Bab 310: The Edge of Defeat
I drew in sharp, ragged breaths, each one louder than the last. My chest heaved as my heart thundered in my ears, a drumbeat of survival.
I couldn't help it.
The enemy before me wasn't just strong; he was overwhelming.
This was no ordinary cultist. He was bonded to the Vampire Ancestor battling Sun—a step beneath her in raw power, perhaps, but only just. His strength was staggering, the kind that resided at the bottom rung of Immortal-rank. Against someone like him, winning wasn't just improbable; it was impossible.
Even if I somehow reached Ascendant-rank in this instant, the gulf between us would remain insurmountable.
But I wasn't here to win. That was never the plan.
I just had to hold him back. Long enough. Distract him, stall him—whatever it took to keep him occupied and give the others a chance.
'I've come so far,' I thought, my grip tightening on the hilt of my Eclipse Blade. Images of the past flashed unbidden in my mind. Two and a half years ago, I had stood at the base of Mythos Academy, dwarfed by the strength of its professors, men and women who seemed like untouchable demigods to me. They were forces of nature back then, their power incomprehensible to the weaker, naive version of myself.
Now, here I was. Staring down an enemy whose might eclipsed all but the very greatest of those professors. Valerie von Lampez, Magnus Draykar—they surpassed him. But for the rest, this man was a nightmare come to life.
It was an accomplishment to even be standing here, facing him.
But I couldn't let that thought distract me. Accomplishments didn't matter in a fight for survival.
The cultist's eyes narrowed, his sword cutting through the air with deadly precision. Astral energy coalesced around his blade, a brilliant surge of destructive force aimed directly at me.
I reacted instinctively, bringing up my Eclipse Blade, its layers of pseudo astral energy wrapping tightly around it like a protective shroud. The two forces collided with a crackling roar, the clash of energies sending shockwaves through the air.
Astral energy was superior to pseudo astral energy—there was no denying that. It was purer, more potent, its very existence a step above my own power. But my mana technique, honed through countless battles and sheer willpower, bridged the gap. I poured more mana into my defense than I could afford, forcing the energies to meet as equals, if only for a moment.
The impact pushed me back, my feet digging into the ground as I slid several meters before regaining my balance. My arms ached from the force of the clash, and my lungs burned, but I couldn't falter.
The cultist tilted his head, his expression cold and calculating. "Interesting," he said, his voice smooth and mocking. "You're not Ascendant-rank, yet you blocked that. Impressive. For a mortal."
His condescension was palpable, his every word dripping with disdain. But I didn't respond. Talking would only waste energy I couldn't spare. Instead, I focused, drawing on every ounce of my strength, every fragment of skill I had honed to survive.
My blade pulsed with renewed energy, the pseudo astral layers shifting subtly as I adjusted my stance. This wasn't just about holding him back—it was about lasting long enough to make it count.
The cultist moved again, faster this time, his blade slicing through the air like a streak of light. I met his strike head-on, the clang of metal reverberating like a thunderclap. Each blow sent tremors through my body, each clash a reminder of how close I was skating to the edge of defeat.
'I just need to hold,' I told myself, gritting my teeth as I parried another strike. 'A little longer. Just a little longer.'
The cultist smiled, a predator's grin. "Let's see how long you can last, boy."
And so, the battle continued. A dance of survival and desperation, where every second felt like an eternity. I was outmatched, outpowered, and outclassed.
But I wasn't out yet.
At the same time, I could sense the growing frustration in my opponent. His strikes grew sharper, more aggressive, and there was a palpable shift in his demeanor. His eyes narrowed, his lips pressed into a thin line.
He had had enough.
Without warning, the world around me twisted. A crushing force enveloped the battlefield as he unleashed his Sword Domain. The air thickened, heavy with his intent, and I felt the oppressive weight of his power pressing down on me. It wasn't just a passive effect—it was an entire battlefield warped to his will, where every motion of his blade carried the weight of an army.
And then, as if to make matters worse, I saw it. His movements shifted, becoming more deliberate, more refined. His blade glowed with a vivid brilliance, astral energy swirling like a storm around its edge. He was executing a Grade 5 art.
This wasn't just another strike. This was an art designed to kill.
The Sword Domain magnified the attack, amplifying the sheer force and precision behind it. I could feel it before it even landed—the overwhelming power, the inevitability of it. This wasn't a battle I was meant to survive, not against an Immortal-rank opponent wielding such mastery.
But I couldn't allow despair to creep in. Not now.
I steadied my breathing, drawing on every ounce of focus I had left. My grip on the Eclipse Blade tightened, the layers of pseudo astral energy flaring brighter in response. His Domain might dominate the battlefield, but it couldn't dominate my will.
I couldn't overpower him—not directly. But I could adapt. I had to.
As his blade descended, I moved, channeling every fragment of speed and precision I possessed. The clash of his Grade 5 art against my Eclipse Blade was deafening, a burst of light and force that rippled outward, shaking the ground beneath us. My arms screamed in protest, the force threatening to tear my weapon from my hands, but I held on.
The impact sent me skidding back, my boots carving grooves into the earth as I fought to stay upright. My breath came in ragged gasps, my body aching from the strain. But I was still standing.
Barely.
The cultist's face twisted into a snarl, his frustration now undeniable. "Why won't you fall?" he demanded, his voice a growl.
I didn't answer. I didn't have the breath to waste. All I could do was raise my blade again, battered but unbroken, and prepare for the next onslaught.
Finally, a glimmer of hope pierced through the oppressive weight of the battle.
The cultist's relentless movements halted, his blade frozen mid-air as his gaze shifted. His eyes darted toward something behind him, his expression darkening with frustration. He hesitated for a moment, his jaw clenching tightly, the sound of grinding teeth audible even over the chaos of the battlefield.
Then, without a word, he turned his back on me. His figure blurred as he darted away, disappearing into the shadows with a speed that left the air rippling in his wake.
Relief washed over me like a tidal wave, though I didn't dare lower my guard. My knuckles ached from the grip on my sword, my breathing was ragged, but for now, I had survived.
Status Power Mingguan
-- Peringkat
Power 
-- Power
stone