OLD-WORLD EXTRA

Chapter 443: Road To God IV



Blanc didn't flinch at the sight of his opponent's terrifying expression.

His focus was trained entirely on Emir's body movements, allowing him to tune out everything else.

It was a good decision because, at that very moment, Emir had decided to move.

His attack came as quick as a raindrop, fast but slow.

He swung his right sword, aiming it at the priest's head.

Blanc sidestepped the sword, then counterattacked, stabbing his forward like a stake.

Emir stepped into the sword, blocking and pushing it away as the attack speed was increased. Then, pivoting on his left, he turned anti-clockwise and swung his left sword.

The sword passed through Blanc's shield as it shimmered, nearing the bottom of his head.

But he raised his neck at the last moment, and it grazed him, forming a small cut.

Unaffected, Blanc swung his sword at Emir's left shoulder, and as his feet still hadn't landed on the ground, the sword seemed bound to hit.

But it was the prince he was fighting against, and he was certainly unpredictable.

In his slowed internal world, Emir stared at the sword, watching as it inched towards him, and with barely a thought going through his head, he threw his right sword at Blanc's.

That paused his swing for a moment, making it not fast enough for the shield, causing Blanc's sword to bounce off.

Thunk!

As one of Emir's swords clattered to the ground, his left foot finally landed, and he immediately shot forward, swinging his right arm towards Blanc's midsection.

It bypassed Blanc's Aetheric Shield and smashed into his body, picking up and throwing him into the wall.

"Ugh!"

Blanc got the wind knocked out of him, barely holding on to his sword as a crater formed behind him, cracks spreading in all directions.

Emir didn't stop there, chasing after him with an even brighter smile.

He reached him in a single step, then grabbed him by his cloak, yanking him over his shoulders with ease, and hurled him into the ground with bone-shattering force.

"GAAH!"

Tiles broke under him, the stone cutting into his skin, and he bounced up after the impact, unable to fight back.

Emir stepped on the hand where he held his sword, pinning it and his body down.

Then, holding his remaining sword with both hands, he lunged downwards. "Die."

"AETHER BLAST!"

'What?'

Before his sword could reach, a stream of Aether was released from Blanc's free hand, pushing his body up.

At that moment, Emir couldn't do anything, there was not enough time for him to slow his speed.

Clang!

The sword bounced off, as did Emir, looking at the man in front of him with disbelief.

There was no doubt about it, Blanc was an Aetheric Duelist, whether knowingly or unknowingly.

In that brief shock, Blanc seized the opportunity.

Twisting his body midair, he awkwardly swung his sword at Emir.

His form was sloppy, the strike shapeless, but the raw force of his Aetheric Blade made it dangerous.

Emir looked at the sword, then, deciding to back off, he sidestepped it, using that as a chance to near his right sword.

By the time he picked it up, Blanc was already on his feet, taking a stance.

They looked at each other for a while, and Emir took his stance as well.

"You're better than I expected."

Blanc admitted, his tone grudgingly respectful.

"But you won't win. Not here."

Emir's smile widened further, obvious excitement in his eyes.

"We'll see about that."

He was truly enjoying the challenge.

This was what he lived for-not the easy victories, but the battles that pushed him to his limits, that forced him to grow, to evolve.

He was undoubtedly thrown off by the relatively slow pace of the fight, but instead of floundering, he was thriving, his confidence only growing.

"We will."

At Blanc's two words, both their minds raced, analyzing the timing, the speed, the angles, and once a second passed, they went at it again.

Each of their movements was deliberate, matching the speed of the rare poison droplets that began to fall from the stones above.

It almost acted as a reminder of what they had to do, how they had to move at that exact speed to bypass the shield-too fast, and they'd crash against the barrier; too slow, and well, the other would strike them down.

Emir's opponent was skilled; no mistaking that; his movements were fluid, his timing faultless by Seraphim standards.

But Emir was no stranger to adapting, to learning on the fly.

As if it were a true chess match, he studied Blanc's rhythm, understanding the ins and outs of the person before him.

Eventually, he began to press the attack, his strikes coming a fraction faster, his timing more precise.

With each clash, he grew more comfortable with the pace, his mind and body adjusting to the unusual demands of the fight.

The poison droplets continued to fall, reaching a steady rhythm that matched the tempo of their battle, sizzling their shields, and threatening to break through with each drop.

It seemed that their battle ended up as an endurance race after all.

But Emir couldn't have that, this was just the beginning of his little war.

He couldn't waste all his Aether here.

So while Blanc calmed with his attacks, Emir kept the pace.

He moved faster than the priest, forcing him to dodge and parry, pressuring him as much as

he could, awaiting a slip-up.

The clashing of their steel rang through the room, each strike a flash of force thatn/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

momentarily pushed away the surrounding poison.

Even though Emir used more of his strength, he made sure to keep himself in check, not

wasting an ounce of Aether.

His eyes tracked Blanc's every shift, every small tell.

Though, as seconds passed by, Blanc wasn't slowing down as much as he seemed.

'A trap?'

Emir then noticed the slight tightening of Blanc's grip, the tension in his shoulders rising.

Without warning, Blanc lunged forward, his sword aimed at his neck.