Chapter 93: One on One against one’s ancestors

The Judgment style was a technique fully developed around the Tyrant Blade class. It embodied the principle of justice, of law carried out perfectly, without hesitation or mercy left unaccounted for.

Its first strike was called Sworn Oath.

By swearing a blood-bound oath to a god of one’s choosing, a wielder could receive a temporary boost to their tyrant’s might and luck, allowing them to press through attacks with greater success than their raw skill alone would allow.

One step out, Ethan moved his blade up and brought it down furiously.

The old man immediately tried to block, but his sword was pushed aside by the sheer force behind the strike, and Ethan’s blade cut clean through his shoulder.

"One."

The instant it landed, Ethan twisted midair and kicked the old man in the chest, creating space before he touched ground. Then he pushed forward again without pause.

"Why am I feeling so dizzy?"

As Ethan rained down a flurry of attacks, the old man’s thoughts blurred, refusing to sharpen no matter how hard he tried to focus. He raised his sword, but only high enough to block the strikes that would kill him outright. He thrust forward, but only far enough for Ethan to dodge, never enough to do real damage.

It was as if something was interfering with his mind, dulling the edges of his instincts.

As Ethan landed the eighteenth strike, the old man’s gaze happened to fall on the mind dragon circling above. A frown crossed his face.

The moment he looked at it, his thoughts went completely blank, and Ethan drove the blade into his shoulder without resistance.

But it was enough.

Enough for the old man to understand what was working against him.

With a sharp side step, he wrenched himself free of Ethan’s onslaught and leapt back, pulling a long chain from somewhere within his sleeve. Before Hela could react, it whipped around the mind dragon’s neck and yanked it downward by force.

She responded fast, pulling both the dragon and the old man high into the sky before the chain could drag them further.

"Hehe."

The old man exhaled in relief the moment he was lifted clear of Ethan’s fury, but the relief didn’t last. The mind dragon coiled midair and unleashed a scorching breath of fire, forcing him to release the chain instantly.

Before he understood what had happened, he was falling, plummeting straight toward Ethan, who stood below with his blade already drawn and waiting.

"You’ve fucked with this old man for the last time, kid. Today I’ll flay you like a dog." Instead of despair, rage boiled through his voice as he fell.

His body reacted on its own. His left arm twisted, flesh and bone folding into a serpentine shape that lashed downward toward Ethan with unnatural speed.

"Here it comes." Ethan didn’t dodge. He dropped back into the Judgment style’s first stance instead, weight settling low.

The Blood Tyrant Blade was weakest when an opponent chose to retreat, but the moment they committed to an attack, the advantage shifted entirely in Ethan’s favor.

Combined with the eighteen-fold stacking already accumulated, Ethan entered the first stance again, pushing the count to twenty-eight folds in an instant. As the serpent’s length reached him, he cut through it in one continuous circular motion, the blade never stopping until he stood directly before the old man.

In one fluid motion, he severed the arm at its base, sending the old man into a spasm of agony.

Just as Ethan’s feet touched the ground, so did the old man’s, his body riddled with fresh slashes as he writhed and squirmed against the dirt.

"That’s my limit. But it was worth it." Ethan exhaled, watching his own hand tremble uncontrollably at his side.

Forcing the first Judgment stance to accumulate tyrant force that far was taxing on the body in ways that went beyond simple fatigue. It caused real, severe pain, enough that for a short while afterward he wouldn’t be able to call on his tyrant’s might at all.

Fortunately, he didn’t need to.

Because the man he’d been trying to draw out had finally arrived.

Honger Algar.

Leader of the Algar clan.

"You miserable wretch. You dare betray our clan and attack an elder? You must have a death wish."

The man who appeared had long red hair, one side of his face hidden behind a mask, and a slender build that combined with his height gave him the presence of something pulled from a horror story rather than a person.

This wasn’t the old man Ethan had known, not the face that matched the reports and descriptions gathered before this mission.

Something had changed him. Something serious.

"Death wish? No. I’m just doing my job." Ethan let out a slow breath, but before he could even turn to face the new arrival fully, a fist caught him square in the stomach and sent him flying backward through the air.

The gap between tier 7 and tier 6 was obvious to anyone who’d fought both. But tier 5? That was an entirely different realm, a gulf that strength and technique alone couldn’t close.

Especially when that tier 5 cultivator was actively trying to ascend toward becoming a Demi-God.

As a wave of helplessness washed over Ethan mid-flight, an arm caught him from behind and abruptly stopped his momentum in the air.

"Great work, kid."

The voice was familiar, steady, and calm in a way that cut through the chaos.

A man with white hair, dressed in a long black robe, a blade at his hip not so different from Ethan’s own, stood holding him. Behind him, several others in matching uniforms fanned out silently across the barren field.

"Good day, elder."

"I am Kang, of the Punishment Hall." His tone carried no threat, only quiet authority. "Do you mind escorting us back to the capital for questioning?"

As the words rang out, the several men from the punishment hall that had arrived with Kang surrounded the leader of the Algar clan sword drawn and ready for an inevitable battle.