Chapter 68: Lathel vs Lucien (end)

Inside the sixth floor’s space. Lathel saw the space around Lucien tremble violently, and his eyes lit up with realization. "Careful!" Evelyn’s voice rang in Lathel’s mind. "It looks like he just received some kind of magical enhancement. His power has nearly doubled." Lathel didn’t respond—he wasn’t surprised at all. He already knew. Everything... he had already seen it all through the Future Insight Card. Now, everything was within the palm of his hand. Evelyn, noticing Lathel’s calm and composed demeanor, wasn’t too surprised either. After all, with Lathel’s power, Lucien was nothing more than an ant—like a king watching a jester dance in a circus. "GAH!!" Lucien, fueled by the surge in power, didn’t hesitate. He swung his massive sword toward Lathel with all his might. The greatsword sliced through the air, the howling wind overpowering even the natural gusts atop the mountain. Whoosh! Lathel saw the blade coming—but this time, he didn’t intend to dodge. "System," he commanded silently. "Use the Disguise Card." [Ding! Disguise Card used. Remaining: 4 Disguise Cards.] Whoosh! "AGH!!" Lathel let the blade slash across his chest, but... the sword didn’t actually touch him—it was blocked by a spatial barrier. However, on his chest, a terrifying wound appeared. Blood sprayed out violently, the gash so deep that his bones were visible. He let out a gut-wrenching, pained scream as he staggered backward, his face contorted in agony. Seeing Lathel injured, Lucien’s face lit up with glee. He couldn’t contain himself and shouted, "Do you feel it now?! Do you feel the pain?!" "Lathel! Today is the day you die!" Lathel clutched his wound tightly. Though his face was twisted in pain, he still gritted his teeth and said with resolve: "I will never give up. Humanity will never fall to the Demons!" Lucien found his words strange—they didn’t seem to match the situation at all—but he didn’t care. As long as Lathel died, anything he said was just meaningless nonsense. "DIE!!!" Lucien roared, swinging the greatsword with his monstrous arm once again. Lathel gritted his teeth, retreating backward to maintain distance. But each movement caused more blood to gush from his wound, like a stream surging from a mountain crevice. BAM! The greatsword came crashing down, striking exactly where Lathel had just stood, shattering the ground beneath it. Lucien didn’t stop. His monstrous hand gripped the sword tightly and swung it sideways toward Lathel. Whoosh! Lathel tilted his body, narrowly dodging the terrifying blade once again. Once... Twice... Three times... Though it appeared each time that Lathel had narrowly and luckily avoided Lucien’s deadly strikes, Lilith didn’t think so. ’Something’s wrong! Lathel... he’s far too precise,’ Lilith thought uneasily. ’Every single dodge is perfect. It may look like luck—but luck doesn’t repeat this consistently.’ A deep sense of unease gnawed at her. What disturbed her even more was that she had seen Lathel use a talent that seemed to manipulate snow—but ever since the battle began, he hadn’t used it once. A sudden suspicion bloomed in her mind, though she couldn’t tell if it was accurate or not. Besides... in Lucien’s current state, would he even listen to her advice? ’Let’s just hope it’s not as bad as I think,’ she prayed silently. "GAH!!!" Lucien once again swung down. The blade missed Lathel’s head by less than ten centimeters. Lathel dodged again with eerie precision—the greatsword sliced through a few strands of his hair before crashing into the ground with force. BAM! "Damn it!" Lucien roared, losing what little patience he had left. A surge of green energy burst from the cracks in his mutated left arm. It coiled around the blade like serpents, generating powerful resonances, causing the strange glyphs etched on the sword to glow a sinister green. "DIE!!" Lucien bellowed as he swung the sword, releasing a green crescent-shaped energy wave that shot toward Lathel. Whoosh! The sword beam glowed bright green as it tore through space like an arrow, emitting a screeching whistle that pierced the air. It sliced through the atmosphere with such intensity that even the drifting snowflakes evaporated upon nearing the beam. At that moment, time itself seemed to slow to a crawl. Lathel saw the incoming sword beam clearly, yet there was no fear or panic in his heart—only indifference. His eyes looked off into the distance, where the air was rippling violently—like the still surface of a lake shattered by a single stone. He smirked, thinking to himself, "Time for you all to take the stage." The sword beam was now less than five meters from Lathel’s neck. Lucien’s eyes widened, gleaming with anticipation and excitement. "Just a little more... just a little more and he’ll die. This nightmare will finally be over." "Selvia, just a little more... and you’ll be free." Four meters... Three... Two... One... Ten centimeters... "Die! DIE!!" Lucien screamed inwardly, his eyes ablaze with bloodlust and madness beyond reason. And then— BAM! "What?!" At that very moment, a beam of light surged forth and collided with Lucien’s sword energy. A thunderous explosion erupted. The sword beam, now just a centimeter away from Lathel’s neck, scattered into countless wind currents and vanished into the air. Lucien stared, eyes wide, utterly stunned. "No! No! NO!!! AGH!!!" he howled in madness. "Why?! I was so close... just a little more and he would’ve died! Why?!" Gripping the greatsword, Lucien’s face twisted in rage. All calm had vanished, leaving behind only wild, animalistic killing intent. "DIE! I’LL KILL YOU! AGHHHH!!!" he roared, raising the greatsword and swinging it down toward Lathel’s head. Lathel appeared utterly exhausted, sitting motionless with no sign of resistance. Suddenly, Lucien felt a dreadful premonition surge through his mind—a deep, bone-chilling sense of danger. But he didn’t stop. His mind was consumed with only one thought: kill Lathel. BAM! "Ack!" A crushing blow struck Lucien’s abdomen, as if a massive boulder had slammed into him. Pain shot through his body as he cried out and was flung backward. Thud! Clang! He crashed hard into the ground, the greatsword slipping from his hand and clattering with a harsh metallic screech. Lucien tumbled across the snowy ground, his body blanketed in frost. Groaning, he forced himself up, bracing against the pain with both hands. "Pffft!" A surge of nausea twisted in his gut, and he spat out a mouthful of blood. The crimson drops stained the white snow, forming a stark contrast that snapped Lucien back to a fleeting moment of clarity. "Damn it! What the hell just happened?" Lucien muttered, his head pounding as if someone had smashed it with a hammer. His entire body ached so badly he nearly passed out. But Lathel wasn’t dead yet—and Lucien’s pride wouldn’t allow him to lose consciousness now. "Lyra, what the hell do you think you’re doing?!" At that moment, a familiar voice rang out, and a dark silhouette stepped forward, standing protectively in front of him. "Vice Headmaster... Morlan..." Lucien struggled to speak, but blood clogged his throat, making his words come out garbled. Still, he could clearly see on the other side—Lyra’s disciple was also being shielded by her, her expression furious, exuding a murderous aura so intense it made the air feel frigid. "You’re really asking me that?" Lyra snapped. "He nearly killed my disciple, and you expect me to just stand there and watch him get murdered by a monster?" "Nonsense!" Morlan barked, cutting her off. "Professor Lyra, I will not allow you to call Lucien a monster." "Huh! Even a blind man can see what he is, yet you still defend him?" Lyra scoffed with contempt. "Looks like you’re hiding something." Morlan’s expression darkened, and his tone turned ice-cold, laced with killing intent. "Professor Lyra, don’t think you can say whatever you please." "There are those... who’ve died for speaking out of turn." "Hm?! Are you threatening me?" Lyra narrowed her eyes. The tension in the air reached its peak. The very space around them grew heavy and dense, like a muddy swamp—or a mountain pressing down on their shoulders. "Master! You need to run!" Lathel suddenly grabbed Lyra’s soft hand, startling her. "Lathel, you—" She was about to speak when his voice cut her off. "He’s become a monster... this place... it’s too dangerous... please... get out of here..." Lathel panted heavily, blood gushing from his chest wound. His face was pale, as though drained of blood, on the verge of fainting at any moment. Lyra looked at Lathel’s pitiful state, yet despite everything, he still tried to protect her. Her heart trembled—both deeply moved and warmed by his concern. "This young man..." she thought. "Even now, he still worries about me. Foolish boy!" Seeing the scene unfold, Lucien’s fury boiled over. His blood pressure surged so violently he coughed up another mouthful of blood. "Pfff!" Startled by the sight, Morlan quickly asked, "Are you alright?" Lucien didn’t seem to register Morlan’s concern. His gaze burned with resentment as he stared at Lathel. "Lies! Professor Lyra, don’t let his deception fool you—he’s..." "Enough!" Lyra snapped. Her eyes glared at Lucien with such hatred, it was as if her stare alone could reduce him to ashes. "I... I..." Lucien trembled under her gaze, fear, humiliation, and fury all surging within him at once. Damn it! he cursed inwardly. Why?! Why does no one believe me? Lyra shot a warning glare before, without hesitation, pulling out a high-grade healing potion and offering it to Lathel. Upon seeing the vial, Lathel quickly shook his head. "No, Master. That... it’s too valuable." "Do as I say. I’m your master. Everything I have is meant for you," Lyra replied firmly. Then, realizing how strange her words sounded, her cheeks flushed red in embarrassment. Lathel, of course, noticed the odd phrasing—but he pretended not to, awkwardly accepting the potion. Seeing him drink it, Lyra breathed a sigh of relief, a bit more at ease. She then cast a side glance at Morlan, as if wanting to say something, but Lathel’s hand suddenly grasped her wrist tightly. "Master... you shouldn’t stay here," Lathel panted, his breath so weak it seemed on the verge of vanishing. "Lathel, you—" "He... he..." Lathel tried to inhale deeply, but in the end— Thud! "Lathel!" Lyra cried out as he collapsed to the ground, blood gushing from his wound, pooling beneath him. She quickly caught him in her arms, her expression filled with worry, eyes brimming with tears. Without delay, Lyra pressed her index finger against Lathel’s forehead. A green light enveloped his body completely. Cradling him gently, she raised her hand. Krit! A massive crane, radiating holy light, pierced through space and flew to her side. With Lathel in her arms, she leapt onto the creature’s back and flew away from the battlefield. Just before disappearing, Lyra cast one last look at Morlan and Lucien—a gaze full of hatred and warning, as if she could slice their heads off without a second thought. Lucien, seeing that look, felt nothing but despair and exhaustion. Combined with the blow he had taken earlier— "Pff!" Blood sprayed from his lips as his consciousness plunged into darkness. Outside the Tower of Trials, a shadowy figure stood at its peak, watching the massive crane soar into the distance. Clad in white robes adorned with strange patterns, half his face concealed by a white mask with black trim—this was Vladirovic, one of the Church’s Inquisitors. He held in his hands a leather scroll, inscribed with glowing runes. Suddenly— They ignited. Yes, the characters burst into flames, crumbling into sparks that scattered and vanished as though they had never existed. Where once was a densely written scroll, now there remained only a blank sheet—void of even a single mark of ink. Vladirovic smiled. A grin both gleeful and intrigued. "So... the story I designed isn’t welcomed, is it?" he murmured. "Hm... hahaha..."