Chapter 892 Wooden Blade

Could Leonel give Spear Domain over just to save his own life? The answer was obviously no. This was something his father had left behind for him and it was the Heirloom of the Morales family. He had no intention of losing it in this place.

But at the same time, Leonel felt like he had really painted himself into a corner. He already knew that receiving the next portion of [Dimensional Cleanse] had become impossible. He had no illusions about defeating Amery. However, the main issue was that though jumping from the edge of the road seemed to be just two steps away, in the current situation, Leonel felt like it was a world away… That was how far apart the skill between the two young men were.

Still, the more helpless it all seemed, the colder and colder Leonel's expression became. By the time Amery had raised his foot to take a second step, Leonel's countenance was like an iceberg, his features all individually carved out in the strongest of lines.

Amery paused, scanning Leonel up and down before shaking his head.

"Definitely not worthy. Emotionless, blockheads like you should stick to fighting with your fists, at least that way you won't be drawing a line between yourself and your weapon. How can you hear your blade if you don't want to hear it? What a sad excuse for a spearman."

Leonel didn't react to this in the slightest. Even though they were said in a different way, hadn't he already heard these words once before? It was exactly what Old Man Hutch had told him when he tried to get him to switch to the machete.

Leonel simply didn't believe that a weapon needed to be loved. He had said it then and he would say it again. He had chosen the spear out of convenience because he just so happened to have been born with a Lineage Factor that suited it. If he had affinity with a sword or saber or a machete, he would have chosen that as well.

All this rambling about 'loving' your weapon and 'communicating' with it sounded like the ravings of a madman to Leonel.

To him, it felt like Old Man Hutch and this young man before him were both abstract artists trying to convince you that the banana they taped to the wall had a deeper, underlying meaning you were just missing because you 'didn't get it'.

Their words fell into the same pot of ridiculousness for Leonel. As far as he was concerned, these two just had talent in the blades they chose and explained away their innate gifts with nonsense like 'love' and 'emotion', when the truth was that they were just better suited to those weapons in comparison to others.

To Leonel, it was just that simple.

However, at least now, he understood why it was that Amery said he wasn't worthy. Unfortunately, that changed nothing.

How would Leonel face his father if he lost the Heirloom he had been entrusted with? How would he subdue the Morales family if he lost something so precious to them without having even earned the right to have it in the first place? How would he look himself in the mirror if he couldn't manage to take two steps to the left against an enemy no older than himself?

Leonel's palm flipped over, his body suddenly erupting with Vital Star Force from head to toe. But, this time, it felt far different than it had in the past even as his Runes flickered to life.

Rather than a billowing diamond blue steam, he suddenly began to radiate an incomparably majestic amethyst. From top to bottom, his body was surrounded by a delicate light violet hue, his hair becoming an endless river of foggy energy and his eyes becoming homogenous with it all.

This was Leonel's third form of Star Fusion: [Star Fusion: King's Might].

Even with his aura rising like a tide, Leonel didn't make a single move. He brandished his spear, his nerves walking a cliff's edge. However, it was then that it happened.

Compared to Leonel, Amery's aura was a wisp of nothingness. He stood there, his robes completely unaffected by what should have been winds that would put any hurricane to shame.

In one instant, he was ten meters from Leonel, his body having not moved a single inch. In the next, Leonel's pupils constricted to an extreme.

A wooden blade appeared before his nose, slashing downward with a slow, unhurried momentum that simultaneously weight as heavy as a mountain. Despite how much effort Leonel had put into watching his every action, despite how much care and attention he had placed toward predicting his next movement, it had all been completely useless.

Leonel's life flashed before his eyes. No matter how hard he thought, he couldn't seem to think of a method to survive. It was crushing.

In just those few milliseconds, Leonel's mind seemed to slow down the events into a stretched length of time that spanned what almost felt like several days.

What did it feel like to be contemplating your own death for so long? One would think that it would be enough to drive a person mad. It was like a ticking clock set to come to a stop the moment you breathed your last…

How would it feel to know the exact date, time and second of your death? How would one feel as the moments waned and the sand within the hourglass became lesser and lesser? How would you feel watching a guillotine being taken to your future aspirations and goals.

Maybe you might even find the humor in it all. Why was it that your mind was slowing everything down to such an extent now, but couldn't have done so while the person who wanted your life was swinging his sword…?

Leonel was in exactly this sort of hopeless situation, a lethal wooden blade descending like a heavenly punishment to sever his ties to the world.