Chapter 446: Three Slashes... Er... Five Slashes Are Enough...
In the nick of time, Stelle launched herself sideways like a cannonball. Her star sword, wreathed in volatile black and crimson flames, cleaved through the air, precisely intercepting the shadowy blade aimed at Castorice.
A deafening clang of metal shattered the tense silence. The sheer kinetic force of the collision sent a surging shockwave outward, blasting the ancient dust from the stone floor in a perfect, expanding ring. Stelle's boots ground into the masonry as she stood firm, her back acting as an impenetrable shield for Castorice.
"Second Slash."
Almost the exact millisecond the first clone's strike was deflected, the black-robed figure's indifferent, hollow voice echoed through the hall.
The shadows at his side warped and twisted, birthing a second clone. Without missing a beat, this new phantom lunged. Its dark blade locked onto Trianne, singling out the one who appeared least capable of surviving a direct melee clash.
"Watch out!" Dan Heng's warning synchronized perfectly with his fluid motion.
The moment the first shadowy duplicate had materialized, the archivist had already blurred into a phantom-like sprint, repositioning himself to cover the team's blind spots. His Cloud Piercer struck with lethal precision. The spear's tip erupted with brilliant azure light, taking the roaring form of a water dragon's head as it crashed into the phantom's weapon. Clang! The fatal strike meant for Trianne was violently deflected into the ceiling.
Refusing to yield the momentum, Dan Heng swept his free left hand through the air in a wide arc. A faint, earthy-yellow glow bloomed outward, accompanied by the gentle, rippling sound of flowing water. The barrier expanded rapidly, enveloping the entire group in the shimmering, translucent ward of his Jadeite Shield.
"Ah!" Trianne gasped, her eyes wide as she stumbled a half-step backward, thoroughly spooked by the sheer proximity of the lethal blade.
March 7th reacted with lightning-fast reflexes. She grabbed Trianne by the shoulder, yanking the girl behind her into a safer position. Simultaneously, March's free hand swept back, instantly manifesting her signature longbow from condensing frost. With a sharp whoosh, a crystalline ice arrow tore across the hall, aimed dead-center at the black-robed figure's main body to disrupt whatever he planned next.
The freezing projectile shrieked through the air, leaving a trail of white mist. Yet, the moment it crossed within three feet of the cloaked man, the space around him warped. An invisible, dark ripple pulsed outward, silently swallowing the arrow whole. It was completely annihilated, leaving not a single speck of frost or drop of moisture behind.
"..." The black-robed figure finally seemed to register a flicker of genuine interest in this ragtag group of intruders.
He turned around, his movements agonizingly slow and deliberate. The heavy shadows of his hood continued to obscure his features, but the weight of his cold, scrutinizing gaze bored into them like physical needles. He took a few measured steps forward, the dark metal of his Crescent Ritual Sword hanging casually at his side.
When he spoke, his voice remained utterly devoid of emotion, yet it dripped with a chilling condescension. "Is that... all?"
He paused, the silence stretching taut. "Not enough."
His attention had completely shifted to the trailblazing team assisting Anaxa. Whether it was Stelle's chaotic yet incredibly solid defense, Dan Heng's swift interceptions and peculiar protective magic, or March 7th's precise long-range harassment, the cloaked man had locked the vast majority of his lethal perception onto these three anomalies.
However, the very second he took another step forward—his murderous aura entirely focused on the trio ahead—the atmosphere in the room violently fractured.
A sudden, impossible change occurred.
Upon the grand throne, Anaxa, who had been sitting with his head bowed like a lifeless stone statue, twitched.
His movement was entirely unannounced and unnaturally fast, defying the limits of his mortal frame. His right arm, which had been hanging limply just moments before, suddenly surged with terrifying power. A blinding mixture of golden Reason and complex, swirling patterns of an alchemical array wrapped around his limb. Like a venomous snake that had spent centuries coiling for a single strike, his arm shot forward.
Pfft—!
The sickening, dull thud of flesh and bone being violently punctured echoed with horrifying clarity through the suddenly silent hall.
Anaxa's right arm had driven itself directly into the black-robed figure's back. Exploiting the exact microsecond the man's attention was diverted, Anaxa targeted the slightly weaker guard on the left side of his spine. The golden-wreathed hand punched completely through the man's torso, erupting from his chest in a spray of dark blood. The angle was impossibly tricky, and the timing was nothing short of malicious.
"Ugh...!" The black-robed figure's body convulsed violently. For the first time, a muffled groan of genuine pain and shock escaped his lips.
He could instantly feel that this was no mere physical impalement. A highly volatile alchemical energy array, brimming with destructive analytical and disintegrating properties, was rapidly spreading outward from the gaping wound. The golden light gnawed at his insides, viciously attempting to break down his very power structure from the inside out.
Roaring through the pain, the black-robed figure retaliated with a brutal backhand. A massive surge of dark energy exploded from his core, forcefully blasting Anaxa away and dislodging the blood-soaked arm from his chest. The cloaked man staggered forward, his boots scraping harshly against the stone as he retreated to the open area in the center of the hall.
He dropped heavily onto one knee. His left hand clamped tightly over the gaping, see-through hole in his chest. At the edges of the gruesome wound, golden alchemical patterns and black corrosive energy viciously clashed, locked in a desperate struggle for dominance. He drove the Crescent Ritual Sword deep into the cracked floor tiles, using the blade to prop up his trembling body.
Yet, despite the catastrophic injury, he still hadn't fallen.
"What a pity," Anaxa spoke, his voice carrying a deeply unsettling, layered echo.
It sounded as though two entirely different entities were speaking in perfect unison. One was the young, calm tone of Anaxa the scholar; the other was an ancient, steady timbre vibrating with divine resonance—the awakened soul of Sesshis.
"Couldn't deliver a fatal blow."
To execute such a flawless, decisive sneak attack, and to condense enough raw power to actually cripple this terrifying enemy, Anaxa's mortal soul and the remaining divine spark of Sesshis's Reason had been forced into an unprecedentedly deep fusion.
Gritting his teeth, the black-robed figure slowly forced himself to stand straight once more.
His dark aura was noticeably chaotic now, violently flickering like a dying star, and the gaping hole in his chest was visibly draining his vitality by the second. Yet, his posture remained as unyielding as a mountain. He slowly raised his head. Even from beneath the heavy cowl, his murderous gaze pierced through the shadows, locking onto Anaxa with absolute, unadulterated malice.
"Is that all?" His voice was ragged and hoarse, yet infinitely colder than before.
Before the final syllable even left his lips, his figure violently blurred. This time, he didn't bother summoning a clone. His main body transformed into a streak of pitch-black lightning, tearing across the hall and charging directly at the scholar on the throne.
His speed was exponentially greater than any of his previous phantom strikes. He was utterly enraged, entirely intent on obliterating the 'source' that had inflicted such substantial damage upon him.
Anaxa's expression tightened into a solemn mask. At his core, he was still just a scholar. Even with the divine blessing of Sesshis's soul coursing through his veins, brutal close-quarters combat was entirely out of his depth. Facing the furious, blindingly fast lunge, Anaxa could only hastily raise his heavy flintlock horizontally, desperately attempting to parry the incoming execution.
Clang! Clash! Hiss—!
The dark longsword and the reinforced barrel of the flintlock collided in a violent explosion of orange sparks. The black-robed figure's offensive was like a torrential, unforgiving storm. The shadowy afterimages of his blade were continuous and unending, raining down with immensely heavy, bone-rattling force. Every single swing was accompanied by a high-pitched shriek, as if the very fabric of space was being torn apart.
Anaxa was instantly pushed to the absolute brink, his arms trembling under the crushing weight of the assault.
"Hey! You still have me to deal with!"
How could Stelle ever let such a prime opportunity slip by? The exact moment the cloaked man had committed to his frenzied attack on Anaxa, the Trailblazer had already launched herself forward. Moving like a vengeful shadow, she swung her star sword in a brutal, sweeping arc. The blade, trailing a scorching, crimson light of pure Destruction, aimed directly for the black-robed figure's exposed waist, forcing him to break his assault and defend.
The black-robed figure didn't even bother to turn his head. He simply swept his free left hand backward.
Instantly, another shadowy clone materialized from the ether, precisely raising its blade to block Stelle's devastating sweep. While this new phantom's raw power felt slightly weaker than the previous iterations—likely a side effect of the main body's severe injury—its swordsmanship remained exquisitely precise and utterly ruthless. It immediately engaged Stelle, locking her into a fierce, high-speed duel.
"Castorice, a little help here!" Stelle shouted, gritting her teeth as she parried a flurry of shadowy thrusts.
Castorice, who had been safely shielded behind the Trailblazer moments prior, narrowed her eyes. A flicker of eerie, ghostly light ignited within her pupils. She silently floated forward, smoothly sliding into Stelle's blind spot to cover her flank. The chilling power of Death condensed rapidly in her palm, forming a wicked, ash-gray blade. She immediately threw herself into the fray, fighting the clone alongside Stelle and drastically easing the pressure on the Trailblazer.
However, the black-robed figure's terrifying offensive did not falter in the slightest.
Even while fiercely suppressing Anaxa with a storm of blows, and simultaneously maintaining the clone battling Stelle and Castorice, his chilling, mechanical command echoed through the grand hall once more.
"Third Slash. Fourth Slash."
Swish! Swish!
Two brand-new shadowy clones erupted from his dark aura in immediate response. Without a microsecond of hesitation, they darted outward like twin specters of Death. One lunged directly toward March 7th, who was busy covering Trianne and desperately scanning for an opening to fire. The other phantom blurred toward Anaxa, aiming to execute the scholar just as he finally regained his footing and gasped for breath.
"March, watch your six!" Dan Heng roared, his usually calm demeanor cracking.
"Teacher Anaxa!" Castorice screamed simultaneously, her ghostly blade flashing as she tried to break away.
In the blink of an eye, within the sprawling confines of the Grand Hall of the Enlightenment Throne, the chaotic melee had violently escalated into a white-hot, life-or-death struggle.
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