Chapter 306: Pushing To the Corner
While the crowd argued over numbers for his total stat, Adyr kept pressing. His slashes came without pause, each one landing hard enough to drive Kharom back another step.
With no chance to reset his stance, Kharom’s footing frayed; balance slipped; his boots began to slide across the marble.
Kharom was not idle either. He had already triggered one of his attack-type Spark skills. The hands that had darkened from his defensive skill deepened another shade, a rot-like hue that crawled from skin to steel.
Each time Adyr’s blades struck, the corruption licked across the contact, and the metal caught it. A dry black bloom crept over the swords, and thin cracks webbed along their surfaces.
With every impact, the blackened sheen thickened. The edges looked tired. The first hairline fractures widened into lines the eye could follow.
These swords are not enough for me anymore, are they? Adyr frowned, watching his blades move toward failure.
They were not common weapons. He had paid for them with hard-won merit. They were the best the research team had crafted for him so far.
But their limits showed. For Rank 1 or even Rank 2 use, the craft was excellent. In a clash where power reached toward Rank 3, the outcome was obvious.
On the final exchange, Adyr loaded both blades. Sonic Burst and Burst Hop ran together into steel, and he cut.
Twin shock sword arcs crossed Kharom’s torso, and the blast hurled him backward. The detonation of the shock wave rolled out across the platform, and a heartbeat later, the breaking of Adyr’s swords followed it.
Rusted fragments rattled onto the stone as both blades gave out in his hands.
Adyr’s eyes locked on Kharom. The Umbraen skidded, bent, and pushed himself upright with a hand clamped over his chest.
On the darkened skin, an X-shaped slash mark stood out, and dark blood ran from the cut. The pain read plain on his face.
"Huh? You really got hurt, didn’t you?" Adyr let the broken hilts drop and smiled.
With both blades, the sword-arc combo cost him more than 10 energy and 2 swords, but given the damage, he judged the exchange fair.
Kharom set his teeth at the taunt, then forced his expression smooth.
He glanced down at the bleeding wound and smiled thinly. "So what? You just lost your weapons. Now you have nothing that can hurt me."
On the surface, his words held. Everyone could see that those blades were not simple. Their finish and balance were the work of a careful hand, likely crafted at a quality fit for Rank 3. Losing weapons like that in the middle of a fight was a heavy price.
Adyr looked entirely unbothered, and that surprise ran visibly through the spectators.
"Who said I lost my weapons?" With a simple thought, he reached into his Sanctuary and drew another matched pair into his hands for all to see.
This set had been purchased for his Earth body, but in an emergency he transferred it to this one. He had also contacted Henry Bates through his Earth body to request more; even with merit points running low, urgency would move the department, and no one would haggle over points in a situation like this.
Kharom’s smile died as the second pair flashed. He braced for more steel.
Adyr lunged. The new blades cut the air in the same relentless tempo, a hurricane of slashes that denied breath.
When the metal began to show the same signs—faint rusting at the edges, hairline splits crawling across the flats—Adyr burned energy again.
Sonic Burst and Burst Hop braided into both arms and swords; as soon as he found the perfect opening, he released another X-shaped slash directly over the previous wound. The lines widened, and more dark blood poured out.
"What happened? Do you want to surrender?" Adyr let the ruined hilts fall from his hands and smiled again.
"I don’t believe you have more swords." Kharom’s words came through clenched teeth, one hand still clamped to his chest.
Weapons at true Rank 3 quality were rare and costly. The idea that Adyr carried a third set sounded impossible to Kharom—and to many in the stands.
"Well, I do. Sorry." Before their shocked eyes, Adyr drew another identical pair from his Sanctuary.
As soon as Henry received the call on Earth, he had driven the department to move.
The request was marked urgent, and the team made it possible to send the swords Adyr needed. Henry’s warning had been blunt: "There are only 2 sets left in storage. Use them wisely." The note irritated him, but Adyr appreciated the speed.
Including the 2 sets Adyr had already broken, only 2 extra sets existed in the player headquarters—no more had been crafted.
That was not surprising; forging these blades took both time and rare materials. There was no one to blame.
It did mean the margin narrowed. With one fresh pair in hand and only 1 more pair held in reserve, he would have to calculate each exchange with more care from this point on.
"Now let’s start round 3." With his new set of swords in hand, Adyr dashed in again while Kharom settled into a defensive stance, raising both forearms to shield his chest where a deep X-shaped wound struggled to knit.
Adyr restarted the onslaught, working to pry apart the two guarding arms and thread a strike through the narrow gap.
This time his attacks were more calculated and more forceful. He adjusted his angles to keep the blades from lingering against Kharom’s rotting skill, and when the opening appeared, he took it—another X-shaped slash landed directly over the earlier wound before it could close, driving the cut deeper and sending more dark blood gushing out.
The best part: the swords did not break immediately; by his feel, they still had the durability for at least one more skill combo.
He gave Kharom no time to recover. Maintaining the rush, he forced the same opening again and drove the blades into the prior line, widening the wound until bone showed under the torn flesh.
Only then did the swords finally give, snapping apart and scattering across the floor.
"Well, I must admit your body is very durable," Adyr commented, praising his opponent without summoning his last set of swords.
In Kharom’s eyes—until now full of arrogance—a thin line of fear and tension appeared as he watched to see whether Adyr would call out another pair.
He looked as if the sight of that black steel would make him turn and run, surrendering the match and his pride to keep his life.
When he saw Adyr did not summon anything, Kharom’s ragged breathing steadied a little. Spitting blood, he said, "Now you have nothing left."
He spoke without arrogance, only with hard resolve. "I will let you go, and I will let your Aqualeth friends go. Let us settle this dispute between us for now."
The offer surprised many: an Umbraen—Sevrak’s own grandson—proposing a truce to his rival.
Yet it was understandable and wise. The shock lay in that wisdom itself; few expected it from Kharom. Still, all knew circumstances can bend even the hardest iron.
"Letting us go, huh?" Adyr paused for a second, looking deep in thought, as if weighing the offered hand.