control of the docking fees—measured in rare and highly sought-after resources—was held by none of the five great powers, a different faction had power over it and this ensured that only those with enough wealth or influence could gain access to the station. Yet, this form of control was not enough to shield the station from the subtle claws of espionage. Spies from all sides prowled the station's corridors, hidden in plain sight, learning its secrets, watching its every move.
As Leon's ship glided into the station's expansive deck, the gravity of this reality weighed on him. The enormous hangars, filled with vessels of all sizes, came into view, their sleek metallic forms casting shadows over the smooth concrete floors below. It was a grand display of spacefaring civilization, yet Leon knew that beneath the grandeur lay a complicated web of power plays, all quietly unfolding around him. There was little they could do about the spies. For now, they had to proceed, their arrival just another entry in the station's vast ledger of incoming ships. But Leon remained ever vigilant, aware that every step within this neutral bastion came with consequences—some of them unseen, but ever-present.
The Karajan Dynamic ship eased into the docking bay with a soft, metallic hum, its engines powering down as the workers on board efficiently began unloading the crates and materials stored within. The hustle and bustle of the operation filled the air, the rhythmic clatter of machinery a constant undercurrent to the scene. Leon's gaze, however, was fixed elsewhere. His attention was drawn to the protective crew Admiral Wilcock had assembled for Meri. A force composed of Paladins from the renowned Yaeger Corps, a unit Leon wasn't familiar with, though Rex certainly was.
There was Iliya Morek, a knight of the House of Gemini, her pink hair and violet eyes creating an ethereal presence that seemed almost angelic. Yet Leon knew better than to let her serene appearance fool him—her battle prowess was as sharp as any blade. Then there was Vaeron Sorr, of the House of Taurus. Her green hair was pulled into a messy blob atop her head, and her towering, battle-worn frame made her seem a force of nature, a living testament to the raw power of a seasoned warrior. Lastly, Syra Vael from the House of Capricorn stood with quiet intensity, her presence no less formidable than the others. These knights—each of them bearing the mark of the Sage realm—were strong, but more than that, they exuded a level of cultivation far beyond the ordinary. Leon could see it in the way they moved, the subtle control they maintained over their energy. Their cultivation was exceptional, far surpassing what one would typically expect from the average Sage.
They were no ordinary Pleiadians. Leon could feel it in the air around them, an aura of power that made it clear: they were the best of Starlight's elite, chosen not for their rank, but for their incredible potential. Admiral Wilcock had spared no expense in selecting the finest warriors for Meri's protection. It was only natural, considering Rex and Meri's place among these esteemed ranks. But it also raised a question that lingered in the back of Leon's mind—Why wasn't he among them?
Leon wasn't just any warrior. He had once been considered one of the greatest talents of his generation—a peer to Meri, Rex, and Emily, standing shoulder to shoulder with them as one of the brightest stars in the sky. That was decades ago, of course. Time had moved on, and with it, his position in the ever-changing hierarchy of power had shifted. Yet, even now, Leon knew that his abilities were unrivaled. His strength was unmatched by most, yet here he was, standing on the sidelines, watching as the Admiral recruited only the best of the best. Why wasn't he included?
The answer, as always, was clear to him: his mother's influence. She had plans for him, plans that led him down a path of exile to Terra—a path that, unbeknownst to him at the time, would set in motion a series of events that would ultimately lead him to Sam. If he had been inducted into the Yaeger Corps, if he had walked that road of prestige and power, he would never have been given the opportunity to heal, to find the clarity and purpose that Terra offered. His fate had been sealed long ago, not by his own hand, but by the machinations of the one who controlled his destiny.
"Alright, we're heading out," Meri said, her voice calm and collected. She wasn't dressed in any typical warrior garb, but rather a sleek, navy-blue suit that gave her a sharp, sophisticated edge. Her silver-blue hair was neatly braided, the strands weaving across her face in a pattern that framed her features, offering both elegance and mystery. She moved with purpose as they entered the shuttle that would carry them through the bustling docks to the territory under her control.
Karajan Dynamic had a mercenary division stationed here, and it was through their influence that Meri intended to offload her batches of Xeta beam weapons. As she and Effie made their way toward the shuttle, a team of Pleiadians took their positions around them, ensuring their safety. The workers around the docks went about their business, unloading cargo and moving swiftly through the bustling area. Leon's eyes wandered, observing the scene. Among the workers were children—thin, their faces drawn with hunger, their eyes wide with the harsh realities of life in a place like this.
The Euripython Belt Station, once a symbol of unity, had long since degenerated into a haven for criminals, the neutrality of the station a cover for those seeking refuge from the law. The underworld had flourished here, with factions of smugglers, mercenaries, and rogue operatives operating freely. The red-light district thrived in the darker corners, a haven for those who made their living in the shadows, while orphaned children, abandoned to the unforgiving streets, struggled to survive. It was a place where power, wealth, and influence were the only currencies that mattered. Without them, life was a brutal existence.
The docks, the very heart of this section of the station, were under the thumb of a ruthless gang that controlled the flow of goods. They collected tolls for entry and parking, ensuring that only those with the right connections could navigate the underbelly of the station unscathed. The station itself was divided into sectors—Alpha, Beta, Charlie, Delta, and Echo Quadrants—each a self-contained city in its own right. Meri's office was located in the Alpha Quadrant, where most corporate interests were headquartered, but the journey from the dock quadrant to her territory was a ten-mile stretch of rocky terrain and industrial sprawl.
As their shuttle ascended, flying smoothly above the dock, Leon's gaze drifted out the window. The sky above was an ominous shade of gray, dark clouds swirling as though a storm was on the horizon. It wasn't the weather that caught his attention, though. As they flew over the rocky formations surrounding the station, Leon felt something unusual—an ambient energy in the atmosphere, something he hadn't anticipated.
This dwarf planet, with its lack of a world seed, shouldn't have had World energy. Yet, the presence of such a force was undeniable. His mind raced to the sun that orbited the system. There was something unique about it—something that now seemed to make sense. The sun, in its slow, constant burn, was feeding part of its energy into the planet, creating the conditions for World energy to manifest. But why? Why would it do that for a barren rock like this?
Before he could ponder further, the calm of their journey was shattered. A sudden burst of energy tore through the air from below, a blinding beam shooting straight toward their shuttle. Syra, an expert pilot, reacted with lightning speed, swerving the shuttle sharply to avoid the blast. More beams followed, streaking through the sky like deadly comets.
"It seems our enemies couldn't wait for us to reach our destination before they thought to strike," Meri said, her voice nonchalant, though the tension was palpable.
"Do you think it's the Ganymede?" Iliya asked, her eyes narrowed as she surveyed the incoming attacks.
"I doubt it," Leon said, his voice cold and steady. His internal senses had already pinpointed the enemy's location. A battalion of warriors was stationed atop a mountain ahead, their energy signatures unmistakable. They had set up powerful siege weapons—battle energy cannons capable of tearing through the toughest of ships. They were waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
"Might be Sector Zero," Vaeron speculated.
"Maybe," Rex added thoughtfully, "but this doesn't feel like Mallus."
"Well, what are you waiting for?" Meri said, reclining back in her seat, looking far too relaxed for the situation. "Protect me."
Leon resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Meri, the same woman who could decimate an entire battalion with a flick of her wrist, was playing the helpless damsel. It was almost comical.
"You stay here," Leon said, his tone sharp, devoid of any humor. "I'll handle this." Rex opened his mouth to protest, but a single glance from Leon—a gaze filled with steely determination and an unspoken promise of violence—silenced him. Rex nodded, understanding the gravity in Leon's eyes.
With a final, grim smile, Leon moved to the shuttle's exit. He didn't hesitate. Without a second thought, he leapt from the open hatch, letting gravity take him as he plummeted toward the rocky surface below. His mind was already racing, focused on the task at hand. The battle was on.
Leon stood tall, his figure cutting through the dust and chaos of the rocky battlefield, clad not in armor, but in a dark red trench coat that billowed behind him with each step. The House of Leo's symbol—a roaring lion with the sun rising from its maw—was emblazoned on the back, a visual testament to his lineage and power. His only weapon, a Divine-grade enchanted sword, appeared in his hand with a subtle gesture as he summoned it from his dimensional band. The blade hummed softly, almost like a contented purr, as though it too had been waiting for this moment. It knew what was to come. The transparent crystal blade shimmered faintly with a golden hue, a delicate and quiet glow that swirled through the crystal as though the sword itself were alive, ready to taste blood once again after fifty long years. The broadsword's scabbard was returned to the dimensional band as Leon's boots hit the rocky ground with a soft thud, his stance unwavering.
Ahead, a tower loomed, its silhouette dark against the ominous sky. A few enemies stood atop it, while the bulk of the forces gathered below. Leon's Hyperion eyes flared to life, and with them, a surge of energy coursed through his veins, his blood stirring with anticipation.
Atop the tower, seated within a pod-like seat surrounded by holographic monitors, Erewyn studied the battlefield below with cold detachment. His eyes narrowed as he watched the target touch down before them, his energy signature a perfect match to the data they had received. Erewyn's observer—a sophisticated piece of technology—was already dispatched, scanning Leon from head to toe, relaying critical information to its master. Beside Erewyn, Abaris stood like a mountain of muscle, his immense frame towering at over six feet, a pair of massive axes slung across his back. Unlike Erewyn, whose lanky build seemed almost frail, Abaris was built for destruction. His clothes hung loosely on him, a grey tattered shirt that seemed too large for his frame, though it did little to hide the sheer power of his body.
"So, that's Haravok," Abaris muttered, his voice a low growl. "I've heard legends about the Haravok family, especially about Jonathan Haravok. If that's his son, I wonder if he's as good as the stories say."
Erewyn's lips curled into a thin, cynical smile. "Now, now, Abaris. Remember the plan. We have the quantity here. With the army at our side, we can whittle him down, make it easier to pick him apart."
Abaris snorted in annoyance, but said nothing. The bastard was making him wait, and the thought of it gnawed at him. Still, he knew his place in this battle. Erewyn was paying him, after all. And if nothing else, this would be a good opportunity to see if the Haravok heir truly lived up to the legend.
Erewyn allowed himself a cruel smile as he activated the first wave of his army, sending them toward Leon with cold precision.
As the army surged forward, Leon's instincts screamed that something was wrong. His internal senses—fine-tuned from decades of battle experience—pricked at the air, sensing an unnatural concentration of Odic force surrounding the oncoming troops. The force wasn't coming from them; it was contained, contained in a way that felt deeply off. Leon's sharp eyes scanned the army, and with a clarity born from years of experience, he realized the truth. These were not soldiers, not living, breathing beings. They were puppets—bodies that functioned as if alive, their hearts pumping blood, their muscles responding to stimuli, yet their minds were hollow, empty. They were mere shells, animated by some unseen force. Their Ethereal glands, which housed the soul, were completely absent.
Leon's grip on his sword tightened, and with a flick of his wrist, the first ten enemies fell. Their heads flew into the air, their bodies collapsing in a fountain of blood and gore. The motion of Leon's arm was deliberate, almost languid, as though he were performing a simple, graceful motion—yet the result was deadly. With each step he took, every ten of the puppets that rushed toward him fell to his sword, their heads severed with surgical precision. He moved like a ghost, his sword an extension of his will, cutting through the empty soldiers with ease. Blood stained the air, but Leon's focus was unwavering, his eyes locked onto the next wave, prepared for whatever came next.
Solus roared to life in Leon's grasp, her blade a flash of deadly grace as she cleaved through wave after wave of the puppet army. The sword sang with each strike, her transparent crystal blade humming with an eerie vibrancy. Blood and gore coated her surface, but she seemed to revel in the carnage, her yellow light intensifying with every body she tore through. It was as if the blade fed off the violence, growing brighter and fiercer the more it tasted of blood. The puppets, with their hollow eyes and soulless movements, stood little chance against such precision. Their crude armor did little to protect them, their weak attempts at offense easily countered by Leon's practiced movements. They were slow, clumsy, and uncoordinated—a stark contrast to the fluid, lethal dance that was Leon's combat style.
Leon had been forged in the crucible of martial sects since his youth, trained in countless styles and disciplines. His childhood had been spent moving from one sect to another, each time learning new techniques, new ways to wield a blade. By the time he left to join the Academy, his swordsmanship was as fluid as breathing, a skill that had become second nature. But it wasn't just the physical aspect of combat that set him apart—it was the discipline. The harsh, relentless training the sects instilled in him had shaped not only his body, but his mind, forging a level of control that was unmatched.
This was what allowed him to cut through the puppet army with such efficiency. They were predictable—barely able to tap into mana, their movements mechanical and devoid of intent. But Leon wasn't simply relying on raw strength; it was his control, his precision, that allowed him to dismantle them effortlessly. He was no longer just fighting with a blade—he was fighting with his entire being, every action a reflection of years of discipline and mastery.
Even as the fight raged on, Leon's body remained steady, his movements graceful, almost detached. He could feel the burn of mana inside him, the draining effect of tapping into his large reserves of mana. Yet, the sensation didn't faze him. His mastery over mana manipulation—what others called Mana folding—was so advanced that he could use the smallest quantities of mana in his attacks, conserving it, stretching every drop so that nothing went to waste. It was a technique he had discovered on his own, a skill he had perfected through trial and error, and it allowed him to continue using his powers back when he had been ill even though the typical cost would have burned through his lifespan.
When he arrived at the Ascendant Academy in Agartha, he had been more than capable, but it was there that he had refined his understanding of mana. His own research, coupled with the knowledge he had uncovered in secret texts, had allowed him to smooth out the process of mana folding, making it more efficient, more controlled. Now, even when he used his most powerful abilities, he could afford to push further, tapping into the raw energy of his mana reserve without worrying about the toll it would take on his body.
As the battlefield around him filled with the clatter of dismembered bodies and the screams of the dying, Leon's focus remained sharp. His movements were methodical, each slash calculated and purposeful. The puppets were no longer a threat—just obstacles to be cleared. And with every fallen body, Leon drew closer to his true goal, his sword singing louder and brighter with each victory.
His gaze settled on the one controlling the puppet army, a figure shrouded in shadows, manipulating the soldiers with a combination of advanced body manipulation and magitech—a dark fusion of magic and technology that allowed them to command such a vast force. The sight was unsettling, the puppeteer's presence radiating an unnatural influence over the soldiers. But Leon said nothing. His mind was already calculating the next step, his body in perfect sync with the flow of the battle.
With a single, deliberate motion, Leon layered his mana in two folds, weaving a complex Mystic art formula in the air before him. His mana hummed, charged with intention, as the formula coalesced into a brilliant golden beam of light. With a practiced swipe of his sword, he unleashed the beam, which cut through the swarm of puppets with ease. It was a display of raw power—his version of the Crescent Moon Slash, a technique he had perfected over the years. The beam tore through the air like a divine scythe, slicing through the enemy with surgical precision.
Mystic arts came in two main categories: Reinforcement techniques and Aura techniques. Reinforcement was straightforward—it amplified the user's physical and metaphysical capabilities. This was the third application of mana: enhancement. The second, more complex category, was Aura techniques. These involved invoking intricate formulas, each one imbuing the aura of mana with specific intentions. This aura, once formed, could be used in offense, defense, or support, turning the very essence of mana into a manifestation of willpower. This was the fifth step in mana application: Manifestation.
Across the universe, many sects, organizations, and martial groups had their own variations of Aura techniques. For the House of Leo, their signature technique was one that drew from the power of the Sun, as opposed to the more common Moon-based techniques. It was a unique and potent method—one that Leon had mastered through years of disciplined study and practice.
With a calm yet resolute stance, Leon invoked the Solar Ray Fang, the Sun-infused manifestation of his aura. Large rays of blinding light erupted from his sword, each one slashing through the air and incinerating the bodies of the puppet army. The beams cut through them with brutal efficiency, turning the soldiers to nothing but ash in the blink of an eye. The light burned with the intensity of the sun itself, its radiance searing everything in its path.
Leon continued to release a barrage of aura-projected blades, each one expanding the reach of his sword and enhancing his strikes. His movements were fluid, seamless—every slash, every beam, a natural extension of his body. He could feel Solus' enjoyment, a quiet thrill resonating through the blade as it cleaved through the puppets, but even as it reveled in the carnage, it remained restrained. Her state was still in Dusk mode—a calm, patient state, waiting for something more, something greater. Despite the onslaught, she had yet to expend much mana, maintaining a balance that Leon was carefully cultivating. With each strike, Leon felt the rhythm of the battle unfolding around him. His enemies were being decimated, but the true challenge still lay ahead—those who pulled the strings from the shadows.
Leon's combat style shifted with fluid precision, transitioning from the simple, focused Mystic art technique to the more complex and demanding Sword art techniques. Each movement became a seamless flow of energy and intention, his sword cleaving through the air with an artistry that drained more mana with every strike. Yet, even as he expended his energy, Leon was barely tapping into the depths of his reserves. Thanks to his unparalleled mana manipulation, he had only used a fraction of his energy—no more than five percent—while unleashing the full force of his techniques.
As he continued, Leon found his rhythm, a powerful resonance guiding his actions. Finally, he settled into his third Sword art, the Io Style, a method known for its raw speed and precision.
[Io Style: First Form – Swift Bolt]
With a flash of pure white light, Leon's sword shot forward, releasing a concentrated beam of light so fast that it was almost impossible to track. The beam hurtled toward the large swarm of puppets, decimating them in a flash of blinding brilliance. The force of the strike left nothing in its wake—just the scorched remnants of what had once been an army.
From above, Abaris watched the slaughter unfold. His intense thirst for battle grew stronger with every display of Leon's power. It was undeniable—the Haravok heir was both skilled and formidable. Yet, Abaris's gaze hardened as he noticed something else: Leon had barely tapped into his true potential, the Bloodline factor of his family seemingly untouched.
"Barely used the Bloodline factor of the Haravok family," Erewyn mused, watching with a calculating gaze. "Yet, his skills alone seem more than enough to handle those trash." The irony in his words wasn't lost on Abaris—the trash were his own creations, after all.
"I can't wait anymore," Abaris growled, his patience worn thin by the slow destruction of Erewyn's army. "I'm going in."
Erewyn waved his hand dismissively. "Fine. Do as you wish."
Without another word, Abaris leaped from the tower, hurling himself through the air with the force of a thunderclap. His massive form fell toward Leon like a looming storm, his ax pulled free from his back, crackling with mana as his battle intent exploded outward. Leon didn't even need his Internal senses to feel the shift in the atmosphere—the force heading his way was loud and clear, but he paid it no mind. He was focused on finishing what remained of Erewyn's army, his sword dancing through the air in a flurry of Solar Ray Fang slashes, cutting through the last of the puppet soldiers with ease.
Abaris, however, wasn't content to remain unnoticed. His fury surged as he saw Leon's indifference. The aristocrat's dismissal of him, the lack of attention paid to his impending assault, ignited something deep within him—a seething rage at being underestimated. He gripped his ax tightly, his mana flooding through the weapon, sharpening its edge to a near-glowing intensity. With a roar, he swung it downward, aiming to cleave Leon in half.
But Leon was faster. He stepped back with effortless grace, his sword moving in a blur as he narrowly avoided Abaris's attack. The blade danced through the air, a flash of gold as it cut toward Abaris's neck. The mercenary barely managed to twist away, using the momentum of his swing to propel himself backward, but not before a trickle of blood slipped down his neck. A warning, a reminder of Leon's lethal skill.
"You shouldn't have taken so long to come out," Leon said, his voice calm, almost dismissive. "Now that I've brushed off my rust, this is going to be so simple."
Abaris's mind burned with disbelief. They were both in the Sage realm, but Abaris was in the upper tier—his strength far superior to Leon's supposed lower tier. Yet, despite the disparity in their realms, Leon's prowess was undeniable, a vastness in skill that made Abaris feel small in comparison. The aristocrat's nonchalant attitude grated on him, fueling his determination.
With a snarl, Abaris unsheathed his second ax, ready to go all out. His body was enveloped in a shroud of aura, a clear sign that he was preparing to unleash his full power. This was the fourth mana application—Mantle—a technique that would amplify his strength to unimaginable levels. The air around him seemed to ripple with the intensity of his aura, a palpable force that filled the space between them.
Leon felt the shift in the atmosphere, the seriousness of his opponent becoming undeniable. Abaris was no longer holding back. The mantle of his aura surged with power, his muscles rippling with unnatural force.
ChatGPT said:
"Let's see what you've got," Leon said, his voice still calm, but a glint of anticipation flickered in his eyes. The words were simple, but the energy around him crackled with intent. Abaris moved in a flash, his massive axes now imbued with a force that surpassed anything Leon had encountered before. As Abaris swung, his axes emanated a raw, untamed mana that collided with Leon's sword. The blow sent Leon's blade veering off course, the force pushing it away with a power that surprised him.
The quality of the mana Abaris was exuding was unlike anything Leon had ever felt. It wasn't just potent—it was different, charged with a depth of energy that felt like an entirely new kind of power. Leon had seen this before, from Rex, and he knew what this was. This was Mana Force Variation, a specialized form of mana aligned to a particular force, element, or weapon archetype, imbuing it with unique properties. He had witnessed such power in his masters back in his martial sect, but no matter how well he had mastered his mana manipulation, he had never managed to tap into such force himself.
Back then, Leon had still been in the Awakening stage of cultivation. It was only those who reached the Harmonization stage that could tap into such potent forces. Now that Leon had ascended to Harmonization, a question lingered in his mind—Could he also harness this power?
His Hyperion eyes flickered to life as he analyzed the energy around him. His vision cut through the swirling mana, dissecting the intricate patterns as Abaris's ax met his sword. The Mana Force of the Ax overwhelmed Leon's blade, and for a brief moment, Leon felt the oppressive weight of Abaris's energy pressing down on him. A sense of suppression flooded his being, the pressure threatening to extinguish his own mana. With every strike, Leon's attacks felt less potent, as though his power was slowly being siphoned away by the sheer force of Abaris's mana.
Interesting, Leon thought, a spark of intrigue igniting within him. He increased his mana output, trying to match the force with quantity and manipulation. With his superior control, he hoped to overcome Abaris's sheer power.
Abaris, on the other hand, was taken aback. His Ax Force, a powerful, mana-specific energy tailored to his weapon, should have easily broken through Leon's defenses. But to his disbelief, Leon's defense held strong. His strikes, still growing firmer and more precise, were becoming more overpowering. The raw might of his offense was beginning to wear down Abaris's defenses, despite the immense power imbued in his axes.
Leon's lips curled into a faint smile as he transitioned into his next form.
[Io Style: Second Form – Perpetual Slash]
Solus surged forward with a speed that defied the eye, its blade slicing through the air like lightning. A flurry of ethereal blades erupted from Leon's movements, each one shimmering with an aura of deadly energy. The air seemed to vibrate as Leon's slashes came from all angles, relentless and unforgiving. Abaris felt a surge of fear wash over him—he was no longer fighting against a mere man with a sword, but a storm of precision and strength that cut through him with chilling accuracy.
Each strike from Leon's sword tore through Abaris's defenses, blood pouring from the gashes in his body. The sheer speed of the attack made it impossible for Abaris to react in time, and he struggled to maintain his footing as the relentless assault continued. To his disbelief, the sword's edge was slicing through his Mantle, the aura he had enveloped his body in for protection.
The mantle, designed to be a shield, had never faltered before. Yet, here it was, weakening with every slash. Abaris's mind raced in confusion—how could the mantle, a defense forged from his own aura, be pierced so easily? Leon's Hyperion eyes, however, saw through it all. The Divine-grade mystical eyes could analyze the strength and weaknesses of any technique, and Leon saw the small gaps in Abaris's defense—flaws in his aura that were thinner, less solid than the rest. Leon's blade cut through those gaps with surgical precision, finding weakness in what appeared to be an impenetrable defense.
If Abaris's mana manipulation had been on par with Leon's, perhaps his Mantle would have held. Or if his Ax Force mana had been as refined as Leon's Hyperion energy, perhaps it could have shattered Leon's strikes. But it wasn't. Leon's control over his mana, combined with his deeper reserves, gave him the edge. Abaris, despite his higher tier in the Sage realm, found himself slowly overwhelmed by the relentless force of Leon's strikes. The aristocrat's deeper mana pool allowed him to expend more energy, sustaining his attacks longer than Abaris could manage.
With each passing second, Leon's strikes grew more precise, more overwhelming, as he adapted to Abaris's movements. The balance of power between them shifted imperceptibly at first, but it was clear: Leon's control, his years of experience, and his mastery over his mana were breaking through Abaris's defenses. It didn't take long before Leon's relentless assault finally shattered one of Abaris's axes with a resounding crack, and the very tip of Solus's blade sliced through the side of Abaris's face.
Abaris's reaction was swift, but not fast enough. His body blurred as he executed a movement technique to avoid the full brunt of the strike, but the damage was done. Blood poured from the deep gash along the side of his bald head, staining his skin a vivid crimson. Leon's gaze remained cold as he flicked Solus with a casual motion, wiping the blood from its blade. He observed the wound, and to his surprise, he watched as it began to heal at an astonishing rate. The flesh knitted together with unnatural speed, the skin pulling itself together as if time itself were reversing.
Leon's eyes narrowed as he watched. Of course, he thought. At the Harmonization stage, an Ascendant's healing speed was far superior to that of someone in the Awakening stage. Even the mana that should have sustained the wound seemed to have burned away, unable to keep up with the speed of his healing. Abaris, despite the damage, was already mending himself, his body recovering far faster than Leon had anticipated.
But Leon was no fool. He knew there was only one way to finish this fight, one way to ensure Abaris wouldn't regenerate again. His aura flared, rising like a wave of power that suffused the very air around him. The intensity of his presence made the hairs on Abaris's body stand on end, a visceral reaction to the sheer force emanating from the aristocrat. Solus hummed with energy, its crystal blade vibrating with the buildup of power. The blade shifted, leaving the calm Dusk mode and entering the Dawn mode, the Morning phase of its state. The once-gentle yellow light inside the crystal intensified, now enveloping the entire blade, its radiance almost blinding. The light was no longer merely a reflection—it had become an entity unto itself, solidified into the very form of the sword.
Blue sparks crackled along the edges of Solus as the blade pulsed with an ethereal energy. Leon's expression hardened, the sword in his hand now an extension of his will as he invoked his most powerful technique. The air around them seemed to hum with energy as Leon prepared to unleash the full force of his Heavenly Radiance Sword Art.
[Heavenly Radiance: Stellar Rend]
The moment Leon's will coalesced, the blue light surged forward. It was more than just a light—it carried with it an irresistible force, an attractive pull that latched onto Abaris. His body was drawn toward the blade as if the very fabric of reality itself was bending to Leon's will. Abaris's eyes widened in disbelief as he realized he was being pulled into the attack, the full force of Leon's mana locking onto him.
With a fluid motion, Leon slashed down, sending a gravitational blade wave tearing through the air. The concussive force of the attack was like the weight of the stars themselves crashing down, the strike cutting through Abaris's defenses with brutal efficiency. The wave of energy sliced through him with such devastating power that it cleaved his body into two parts, the shockwave reverberating through the air. The crack of the impact was deafening, and for a split second, everything seemed to freeze.
Abaris's body crumpled in two, the blood from his wound mixing with the shattered remnants of his aura. His healing ability was powerless against the force of Leon's final strike. Leon stood over the fallen mercenary, his chest rising and falling with steady breaths, his sword still glowing with the remnants of the Heavenly Radiance. The battle was over.
Abaris, for all his power and aura, was no match for Leon's relentless control and the overwhelming might of his techniques.