Chapter 82 Triumph In The Darkness

He predicted that this time, Oswell would rush towards him, which he was ready for as he waved his staff around, summoning rings of fire around him that howled in a beautiful blaze.

“–!” Oswell looked forward in surprise.

It was launched just as the man got close: a fire-born spell that shaped itself like a mighty lance–being thrust forward as if wielded by an unseen knight before crashing against Oswell’s blade.

“Ghhh…!” Oswell struggled.

It wasn’t just that the boy’s magical arsenal had grown in size and strength, but his mindset, tactical abilities, and physical senses have all improved as well–he was able to contend with the Champion-class swordsman.

This realization was a massive boost of confidence to the amethyst-eyed boy.

As he gripped his staff, aiming the flame lance forward, he strengthened its march as it finally broke through Oswell’s guard, slamming into the man and releasing into a volatile explosion of flames.

“Woah…! Hot, hot, hot!” Reno said, holding her arms up.

“Glorious, my dear friend!” Lawrence smiled.

But, that wasn’t the end of the man–by some monstrous feat, Oswell dashed out from the mountain of smoke, though his body was covered in burns and cuts, the man didn’t seem on death’s door quite yet.

I have to take out this boy! He’s troublesome! Oswell thought.

It was an unexpected burst of speed, even more surprising as the fact it was from a man who just suffered a direct hit from his flame magic.

Crap…! He thought.

Oswell closed in on him quickly, but he managed to conjure a few walls of rock in his path to slow him down, though Oswell simply cut through the foot-thick barriers of stone easily.

However, it was enough time for Lawrence to catch up, jumping between them as he did a cartwheel across the ground, swinging his blade in the process as he forced Oswell on the backfoot now.

“–!” Oswell guarded against the strikes.

The scarlet-eyed clown was now on the offense; smiling wide as he danced around, flipping his sword between each hand and even catching it between his teeth, using his sword in his mouth to fight.

“Damn!…You Chaos God swordsmen are always a pain in the ass!” Oswell said through a strained tone, though half-smiling.

Lawrence laughed, “Happy to hear it!”

Such a battle between high-class swordsmen was impossible to get between, with there being a likely chance of him accidentally hitting Lawrence with a spell if he tried to fling one.

It was a perplexing sight of the eccentric man who initially stood no chance against the criminal ringleader; Lawrence was now pushing forward without stopping, keeping Oswell on the defensive.

…What’s going on? I know Oswell is hurt, but–Lawrence is pushing him back? He’s winning this?! He thought.

Lawrence laughed out, “I’ve hit my melody! This is my encore! Can you hear it?!”

The melody that was being referred to was heard by the young boy who witnessed the clash of blades, and it was just that: the dance of steel–sparks danced in the air, metal continuously clashed, rapidly and with a sing-song beat.

What is this?! This damn clown had this kind of strength?! Oswell thought.

“Keep going…!” Reno yelled out, clutching her shoulder.

There was no need for such words as the clown adventurer had seemingly found his stride, entering a flow state that seemed almost impenetrable, but the words bolstered him as he laughed out once more, spinning around as an array of lights seemed to gather around him, flourishing into shapes.

What is that…? Magic? He’s not a mage though, is he…? He questioned.

Lawrence smiled wide, “This is my special Chaos God Style, my evolution of it and my, Lawrence Vi Vavadago’s exciting act: ‘Cirque Du Freak!'”

There was only a moment given to Oswell to attempt to regain himself, but the injured man, sparse on breath and exhausted, was only able to barely raise his guard before Lawrence launched forward, whipping his unstable blade-whip around.

It was a swift flurry of strikes, utilizing the length and unpredictable nature of both his movements and his blade. Each of these strikes unleashed a small, harmless flash of colorful light, attacking the man’s eyes with the irritating brightness.

Though Oswell tried to jump back to create distance, he still found himself being cut by the edge of the exotic blade.

What?…How? Wait…he! Oswell realized.

By all means, it was an unorthodox move, but coming from Lawrence himself, it seemed all but logical: the snow-skinned swordsman had dislocated the joints in his arms and shoulders, allowing them to extend just a few inches, but it was enough to take Oswell by surprise.

“–You freak!” Oswell called out, wincing as several lacerations embedded themselves in his flesh.

Lawrence smiled, reconnecting his joints, “Now, now! I do believe some self-introspection is in order before you start hurling insults at another!”

The finish of the flurry of unpredictable blows left the ringleader’s thighs, arms, and chest slashed, leaving him all but defeated as he stood there huffing, but still opting to continue–whether by grit or fear of failure.

“Raaagh! Dammit!” Oswell yelled out in frustration.

“–Alive!” He yelled out.

This singular word was met with confusion in Oswell’s ears, but it wasn’t meant for him–it was meant for the girl that swooped in to intercept his assault.

“Gragh!” Oswell called out in pain.

Reno had sunk her dagger into the man’s knee, taking away his balance as he fell over, dropping his sword.

As soon as the excommunicated adventurer fell to the ground, the young boy didn’t waste a moment to bind him with stone-forged ropes, making sure that he was unable to continue fighting.

“Nicely done, my friend,” Lawrence said with a smile.

“…It’s over, right? We got him?” Reno asked, huffing.

He stood by her, nodding, “Yeah.”

As the three left the bounds of the safehouse, hoisting Oswell up with them, it was already well into the dead of night in the quiet slums.

“Well, what a spectacular success that was!” Lawrence said with a smile.

It was difficult to find a reason to be as bubbly as the clown, but he realized there was no merit in trying to be like a jester in the first place.

“…Yeah,” Reno said, wincing.

Only just then did he remember the wounds that the two had suffered, prompting him to step forward and cast healing magic on both of them, to which the clown was delighted to witness healing magecraft up close.

Unfortunately, it seemed defeating somebody like Oswell wasn’t quite enough to level up, which prompted him to question the mechanics of his unique leveling up ability.

…I wonder: do I have to defeat opponents directly? It seems I have to land the finishing blow in a fight, at least, he thought.