Chapter 9
The air seemed to thicken, heavy with the leader's presence, as if the atmosphere rebelled against my approach. I (Johan) thought, my mind racing to understand the sensation. It was as if an unseen force had pushed me back, making each step feel like wading through quicksand.
The leader's gaze, like a physical weight bore down on Astra, its irritation palpable. I seized the momentary distraction to strike, my sword biting into the air with a fierce cry. But the impact was a hollow thud - my blade felt like a thin paper to the leader's skin.
The leader's roar sent me crashing to the ground, my vision blurring and power waning as I was flattened by an unseen force. My body is straining against the pressure. I felt like my very bones had shattered under the strain, and my body was heavy and unresponsive. Across the battlefield, Vivian's voice was laced with worry: "Astra, I'm sorry I can't use my magic." Astra's calm response was a reassuring counterpoint: "No problem, just focus it is the leader's skill.
I gritted my teeth, frustration and desperation clawing at me. The leader's skill? "Yet you Astra could move freely while I couldn't." Was I that weak compared to you? I forced myself to look away from him, my gaze locking into the leader's triumphant face. My body is screaming in agony as I haul myself to my feet, determination burning within me.
The leader's attention shifted back to me, and I steeled myself ready to attack.
"You want to fight me in this sorry state?" he sneered, his voice low yet sharp in the cavernous room.
"What if I do?" I replied, my voice firm and resolute despite the agony that threatened to consume me.
I charged forward, my sword flashing in the dim light, the sound of clashing steel echoing off the stone-cold walls. The leader is a force of nature, his movement fluid and deadly. He parried my strike with ease, his massive sword slicing through the air with a deafening whoosh. "What a pitiful strike," he taunted, his voice dripping with contempt. "This is how it is done!" he said.
The sword descended upon me greatly like a guillotine, the blade glinting with deadly power. I parry, but the impact was like a thunderclap, blunt but sending shockwaves from my arm to my legs through my spine, making me numb. I staggered backward, my vision blurring from the force of the blow.
Despite the leader's overwhelming superiority, I refused to back down. My determination burned like a fire within me, fueling my exhausted body and driving me forward. I gritted my teeth, my vision narrowing to the single-minded focus of defeating my opponent. The clash of our swords was a cacophony of steel on steel, his superior strength and experience were evident in every strike.
As I fought on, I felt my body screaming in protest, my muscles burning with exhaustion. But I refused to yield, my spirit unbroken. His superiority was a crushing weight, but I was determined to prove my worth.
I continued with my frenzied attack, but the leader's expression remained unimpressed. "Is this all your effort amounts to?" he sneered in a low, mocking tone. The words stung, and I felt a surge of determination. Effort? When had I ever truly put in effort? I recalled my high school days, running track for my school. Coach Patric's words echoed in my mind: "The more effort you put in, the higher your efficiency. You're a talented athlete, but don't rely on talent alone. Use your mind and your effort to guide your efficiency."
I remembered the feeling of fatigue, my legs heavy, my lungs burning. But Coach Patric's voice had driven me forward, urging me to push beyond my limits. I recalled the sense of accomplishment when I finally reached my goal, the rush of endorphins as I crossed the finish line. It was a moment of clarity, and I knew exactly what to do.
With my renewed focus, I poured my heart and soul into my battle. My movements became more precise, my strikes more calculated. I slashed him on his right chest as he was caught off guard by my sudden improvement, stumbling backward as I pressed my advantage. The memory of Coach Patric's words fueled my determination and I was ready to win.
I pressed forward, my determination fueled by the leader's formidable strength. The clash of our blades echoed through the room, each strike resonating with our unyielding intent to conquer. "You look different," the leader sneered, a smirk spreading across his face. "Yeah," I retorted, "because I'm going to win."
I charged towards him, our swords meeting in a whirlwind of steel and sparks. Vivian's voice cut through the din, "He's gaining the upper hand!" Astra seemed to be wrapping up his own battle, but I couldn't afford to divide my attention.
The leader's sword sent me crashing to the ground, but I sprang to my feet, my grip on my blade tightening as I felt my power surging. I use every ounce of skill to close the distance, unleashing a flurry of strikes that push the leader back.
The battle raged on, our swords clashing in a deadly dance. I parried and riposted, gaining momentum with each strike. As I closed in on the final blow, Vivian and Astra's eyes widened in unison, their face etched with surprise and astonishment.
In a flash, I found myself standing over the leader's bisected body, my sword still trembling with the force of the blow. The leader's eyes locked onto mine, his voice weak but laced with curiosity, " Warrior, what's your name?"
I let out a triumphant roar, "Johan!!!!" The name echoed through the room. "What's yours?" I asked. "What use is a dead warrior's name?" He replied, his voice barely audible as his expression turned cold.
The room fell into silence once more, the heavy breathing of we three companions and the faint echo of footsteps being the only sound heard.