Chapter 137

Chapter 137

An unusual sensation permeates the atmosphere.

Javillon couldnt help but feel a shiver. Why? Initially, he was perplexed. But soon, he comprehended the cause.

This individual.

What?

The dark-haired escort who had appeared before him. The one who had surprisingly held his ground. Didnt the Crown Prince refer to him as Demian?

But how? How could this individual deflect his sword? And a sword infused with aura at that.

How?

Numerous questions swirled in his mind. Naturally, they would. Demians sword exhibited no sign of aura.

Furthermore, it was a partially shattered sword. Yet, it had blocked his aura.

A sensation of common sense collapsing.

A sensation of defying the laws.

How, precisely?

Inconceivable.

Aura can ordinarily only be countered by aura.

Yet this person had intercepted his aura with a partially shattered sword, without sustaining any damage and maintaining a composed demeanor.

So he couldnt comprehend.

He continually felt uneasy.

Because the adversary, standing close enough to exchange breath with, felt impossibly distant, beyond reach.

Javillon soon had to come to grips with what he was experiencing.

It was fear.

Me? Afraid of this insignificant individual?

He couldnt fathom.

Simultaneously, he was furious. It couldnt be.

Conceited!

Swoosh!

His sword moved, gliding, carrying a luminous aura, traversing along Demians partially shattered blade. The target was Demians thumb.

Ill sever his finger first!

Slice the thumb, gash the wrist, and with the same momentum, pass through the armpit and diagonally behead him.

There wouldnt be any time to block, no opportunity to react. Naturally. Demian was only a mid-level Sword Expert. Meanwhile

I am a Swordmaster!

Swoosh!

Javillons sword, brimming with determination, traced a deadly diagonal trajectory. It ascended, its target being Demians thumb, emitting a chilling gleam before rebounding.

Screech-!

!

In that fleeting moment, Javillon witnessed it. Just as his sword was about to sever Demians thumb, Demians wrist responded with lightning speed.

A very brief pause. Within that pause, an immense resilience pushed back the blade, deflecting his sword. A sword infused with aura!

What is this?

Javillons eyes were filled with astonishment. It was scarcely believable that his sword strike aimed at the Crown Prince had been thwarted.

But this was the second instance. Once again, a sword without aura had intercepted and repelled a sword filled with aura.

So it was undeniable.

Is this individual countering aura without aura?

Twice is not a mere coincidence.

Especially not in the realm of dueling.

Javillon rapidly absorbed the current situation inwardly. He ceased pondering the reasons.

All that mattered now were the outcomes. Demian was obstructing his aura without deploying aura himself. That was the fact. He needed to concentrate solely on that fact.

From the moment he discarded extraneous thoughts,

Javillons vacillating momentum solidified. It became menacing. Finally, he started to reveal the true prowess of a Swordmaster.

Extraordinary.

Incredibly refined movements.

Javillon, towering over 190 cm, moved like a leopard, gliding with fluidity. It was a step that had shed all excess, a step befitting someone who had attained the pinnacle of swordsmanship.

His step dictated his bodys movements, his body summoned his sword. The sword indicated, and the body followed; wherever the body went, the steps followed suit.

Thought and sword strikes occurred simultaneously. All actions flowed seamlessly. An aura shower descended.

Screech-!

He thrust and slashed.

Just when it appeared he was slashing, he swung. He swung and struck. Striking, he thrust. He moved, twisted, cleaved, dug, struck, pulled, and sliced, stabbing from both ends.

All in a single breath.

It was a miraculous series of attacks that unfolded in an instant. Previously, when facing Raciel, he had hesitated to reveal his true capabilities, considering the possibility of killing a healer who could have alleviated his headache. Now, he had fully unleashed them.

On one hand, he felt confident.

Ive triumphed, he thought.

It would work.

Then he could win.

He could completely reverse the current unfavorable situation. He could defeat his opponent. Javillon was confident of it. He recalled the secret weapon he possessed.

His covert weapon.

His final trump card.

It was a technique that pitted the pure mana fundamentally present in both his and his opponents body. A technique that clashed mana by seizing hold of the opponent.

And then?

Both sides pure mana would collide and be depleted. An intense battle of attrition would unfold. Ultimately, the one whose pure mana ran out first would have their lifeline severed.

And Javillon was confident in this form of attritional battle. The reason was simple.

The amount of pure mana in a human body is directly related to its size.

Thats why its pure mana. The natural amount of pure mana that the body contains from birth and growth, not amplified or increased by any technique!

In simpler terms, the quantity of pure mana was tied to a persons physical stature.

And him?

He stood over 190 cm tall with a physique to match. He had rarely encountered anyone with a larger build than his own.

Thats why.

Javillon had confidence in his ultimate trump card. He could defeat anyone smaller than him, regardless of the circumstances. This included the Demian before him.

With certainty, he reached out.

Ive got you!

His outstretched palm.

Demian showed no signs of caution toward it. He probably had no knowledge of this final trump card.

His hand drew closer, almost at the point of grabbing. A burning desire for victory blazed in Javillons eyes.

But then, at that very moment.

Whoa, stop!

!

An unexpected voice intervened. The Crown Prince stepped in between Demian and Javillon.

Javillons arm suddenly extended, not grabbing Demian but the Crown Prince instead.

Javillons eyes widened.

What?

Startled, he tried to retract his hand hastily, but he couldnt. The Crown Princes outstretched hand had already gripped his wrist.

Normally, he could have easily shaken it off, but not now.

He couldnt muster the strength due to his injured ligaments and muscles. He couldnt break free from the Crown Princes slender hold!

What What the hell!

An alarmed Javillon exclaimed.

He had already activated his final trump card technique. Once activated, this technique could not be halted.

And if he kept holding onto the Crown Prince like this? He would unintentionally end the Crown Princes life, which was not his intent.

Do you realize what youre doing by intervening like this?

He urgently shouted.

The Crown Prince replied calmly.

Yes.

What?

I understand.

You cant mean youre sacrificing yourself in place of a guard?

He couldnt believe it. The notion that the Crown Prince was aware of his secret technique seemed like a bluff. But observing his actions, it appeared he genuinely knew.

He wondered if this Crown Prince was in his right mind. A sudden self-sacrifice didnt make sense.

Why would you choose such a senseless death

He was about to ask, but the Crown Prince cut him off.

Sacrifice my ass.

What?

Im not sacrificing myself. I plan to defeat you.

What?

He didnt comprehend any of it. He had no clue what the Prince was attempting to do.

Why was the Crown Prince wearing such an ominous smile? Why was he abruptly putting red sunflower seeds into his mouth? Why was he chewing them with such gusto?

He understood nothing.

That was what Javillon thought at that moment.

Boom-!

!

Javillon, who had been so self-assured in his stature of over 190 cm and had attempted to employ a technique that maximized his physical advantage, found himself in an unexpected situation, holding hands with Raciel, who had grown to a towering 600 cm, performing an unusual dance.

(To be Continued)

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