Chapter 124: Third Strike

"As you wish."

Lucien spoke after observing Zephyrion for a few moments. His voice was calm, steady, utterly unshaken.

The words hung in the air like a final verdict.

After hearing Lucien’s words, Zephyrion smiled. A genuine, determined smile that carried the weight of his pride and resolve. Everywhere in the coliseum was quiet. Everyone had their gaze focused on them. The students held their breath. The teachers watched in silence. Even Sylas leaned forward slightly, his sharp eyes fixed on the arena.

Zephyrion channeled his Originat through his body. He was planning on going all out as he unleashed his bloodline.

His angelic wings spread wide, golden light surging from every feather. His golden hair became brighter, almost blinding, as if touched by divine fire. The air around him grew heavy, charged with holy energy that pressed against the senses of everyone watching.

Then, something shifted.

Below the first pair of wings, more wings began to sprout. Golden feathers unfurled, gleaming with radiant light. Two pairs of wings now extended from his back, six wings in total, each one majestic and powerful.

His aura multiplied by two folds, becoming stronger. The other students turned serious at the reveal of Zephyrion’s strength. The pressure was suffocating, the weight of his bloodline pressing down on the coliseum like an invisible mountain.

Zephyrion’s body seemed to glow from within. His golden eyes burned brighter, and his presence filled the coliseum like a rising sun.

A golden circular halo shone above his head, spinning slowly, casting divine light across the arena. The golden rune behind him grew larger, more complex. The symbols within it spun faster, pulsing with intense Originat. His feathers, which had been scattered around him, reformed into a halo of light that circled his body.

Zephyrion’s voice echoed through the coliseum, carrying a new depth, a new authority.

"This is my true form," he said. "The blessing of my bloodline. I don’t use it lightly."

He raised Seraph’s Blade, and the golden light around it intensified, condensing into a blade of pure holy energy.

"Your third strike," Zephyrion said, his voice steady. "Let me see if it can match this."

One could feel the confidence he had in this form. His six wings spread wide, golden light cascading from each feather like liquid fire. His presence filled the arena, pressing down on everyone watching. It was the confidence of someone who had given everything and believed it would be enough.

All Lucien did was raise his sword. And of course, Zephyrion wasn’t planning on standing still and allowing him to attack.

Two golden circular runes appeared, one at his left and one at his right. They were massive, each one etched with divine symbols that pulsed with holy Originat. The runes spun slowly, gathering power, the air around them shimmering with intense heat.

The left circular rune pulsated with Originat. Its symbols were sharp, angular, speaking of judgment, of absolute condemnation. A faint hum emanated from it, like the distant tolling of a celestial bell.

"Judgment of the Seraphim."

From the left rune, a pillar of condensed holy light erupted, shooting toward Lucien with devastating speed. The attack was focused, precise, a beam of divine judgment meant to purify and destroy. The air around it screamed as it tore through the arena, leaving a trail of golden light in its wake.

At the same time, the right circular rune flared with blinding light. Its symbols were softer, more circular, speaking of mercy and power intertwined.

"Heaven’s Descent."

From the right rune, a wave of golden energy mixed with Originat descended, crashing downward like a celestial waterfall. It was massive, overwhelming, an attack that sought to crush and overwhelm rather than pierce. The sheer force of it pressed down on the arena, the air growing heavy and thick.

Two attacks. Two devastating forces. One from each side, converging on Lucien.

The students gasped. Some covered their mouths. Others leaned forward, their eyes wide. The sheer scale of the assault was enough to make even the most confident among them feel small.

Zephyrion’s voice rang out, carrying the weight of his bloodline.

"This is the power of my bloodline! Face it, Lucien!"

Lucien’s gaze remained calm. He watched the two attacks approach, one precise, one overwhelming. The light from both runes cast long shadows across his face.

He raised his sword.

But he didn’t swing.

He stood still, his expression unchanged, as the two divine attacks converged on him. The students gasped at his actions. Was he not going to defend?

He would be heavily injured by the attack. But they felt anticipation towards this clash. Something told them this wasn’t the end.

They all watched as the attacks struck.

A pillar of holy light from Judgment of the Seraphim slammed into Lucien’s position, while the wave of Heaven’s Descent crashed down from above. The impact sent a shockwave rippling through the coliseum, golden light exploding outward like a small sun. The sheer force of the collision shook the arena, the barrier shimmering violently as it absorbed the blast.

Dust and debris scattered across the arena. The air was thick with golden particles, the remnants of Zephyrion’s divine assault.

The students shielded their eyes with Originat, their gazes glued to what was unfolding before them. They couldn’t look away. They had to see.

The dust began to settle. The golden light faded.

And they saw the aftermath.

Lucien stood where he had been. Unharmed. Unmoved. His body hadn’t shifted an inch from where he stood. His uniform was slightly singed, but his skin was untouched. The ground around him was scorched, cracked, but he remained standing at the center of it all, as if the attacks had been nothing more than a gentle breeze.

Everywhere fell silent.

The students were frozen. Some had their mouths open. Others had forgotten to breathe. They found this hard to believe. Their hearts were struck. Lucien had just defended against such a powerful attack, and how?

Zephyrion’s eyes widened when he saw this. His attacks had amounted to nothing. His pride was instantly dealt a great blow. His wings trembled. His grip on Seraph’s Blade loosened.

"What..." he muttered, his voice barely a whisper.

Lucien looked at Zephyrion, his gaze steady.

"Was that all?"

The words hung in the air, cold and absolute. Not arrogant. Simply factual.

"Impossible..." Zephyrion muttered, shaking his head. "How... how did you—"

"I didn’t dodge," Lucien interrupted, his voice calm. "I didn’t block. I simply let them hit me."

It wasn’t that Lucien wasn’t harmed or injured by the attack. The attacks had caused some cuts, some shallow wounds. But with his healing speed, by the time the dust had settled, there was no scar, no trace of injury.

"Now. My turn."

As Lucien said this, he disappeared from the view of everyone.

Zephyrion’s instincts screamed for danger. His eyes darted around the arena, searching, but it was too late.

Lucien was upon him.

Same move as his first strike. He raised the academy sword, channeling his Originat, his Sword Intent flowing within the blade. In the eyes of everyone, this attack was just like the second one, but they didn’t dare underestimate it.

Zephyrion held Seraph’s Blade, unleashing what it could offer at its limit under the restriction. It glowed with golden light, complimenting his angelic form. The blade hummed with divine energy, its edge gleaming with holy radiance.

He wasn’t attacking. He was defending. If he attacked, with Lucien’s defense, it would amount to nothing.

A circular rune appeared before him, slowly fusing with his body as his defense was raised to its top notch. Golden light wrapped around him like a cocoon, reinforcing his protection. The energy of his bloodline converged on his form, creating a barrier that seemed impenetrable. His six wings folded forward, adding another layer of defense.

Lucien didn’t pause, maintaining the same speed with no waver. His form was a blur of dark silver energy as he descended upon Zephyrion, the academy sword in his hands now glowing with an intense, condensed light. The blade hummed with such power that the air around it seemed to warp.

Zephyrion’s eyes widened as he sensed the shift. The defense he had built, the barrier that had felt so solid moments before, now felt fragile.

Lucien’s sword descended.

The blade met Zephyrion’s barrier, and for a moment, they clashed. Golden light exploded outward, the impact sending a shockwave rippling through the coliseum. The force of the collision was immense, shaking the very foundations of the arena.

But Lucien’s sword didn’t stop.

It cut through the barrier like a blade through paper. The golden cocoon around Zephyrion shattered, dissolving into particles of light. The circular rune before him cracked, then disintegrated.

Zephyrion’s eyes widened in horror. His defense, which he had poured everything into, had been destroyed in an instant.

And then Lucien’s sword came down.

Zephyrion raised Seraph’s Blade in a desperate attempt to block. The two swords met, and the sound that followed was not a clash, it was a scream.

Sparks of golden and dark silver energy exploded across the arena, and for a moment, Zephyrion held.

Then he felt it.

The force behind Lucien’s strike was immense, far greater than the first two attacks. It was almost triple fold of the second strike.

The Seraph’s Blade, which had been passed down through his clan for generations, didn’t break. But Zephyrion felt the blow through his arm. It was as if a mountain had been thrown at him. His right arm, the one holding the sword, trembled violently. He could feel an unknown force with the aim of destruction, his hand might be broken.

If the blade had struck him directly, his arm would have been destroyed, or it would have exploded into a cloud of blood.

"Third Strike," Lucien’s calm voice cut through the silence.