Bab 70: Peak?
--- Akira ---
"...No matter. I shall deal with you."
He chuckled, as if the outcome of the fight had already been decided before it even began.
Drawing my sword, I saw no need for further words. Instead, I opted to initiate the fight with some preliminary testing.
When would I ever encounter such a prime specimen for testing, with a commendable level of Combat Prowess?
Let's see what your 'peak' looks like.
I couldn't help but smirk as I took a step, activating my [Shadow Step] skill.
While the description was rather abstract, reality told a different story.
The ability to manipulate the Realm of Shadows granted me the power to traverse anywhere there was a shadow in just a single step.
In theory, I could teleport to any location as long as I sensed or saw a shadow in that specific coordinate. However, given the high stamina cost associated with moving through shadows, I hadn't attempted more than short distances yet.
In this manner, it took an instant to reach his side, and I swung my sword.
As expected, he sensed the impending strike, the glint of realization flickering in his eyes.
With uncanny reflexes, he brought his own blade to intercept, and the collision echoed through the air like a thunderclap.
It sent shockwaves rippling through the air, the sheer force behind it creating a powerful wind current that whipped through the surroundings like a tempest unleashed.
He must've believed that was the extent of my capabilities, but there's something he's overlooking.
He wielded his sword with both hands.
I, on the other hand, used only one.
A new skill made its debut in the midst of the fight without hesitation.
I conjured a sword made of slime jelly and employed [Sky Slash].
Caught off guard, his expression shifted from confidence to confusion in an instant, his eyes widening in surprise as he realized my intent.
Locked in a stalemate, he hadn't expected another move, especially not one so bold.
That's an easy way to exploit my overwhelming physical strength.
The arc of my sword was swift and precise, tracing a path through the air with deadly accuracy. It cut through the space between us like a bolt of lightning, aimed directly at his exposed arm.
As my blade made contact, his expression turned from surprise to shock, then to pain. His face contorted in agony as the blade sliced through his flesh, leaving a deep gash in its wake.
Blood sprayed in all directions, painting the air crimson and splattering across the floor. Some of it landed on me, warm and sticky, but in the heat of the moment, I paid it no mind.
I tore through muscle and sinew with ease, soon reaching the bone. His cries of pain echoed through the room, as I smirked in satisfaction.
It's not the end for you, yet.
Before he could utter some cringy ass villain line, his body started convulsing, contorted by unseen forces as if something was tearing him apart from within.
With a sickening sound, wings of light burst forth from his body, their radiant glow illuminating the darkness.
Fenrir's eyes widened in shock and disbelief as the wings pierced through him, emerging from his flesh like ethereal blades. Agony contorted his features, his mouth opening in a silent scream as the light tore through his insides.
With a guttural sound, he doubled over, clutching his abdomen as if trying to hold himself together. Fountains of blood spurted from every pore of his body, staining the ground beneath him even further as he struggled to remain upright...
It's hard to gauge the exact extent of the damage inflicted, but seeing the wings of light enveloping half of his body, it's safe to say he's not in good shape.
He gasped for breath, clutching his chest in agony as he was trembling.
"How dare... how dare... how dare you....!" His words were barely audible, but they meant nothing to me as I swung my sword once more, this time aiming for his head.
Yet, he unleashed a surge of Magical Power that forcefully pushed me away.
Despite the considerable damage I thought I had dealt—enough to end most beings—he showcased a regeneration ability that went even beyond my expectations. It was a surreal sight, like witnessing nature in reverse.
The severed arm, which had moments ago been a gruesome mess, began to twitch. Threads of magical energy wove through the air, knitting muscle, bone, and sinew together with an otherworldly precision. The torn edges of flesh fused seamlessly.
In a matter of seconds, the radiant wings vanished, and every wound on his body was sealed shut.
Well, it seems this won't be so easy.
Much better. There's still a myriad of techniques I have yet to test against a Knight of Rounds.
He swiftly shifted to the offensive, an incredulous expression on his face as if grappling with the reality that someone he deemed incapable of even scratching him had severed his arm.
---
'As expected, he's skilled.'
Our clash continued, swords meeting with such force that the surrounding terrain crumbled under the impact.
One realization dawned on me amid the intense exchanges.
Compared to anyone I've ever fought, he's on a different class.
'...From the right'
That's the warning my mind issued, yet I couldn't trust my own senses.
His ability to deceive and misdirect was so profound that even my own Skills struggled to predict the trajectory of his sword accurately.
In a high-stakes battle where every millisecond matters, this became a significant disadvantage. A delayed reaction could only lead to one outcome.
Absolute defeat.
That's how and why I had been on the receiving end for quite a while.
While my [Turtle Shell] offered a shield against the blade's edge, it couldn't ward off the impact that reverberated through my body with every clash.
Having employed surprise tactics earlier, I could sense his heightened vigilance now. Catching him off guard won't be a stroll in the park anymore.
And let's not gloss over the stamina drain caused by my skills. If this skirmish drags on, I'll be the one left gasping for breath and staring at defeat.
He flashed me a smug grin, utterly convinced of his impending victory.
I paid no heed to his attempt to provoke a response. Instead, I unleashed my [Sky Sword Art] at its maximum potential.
Against anyone else, he might have easily won. But the opponent happened to be me.
Once again, he swung his sword, expecting me to dodge as I had done before, leaving myself vulnerable to his attack.
But this time, I had a different plan. Instead of evading, I closed my eyes and waited.
I stood unwavering, not budging an inch, and as anticipated, his sword swept past me by the narrowest margin, leaving me unscathed.
Now.
I pushed my [Body Strengthening] to its limits, feeling my Magical Power drain rapidly. But in the heat of the moment, that was inconsequential.
My body could finally keep the pace of my computational speed.
In a single decisive motion, I swung my sword. His blade met mine halfway, triggering a potent explosion of Magical Power that engulfed the space around us.
That's not enough.
I swung my sword without pause.
It prevented his blade from tearing into my head.
Once more, I swung it, denying his strike that aimed to cleave my body in two.
Again, and again, I swung.
Our blades clashed fiercely, but like a Lion guarding its territory, my sword remained steadfast, denying him any opportunity to break through.
"...H-How could it be. He learned to counter me in such a short amount of time!? Could he possibly..."
That's exactly what happened.
Every sword style, no matter how intricate, follows a discernible pattern.
This observation dawned on me early in my studies.
However, there were exceptions, like the Drunken style. Its pattern was so eccentric that attempting to decipher it seemed futile.
I mean, it's just a drunkard flailing about with a sword, right?
Ironically, that's one of the styles I've always kept my eye on.
In every book I've perused, it's treated as a joke, but is it truly such a foolish style?
If only the authors took a moment to delve into it, they'd recognize its depth.
In reality, that seemingly chaotic and entirely unconventional style stands as one of the most potent expressions of technique in a swordsman.
It's like loudly proclaiming you've reached the summit.
Given Fenrir's aspiration to master martial arts, I can see why he's drawn to this style.
Only those with strength truly comprehend its depths.
Yet, there appears to be a misunderstanding.
The pinnacle he stands upon is nothing more than a shallow valley.
He's certainly strong. The strongest person I've even fought, even.
However, that's the extent of his distinction. He lacks uniqueness, devoid of any purpose. Just a fanatic obsessed with strength.
His sword did not tell me anything, and that is a sign, he's forever destined to stay at this level.
He's attained the pinnacle of his capabilities, achieved all he ever could in his pathetic life.
Still, thank you for the treat. Your entire legacy shall be assimilated into my [Sky Sword Technique].
---
Author's Note:
Akira's Cold.
This was more of a "let's explore Akira's fighting style more" rather than a proper fight, which will come next chapter. As always, do you have any opinions? I'd be glad to hear them!
If you noticed, I am continually changing the way I describe fights. It's up to you readers to tell me if this version is better than the last one or worse, so that I can understand which style to stick to!
So, if you think that was bad, please do tell me.
Also, feel free to join the discord if you want. Link in the synopsis of the novel or in the auxiliar chap.
Status Power Mingguan
-- Peringkat
Power 
-- Power
stone