章節 294: Martial King I
Magnus stared up at Caladros, the Vampire Monarch, his breath steady but his muscles trembling under the strain of deflecting the spear's unrelenting thrust. The weight behind that strike, the sheer precision of it, sent an undeniable truth rippling through his mind.
Caladros was stronger.
Stronger than Marcus Viserion, the Draconic Warden, whose spear Magnus had once bested with pride. Stronger than any foe Magnus had faced in his meteoric rise to mid Radiant-rank.
The blood and night astral energy coiled around Caladros's spear like living things, pulsing with an unnatural rhythm. It wasn't just power—it was mastery. Each thrust and sweep of the weapon seemed to blend seamlessly with the very fabric of the night, a harmony that cracked space-time itself. When the spear collided with Magnus's unified astral blade, the shockwaves rippled outward, splintering the fractured battlefield further.
Magnus countered with a precise swing, aiming to parry the oncoming blow, but Caladros was faster. His spear moved like a serpent, twisting around Magnus's blade with a deceptive elegance before darting toward Magnus's side. The strike landed, sending the Martial King hurtling back through the void-like remnants of their shattered domains.
Magnus gritted his teeth as he recovered, his body knitting itself back together from the damage—a process that had repeated itself far too many times in this fight. His own physical form had been destroyed entirely on several occasions, each regeneration slower and more taxing than the last. Meanwhile, Caladros had only suffered such destruction once. The gap between them was as clear as the crimson glow of the Vampire Monarch's eyes.
It was undeniable.
Caladros was stronger.
Yet, Magnus grinned.
How long had it been since he had felt this way? Truly tested, pushed to the edge of his limits and beyond? Ever since he had ascended to mid Radiant-rank, he had been peerless. His strength, his skill, his sheer presence had dwarfed those of his contemporaries. The other Radiant-rankers, as talented as they were, could not match him. He had crushed every opponent, shattered every challenge, until the thrill of combat had become a distant memory.
Even now, as he watched his disciple Arthur Nightingale rise with astonishing speed, the boy remained a long way from his level. Magnus had stood alone at the peak, untouchable and unchallenged.
But this? This was different.
Caladros's spear was not just a weapon; it was an extension of his very being. Each movement was calculated, precise, and devastating, a perfect fusion of power and artistry. In every conceivable way, the Vampire Monarch was ahead of Magnus. His technique, his power, even his vampiric physiology gave him an edge that Magnus could not deny.
And yet, the grin on Magnus's face widened, a wild glint sparking in his eyes. This was what he had been waiting for. This was what he had craved. A fight where he was not the predator but the prey. Where every strike demanded more of him, where his instincts screamed, where survival was no guarantee.
"You're good," Magnus said, his voice low but charged with exhilaration. He steadied his blade, the shimmering astral energy flickering like a restless flame. "Better than anyone I've faced."
Caladros's expression didn't change, though his crimson eyes seemed to gleam with faint amusement. "Flattery won't save you, human," he said, his voice smooth, as though the fight was a mere trifle to him. "You've already lost. You just don't know it yet."
Magnus laughed, a deep, resonant sound that echoed across the broken space-time of their battlefield. "Lost? Maybe. But you're forgetting one thing, Caladros."
The Vampire Monarch tilted his head, curious despite himself. "And what is that?"
Magnus's grin turned feral. "I've always been at my best when I'm losing."
With that, he charged again, his blade alive with the fury of a thousand battles, his will burning brighter than ever.
The Martial King couldn't falter—not yet. Not while humanity's hope rested on his shoulders. He was Rank 1, the strongest of humanity, its unyielding shield against the darkness.
Magnus Draykar's blade, Nyxthar, thrummed with power, a symphony of astral energy resonating within it as he shifted into the first movement of his Grade 6 art.
Void Cut.
The blade's edge shimmered, bending the very fabric of reality as it prepared to cleave through all in its path. Across from him, Caladros von Noctis moved with equal purpose, his spear enveloped in a spiraling lance of blood-red energy. The weapon pulsed with his life force, infused with the deadly synergy of blood and night astral energy.
Caladros thrust forward, his lance spinning violently, its crimson light warping the air around it. The Vampire Monarch had unleashed his own Grade 6 movement, a technique that bled the world dry of light and hope.
The battlefield twisted under their wills, the space-time axis bending and buckling, unable to withstand the titanic forces colliding within it. Each warrior sought to seize every fleeting advantage as the sword and spear hurtled toward their inevitable clash.
When they met, the universe itself seemed to gasp.
The blood lance erupted into shards, scattering like dying stars across the void. Nyxthar carved through it, the blade's energy cleaving deep into Caladros's body, leaving a gaping wound that oozed thick, dark ichor. Caladros staggered for the briefest moment, his crimson eyes widening in acknowledgment.
"You are strong, human," he admitted, his tone devoid of mockery. It was a rare thing for the Vampire Monarch to offer praise, rarer still for it to be sincere.
Magnus, however, stood in worse shape. Most of his torso had been obliterated, his body reduced to a ruin of flesh and sinew. And yet, even as his form teetered, his cells began to knit themselves back together with terrifying speed. Tissues reformed, blood vessels reconnected, and bones restructured, his regeneration a grim testament to the resilience that had carried him to the summit of humanity.
He did not speak, but his blade hummed louder, a silent promise that the fight was far from over.
Caladros observed him with a mix of admiration and certainty. This human—this Magnus Draykar—was indeed formidable. Few in the history of existence could stand against him for long, fewer still could wound him. Magnus was a force to be reckoned with, as expected of one who had ascended to mid Radiant-rank.
But Caladros was confident. He understood the gulf between them, and it was one he could not imagine Magnus bridging—not unless the Martial King reached high Radiant-rank, a threshold even among the mighty that was more myth than reality.
Even if Magnus somehow ascended further within mid Radiant-rank, pushing to its peak, Caladros felt certain. If he could not prevail outright, he would ensure their deaths together. For a being like him, dying alongside such a foe was a victory of its own.
Still, he couldn't deny the sting of the wound Magnus had inflicted. It wasn't just the pain—it was the promise. The human had defied expectations, clawed his way to a level that few could even dream of, and fought with a ferocity that demanded respect.
Caladros straightened, his spear spinning once more as it gathered another surge of blood astral energy. "But respect alone won't save you," he muttered, his voice low and dangerous, the words a vow.
Magnus raised Nyxthar, his body fully restored, his stance unwavering. His grin returned, sharp and wild, a grin that spoke of defiance, of refusal to accept the inevitable.
"You talk too much," he said, his voice cutting through the thick, charged air like his blade through the blood lance.
The battle was far from over.
每周推薦票狀態
-- 推薦票
榜單 
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