Chapter 302: [302] Deadly Duel in the Dream

Words : 1487 Updated : Oct 7th, 2025

Chapter 302: [302] Deadly Duel in the Dream "Thus do people speak." "They say I am a blasphemous beast." "They say I am a connoisseur of desire." "Hehe... Hahahahaha!" "Run, Fujimaru!" "Then I’ll go on ahead, Fujimaru. Take care of His Majesty!" "Is this the end...? Be sure to protect this world, brave warrior." "Woof! I won’t let you hurt Master!" "It hurts, it hurts, it hurts... but I still won’t let you pass! That little piglet belongs to me alone!" Boudica, Jing Ke, Stheno, Tamamo Cat, Elizabeth... "Everyone!" Awakening from the brink of death, the black-haired youth sat up in shock. The creaking protests of his bones were deafening, yet he seemed entirely unaware, hurriedly scanning his surroundings. It was a dilapidated room. Crumbling walls and a ceiling riddled with cracks underscored the dire straits they were in. At this moment, Fujimaru sat on a makeshift straw bed, and not far from him, another figure lay atop a similar mat—their crimson dress nearly scorching his eyes. "Nero... Your Majesty?!" "It seems, having reclaimed her original form, she no longer needs to rely on Her Majesty’s vessel." A weary voice came from outside the door. Fujimaru turned to see Waver leaning against the doorway, extinguishing a cigarette. Beside him, a swordsman whose armour was shattered yet still stood proudly at guard, slightly turned his head, eyes beneath the helmet casting a concerned gaze. "I really thought we were done for..." From the direction of the Command Seal, Doctor Roman let out a sigh of relief. "The awakened Beast was right beside you, and to be honest, I’m amazed any of you survived." "That wasn’t thanks to us, Lord Roman." Waver shook his head. He seemed about to say something more, but instead let out a low sigh and remained silent. But Fujimaru had already fully recalled the brutal events leading up to his blackout. After Sakatsuki’s death, Draco had manifested. Lacking the strength to contend, they could only retreat in disarray, sacrificing companion after companion to momentarily stave off the predator’s onslaught. Yet even after Elizabeth fell, the aftershock from Draco’s assault still caught Fujimaru, sending the ordinary-bodied man into unconsciousness. In the end, it was Waver—no, Zhuge Liang—who took the initiative, using the lingering divinity from Stheno’s sacrifice to link with the Eight Trigrams and teleport them a thousand miles away, narrowly escaping Draco’s death game. "Everyone... all because of me..." "It’s alright, Fujimaru. As Servants, these things happen. The moments where we risk everything to protect our Master..." Zhuge Liang smiled gently, comforting the despondent Master. "In those fleeting moments lies our everything." Fujimaru sank into contemplation, only for Saber to tactlessly interrupt them. "Enough chatter. Draco will soon discover and eliminate the bait Lord Liang left behind. We need to relocate before we’ve even discussed a countermeasure." The black-clad Saber frowned in displeasure, braving the foreboding chill gnawing at her instincts. "That lazy tyrant isn’t up yet?" "Mmm... I think I just heard someone slandering me! Calling me a tyrant is a bit much, isn’t it, General Saber?!" At some point, Nero had already awoken, sitting up with a protest. "Also, what is the meaning of this? Sleeping in a place like this—my poor backside! Weren’t we supposed to be in Gaul?" Waver blinked in surprise. "Your Majesty Nero, you still remember what happened?" "Of course I do! Didn’t Governor Sakatsuki help us repel the enemies of the United Roman Empire? I remember it well!" Facing Nero, who now stood hands on hips while searching for the long-missed Governor, Waver and Fujimaru exchanged helpless glances. Black Saber crossed her arms and sneered, scorn obvious beneath her helmet. A weak, self-deceiving woman... "Ahem... we’ll explain the details along the way. Anyway, for now, we move." Waver cleared his throat, urging everyone into action. "We need to get back to the capital, Rome, immediately." As he spoke, Waver couldn’t help but touch a brocade pouch hidden within his robes. "If anything happens to me, return to the capital at once. Open this pouch — it might be our final chance to turn the tide." As the originator of the term "brilliant strategy in a silk pouch", Waver never imagined he too would one day experience the cruel humour of a cryptic tactician. "Don’t let me down, Sakatsuki..." Feeling the ominous pressure drawing near, a bead of cold sweat ran down Waver’s temple as he and the others fled swiftly into the distance. Less than ten kilometers remained before the capital. Would they reach it in time? *** "Take this!" From the tip of a crimson spear, everything ahead was cleanly torn apart, as though unzipping reality itself. Even the stormwinds and debris stirred up by the attack were split into distinct halves. This was no mere spear technique—it was a flawless combination of unmatched skill and eyes capable of discerning all death lines, honed into a supreme art. Piercing mountains, parting rivers—nothing in its path could withstand that strike. But no matter how formidable a technique, if it failed to reach its target, it was meaningless. "Pathetic!" The Old Man of the Mountain bellowed. The thrusting spear failed to catch its mark, leaving an opening. A broadsword wreathed in ghostly fire drove into the spearman’s chest, twisting, breaking the grasping arms away, and cleaving upward, spraying blood and severing a stunned head. Thirty-fifth death. As the phantom returned from death yet again, Sakatsuki collapsed to one knee, panting heavily. The thick death aura within the Old Man of the Mountain’s battered broadsword was transmitted through the dream, while Sakatsuki’s real-world injuries in turn affected his state within the dream. If he was this frail in the illusion, then his real body must already be teetering on death’s threshold. Tomorrow’s headlines would probably read: Mysterious Secret Room Murder at Local Inn. His lungs throbbed in agony with every desperate breath. Sakatsuki struggled to move his battered body. The falling greatsword stirred a foul wind, hurling him into a roadside thicket. Calmly reclaiming his blade, the assassin whose true face was hidden beneath a skull mask stepped forward, closing in, step by step. One step. Two steps. Three... The bushes rustled open. Amidst the shimmering spear light, Sakatsuki’s figure abruptly appeared in the night. Golden eyes burned with a stubborn flame as he launched another charge at the Grand Servant. Foolish... Faced with the breathtakingly fierce strike, the Old Man only frowned. With a slight turn of his body and a casual flick of his sword, the fierce thrust collapsed like a deflated balloon, its momentum dying instantly, easily evaded. Seeing the youth suppress his frailty to the limit, yet unable even to activate his Mystic Eyes of Death Perception, the Old Man’s heart filled with greater disappointment. Even at his peak, he couldn’t be his opponent, let alone now after thirty-odd deaths. Why couldn’t he understand this yet?! As the progenitor of all assassins, what the Old Man wanted to see was not a warrior refusing to yield, fighting to the death again and again—but an assassin who understood when to advance and when to withdraw, biding time until delivering a fatal blow. Like his own battle style: swift and decisive, killing with a single strike. Or finding an opportunity amid battle, feinting, parrying, and retreating as mere misdirection, awaiting a crack in the enemy’s defenses, then striking like a venomous serpent to secure victory. Not this—mindlessly chasing death lines without form or method! It was the man who should control the Mystic Eyes—not the Mystic Eyes that should control the man. Couldn’t he even comprehend this much? A gust of wicked wind came barreling down. Sakatsuki barely managed to bend back in time, droplets of blood flung by the ancient sword’s arc. The Old Man followed with a kick, shattering his guard. The scornful frustration in those hollow eyes only deepened. If it were a matter of poor talent, that might be forgivable. If he simply hadn’t found the proper method, there would still be room for growth. But this youth was neither. Though better at magecraft than combat, his natural insight was the greatest the Old Man had seen in his life. Before even his third death, Sakatsuki had fully grasped the Old Man’s fighting style, minimizing fatal wounds to survive this long without complete bodily collapse. And yet, he stubbornly clung to his ridiculous pride, refusing to adapt! The infernal fire within those hollow sockets flared. The Old Man wordlessly drew his sword and struck down! If you still refuse to awaken—then die here in this trial! Before him, though unable even to speak, the youth still forced a grin upon his lips. Then watch carefully, old man. This—this is my way of fighting! *** Hey readers! Want to read ahead? ???? Join my Patreon for early access to 30+ advance Chapters! Your support helps me write more and bring the story to you faster. ????/aarvan????

Chapter 302: [302] Deadly Duel in the Dream

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