Chapter 123: Lucien Vs Zephyrion [5]

The battle had reached a critical point.

Lucien was cornered, surrounded by the remaining feathers on all sides in the eyes of the students. And now Zephyrion had appeared behind him like a streak of golden lightning, his Seraph’s Blade raised high, ready to strike.

Lucien, who had been defending against the relentless assault, had sensed Zephyrion’s movement the moment he disappeared. But his eyes held no panic. Instead, his lips curled up in amusement.

Time to show a fraction of his strength. In a domineering manner.

Zephyrion swung his sword, golden light blazing around Seraph’s Blade. He was determined to land this strike.

But in that instant, he felt it.

Danger.

A cold, sharp pressure pressed against his senses, screaming at him to stop, to retreat. It was suffocating, overwhelming. Every instinct in his body told him to pull back.

But he didn’t stop. He pressed on.

It was a foolish move. A risky one.

And then, before the eyes of everyone in the coliseum, Lucien’s entire aura changed.

It happened in an instant. One moment, he was just Lucien, calm, composed, but seemingly ordinary. The next moment, he was something else entirely.

He became like a sword.

If not for their sight, the students would have sworn they were looking at a blade rather than a man. His presence sharpened, became absolute, cutting through the air like an edge that had been honed to perfection. The very atmosphere around him seemed to still, as if the world itself was holding its breath.

So polished, so flawless, it was a sword without edges, yet infinitely more dangerous because of it.

Zephyrion’s eyes widened. His instincts screamed louder, but his momentum carried him forward. His blade descended.

And Lucien moved.

Or did he move?

What they saw was Lucien swinging his hands upward, but they could only catch a faint, blurry image of his hands moving. The motion was so fast, so precise, that it left an afterimage burned into their retinas. They realized one thing, they couldn’t follow Lucien’s movement.

The few who could follow had their eyes opened wide as saucers. Their vigilance toward him reached its highest peak. He had become an opponent in their eyes. For the guys, in strength, in appearance, with his wives, he was looking perfect in their eyes, and it irritated them.

Sylas, who was watching the match, shook his head. It seems Zephyrion has lost the match. ℴ

Lucien’s hand swung upward, and the blade of his academy sword didn’t move far. But that was the point.

He released his Sword Intent.

The air around him seemed to vanish. A wave of invisible pressure exploded outward from his blade, cutting through the feathers that surrounded him like they were made of paper. One by one, they shattered, dissolving into golden particles, their homing paths rendered meaningless. The remnants of the feathers fell apart, unable to withstand the overwhelming will that had just been unleashed.

But Lucien wasn’t done.

His Sword Intent didn’t stop at the feathers. It surged forward, racing toward Zephyrion like a blade of pure will, invisible yet deadly.

Zephyrion felt it before he saw it. His instincts screamed at him, louder than ever. He had been pressing forward, committed to his attack, but now he realized his mistake.

He released his own Sword Intent, a wave of golden pressure exploding from Seraph’s Blade, meeting Lucien’s attack head-on.

The clash was invisible, but everyone felt it.

The air between them seemed to shatter. A pressure far greater than Zephyrion’s surged forward, crushing his Sword Intent like glass. His golden wave dissolved, unable to withstand the overwhelming weight of Lucien’s will.

Zephyrion’s eyes widened.

Impossible.

His own Sword Intent, which he had honed through years of training and battle, had been completely overpowered. He could feel it, the cold, absolute pressure of Lucien’s will pressing down on him, suffocating, inescapable.

He felt the cuts before he saw them. Thin, precise lines of red appeared across his arms, his chest, his wings. His robes were torn, and blood seeped through the wounds. The Sword Intent had found him even though he hadn’t been struck directly.

His body screamed at him to retreat, to escape. Every instinct told him that if he stayed, he wouldn’t survive the next attack.

He moved.

In a flash of golden light, Zephyrion disappeared from his position and reappeared at the edge of the arena, his wings folded tightly against his back, his chest heaving. His body was trembling, his grip on Seraph’s Blade loose.

He had fled. He had retreated.

Zephyrion looked down at his body, at the blood seeping through his torn uniform, at his trembling hands. The sting of his wounds was nothing compared to the weight of his failure.

The students were frozen.

"He... he ran," one whispered.

"His Sword Intent... it was completely overpowered."

"He couldn’t even stand against it."

They looked at Zephyrion who had run to the edge of the arena. Lucien hadn’t even released any skill.

Zephyrion’s jaw tightened. His pride was wounded, his heart burning with frustration. But deep down, he knew. He had no way to counter that power. It wasn’t just strength, it was something beyond.

Lucien lowered his sword, his expression calm. His gaze met Zephyrion’s from across the arena.

"Second Strike."

Lucien’s calm voice hammered in everyone’s heart. They remembered his earlier words, dictating a fact that he only needed three strikes to deal with Zephyrion.

Even though they were Honor students, most didn’t think they could fare better than Zephyrion.

Zephyrion was unaware of their thoughts. Frustration was burning in him. He glanced at Lucien, why did he feel that Lucien hadn’t even released more of his strength?

His injuries all healed as he forcefully forced out Lucien’s Sword Intent with all his might.

He roared, "Let’s continue! Let me see what your third strike has!"

He laughed after this. Everyone was seeing as if this was madness. And they knew this might be the decisive moment. All eyes were on them, even Sylas was watching this.

As for his wives, they had confident smiles as if they had expected this.

Zephyrion’s roar echoed through the coliseum, a declaration of defiance. He stood tall, his wings spread wide, golden light surging around him. His Originat flared, pushing against the remnants of Lucien’s Sword Intent that still lingered in his body.

He raised Seraph’s Blade high, and the golden rune behind him reappeared, larger than before, pulsing with desperate power. His feathers reformed around him, glowing with intense light.

"One more strike," Zephyrion said, his voice steady. "Give me everything you have."

Lucien’s expression remained calm. He looked at Zephyrion, studying him for a brief moment. Then he spoke.

"As you wish."