Bab 424: The Weight of Inevitability
What did it mean to win?
To gain victory, to stand above, to surpass another—what was the essence of such desires? Why did humanity, endlessly restless, strive for triumph, as though driven by some ancient, unyielding instinct? Perhaps the answer lay buried deep within their marrow, a relic of survival itself.
To win meant to live. To thrive. To pass on your strength, your legacy, to the next generation. Even now, in the dazzling modernity of the world, that primal urge lingered. Victory was the anthem of humanity.
Lucifer Windward understood this truth better than most. Victory wasn't just a goal; it was the foundation of his existence. Winning was woven into the fabric of his being, as essential as breathing and as natural as the steady beat of his heart.
For him, victory wasn't a hope or an aspiration. It was a certainty.
The brightest talent. The greatest potential. The supreme heir to the future of humankind. These were the titles whispered in awe whenever his name was spoken. The world had carved a throne for him long before he could even sit on it.
Lucifer was the destined savior, the talent who would rise to peak Radiant-rank and perhaps beyond, the one to cleanse Earth of the black mana species and reclaim the stars for humanity. This was his path. His inevitability.
Even among the extraordinary, he was singular. His light was unparalleled, outshining every rival, every foe. Wealth, strength, adoration, and love—all of it was meant to fall at his feet. The world had placed him at the center, and he had accepted its orbit without question.
Until he met Arthur.
The memory brought a faint smile to his lips as he ascended the stairs to the stage. His verdant eyes swept over the sea of spectators, their faces lit with anticipation, and the high-tech cameras capturing the moment for all the world to witness.
This was his stage. And yet, his gaze couldn't linger on the crowd. His eyes were drawn, as they always were, to the man standing across the arena.
Arthur Nightingale.
A few inches shorter than Lucifer, with long black hair that framed a face of quiet intensity and azure eyes that seemed to pierce through all pretense.
Even now, Lucifer felt it—a primal shiver running down his spine. His Sword Heart, almost instinctively, began to pulse in response, its rhythmic beat quickening as though bracing for what lay ahead. His God's Eyes flared to life, sharpening his vision as he scanned Arthur with meticulous care.
'So strong.'
The thought came unbidden, laced with genuine admiration. Lucifer had faced countless opponents, each one a stepping stone on his journey to ascendancy. But Arthur was different. He wasn't a stone to step over—he was a mountain to conquer.
Arthur Nightingale was stronger than any Mythos Academy student in recorded history, surpassing even the legendary prodigies who had come before. And they still had two years before graduation.
Lucifer's smile widened, an edge of anticipation glinting in his verdant eyes.
The world had always expected him to win. It demanded his triumph, a narrative of effortless supremacy that would elevate him to his rightful throne. And for most of his life, that expectation had been a comfort, a truth as immutable as the laws of mana itself.
But Arthur? Arthur was different. He wasn't part of the script.
For the first time, Lucifer faced a rival who made him question not just his strength but the very foundations of his being.
And then Arthur surged past him entirely, ascending to a height so incomprehensibly vast that Lucifer felt himself plummeting, grappling for purchase at the bottom of a chasm that seemed to deepen with every heartbeat. It wasn't just the difference in power; it was the terrifying realization that Arthur was playing a game far beyond what Lucifer had imagined.
Lucifer exhaled slowly, his breath steady but carrying the weight of his resolve. His eyes closed for a moment, centering himself. He couldn't afford to falter—not now, not here. He had waited too long for this match.
The announcer's voice rang out, signaling the start, and the world around him seemed to fade. The crowd, the distant hum of technology, even the oppressive gaze of the cameras—all of it dissolved into a singular moment. His Sword Heart thumped in his chest, steady and powerful, as if keeping time with the rhythm of destiny itself.
Then, he let go.
A storm of mana erupted from Lucifer's body, unfurling like a tempest that consumed the arena. The sheer magnitude of it made the air shiver, a palpable wave that pressed against the barrier spells surrounding the stage.
It was his Gift, fully unleashed—the Yin-Yang Body in all its terrifying complexity. Six elements spiraled around him in perfect harmony, intertwining like threads in an unbreakable tapestry. Fire, water, wind, earth, lightning, and ice—they didn't just coalesce; they cycled through him, saturating every cell, every muscle, every thought.
But it wasn't raw chaos. It was precision.
The Fuller method of spellcasting wove through the storm, stabilizing the maelstrom of mana and shaping it into something far more potent. His God's Eyes, glowing faintly, calculated every adjustment with inhuman efficiency, streamlining the energy flow and eliminating waste. It was mana mastery elevated to an art form.
Seven-circle spell: Yin-Yang Astral Armor
The spell flared into existence, a seven-circle magic layered with the purest astral energy his Sword Heart could produce. It glimmered like a second skin, each layer pulsating with the energy of the six elements. Ordinarily, such a feat would demand a catastrophic toll on mana reserves, but his Gift balanced the impossible.
Lucifer moved.
The ground cracked beneath him as he exploded forward, his body a blur of elemental force. His sword arced through the air, the movement imbued with astral precision. There was no hesitation, no miscalculation—only the promise of sheer, unrelenting power.
Arthur was waiting.
His sword zipped upward, meeting Lucifer's strike head-on. The clash was instantaneous and deafening, a shockwave rippling outward that rattled the barriers and made the watching crowd flinch. Sparks of mana and astral energy scattered like fleeting stars as the two forces collided.
Lucifer's teeth clenched. The weight of Arthur's blade was not just physical; it carried the intent of someone who had long since mastered the art of battle. It felt less like meeting another swordsman and more like confronting the very concept of inevitability.
But Lucifer did not yield. He wouldn't.
He stepped closer, pressing the attack. His Sword Heart pumped astral energy into his strikes, amplifying his speed and precision. Each swing of his blade flowed seamlessly into the next, a torrent of offense that gave no quarter. His elements flared with every movement—fire igniting his blade, wind sharpening its edge, and earth reinforcing his stance.
Arthur countered with equal grace, his blade moving in ways that defied logic. Each parry felt like a dance, fluid and deliberate, as though he had already seen Lucifer's moves before they were made. His strikes weren't just reactive—they were surgical, each one probing for the tiniest crack in Lucifer's unrelenting storm.
Lucifer felt his frustration growing. Not because he was losing ground—he wasn't. But neither was he gaining it.
"Is this all?" Arthur asked, his voice calm but laced with a challenge. His azure eyes locked onto Lucifer's, and for a fleeting moment, the world seemed to pause.
Lucifer's grip tightened. "You haven't seen anything yet."
His astral energy surged, and his next strike carried the force of a landslide. Arthur met it, their swords grinding against each other in a furious stalemate. The barrier around them flickered, struggling to contain the raw energy of their clash.
Lucifer shifted, twisting his blade to redirect Arthur's and forcing him to take a half step back. It wasn't much, but it was an opening, and Lucifer pressed it with a flurry of strikes, each one faster and sharper than the last.
Arthur spun, using the momentum to his advantage. His counterattack was swift, a single arc of light-infused astral energy that carved through Lucifer's defense like a blade through silk. Lucifer barely avoided the strike, the edge of the energy grazing his armor and dispersing into the air.
His mind sharpened, focused. 'This armor won't hold against his strikes.' The realization wasn't bitter; it was a cold, calculated truth. A truth he intended to transcend.
He exhaled slowly, touching the tip of his blade to the ground. The arena seemed to hush, the noise of the crowd fading into the background. Within him, something stirred—a chill that wasn't merely cold but absolute, profound, and all-consuming.
Lucifer's eyes closed, his breath misting in the air. Then, it began.
A surge of pure ice astral energy erupted from his body, spreading outward in an unforgiving torrent. The temperature plummeted as the world around him seemed to shift, the ice energy warping space itself. The ground beneath his feet cracked and froze over, jagged peaks of ice rising like the skeletal remains of a shattered realm.
This was the second movement of the Myth of Northern Peak: Cocytus's Descent.
The technique aimed to mimic the legendary nine-circle ice spell, Cocytus—the pinnacle of ice magic. While no martial movement could replicate that spell's terrifying majesty, the Myth of Northern Peak sought to echo its essence. The energy compressed within Lucifer's Sword Heart surged forth, sculpted into an icy domain that promised despair.
But this time, Lucifer's descent was different.
Before, his execution of the movement had been a hollow facsimile, a technical triumph devoid of soul. The feelings that birthed Cocytus's Descent—despair, loss, isolation—had never been his. Talent alone had carried him, but it had always rung hollow.
Now, though, he understood.
The yawning chasm he had felt beneath Arthur's overwhelming power, the shadows of inadequacy and defeat that had threatened to consume him—these were no longer abstract notions. They were etched into his very being. And as his astral energy surged, that understanding breathed life into the cold hell he conjured.
The temperature fell even further, frost crawling up the barriers surrounding the stage. Ice formed fractals in the air, beautiful and deadly, the intricate patterns shimmering with light as they descended upon Arthur like a merciless avalanche.
Lucifer's expression remained calm, but his body radiated the truth: this was no mere spar. This was the first time he had ever fought with his full heart.
Arthur, standing amidst the swirling maelstrom, didn't flinch. His azure eyes flickered with something rare—surprise, perhaps even admiration—as his sigils flared to life. The space around him distorted, warped by the sheer force of his will and power.
And then he moved.
Arthur's blade rose, and with it came a force that seemed to deny the existence of cold itself. The chilling descent of Cocytus met an immovable mountain, a force of nature that pushed back against Lucifer's technique with brutal finality.
The Hollow Eclipse shattered Cocytus's descent.
The world around them cracked like glass, Lucifer's ice fractals splintering and falling away. For the briefest moment, silence reigned, broken only by the hiss of vapor as the frost melted in the face of Arthur's relentless power.
Lucifer's eyes narrowed, his God's Eyes glowing faintly as they analyzed every flicker of movement, every subtle shift in Arthur's expression. He saw the faintest flicker of surprise there, quickly masked by the calm confidence that defined Arthur's bearing.
Lucifer surged forward, his sword a blur. He wouldn't falter. Not now.
Arthur responded immediately, his blade flowing into the Spectral Sword technique. The spectral strikes came fast, each one a ripple of pure astral energy that shimmered like phantoms in the cold air. Their speed was daunting, their precision flawless, but Lucifer was ready.
His God's Eyes tracked every spectral arc, their predictive power giving him a fraction of a second's advantage. He shifted his stance, parrying the first strike and stepping into the second, his blade intercepting it cleanly. Sparks of astral energy danced around them as he countered, each movement deliberate and razor-sharp.
Status Power Mingguan
-- Peringkat
Power 
-- Power
stone