Chapter 128: Clash of Swords (2)
The impact was silent for exactly one second — a moment of impossible stillness where the dark light of Heaven’s Severance and the triple-stacked intent of Heaven’s Divide pressed against each other like two tectonic plates.
Then they shattered.
The explosion of released energy sent both fighters sliding backward — Lucian’s boots carving trenches in the earth, Wei Chen’s feet skidding across torn grass. Shockwaves rippled outward, flattening everything within thirty meters. The crowd screamed as the pressure wave hit the barrier dome.
Lucian skidded to a stop. His arms ached. The dark light around his blade had completely dissipated — Heaven’s Severance at Novice level wasn’t stable enough to survive a direct clash with a mastered technique. His BE had dropped to 41%. Primordial Sight was eating through his mana at an alarming rate.
Wei Chen stopped ten meters away, breathing hard. Heaven’s Divide had cost him — his sword arm was trembling slightly, and a thin line of blood ran from his hairline down his temple.
Lucian lowered the Moon Shattering Blade and placed it by his right hip — point facing backward, grip loose, left hand resting on the pommel. He closed his eyes.
I haven’t perfected it yet. But this should do the trick.
In the darkness behind his eyelids, he visualized it.
Wei Chen saw the stance and frowned. Something in his instincts screamed.
This will probably be my last attack.
He gathered everything. Every scrap of mana. Every ounce of Sword Intent. The Sword Spirit behind him blazed brighter than it had all match — the twenty-meter halo condensing, concentrating, folding inward toward his blade.
It was fun while it lasted, Lucian Grimaud.
His voice carried across the silent arena.
"Celestial Severance — Fourth Form: Celestial Collapse."
He swung.
The slash that erupted from his blade wasn’t a line or an arc. It was a wall — a vertical plane of compressed sword intent twenty meters wide and ten meters tall, rushing toward Lucian like the side of a collapsing building. The air in front of it ionized. The ground beneath it cracked from the pressure differential. It was, without exaggeration, the single most powerful attack of the entire tournament.
Lucian’s eyes opened.
Crimson burning with dark light.
"Eclipse Sword Art — Second Form: Sky Breaker."
He drew the blade from his hip in a single horizontal slash. As the blade moved, three things happened simultaneously.
Blood Eclipse Art channeled through the blade — crimson energy wrapping around the steel like a living vein.
Light Control ignited along the edge — blinding white radiance merging with the crimson.
And Sword Intent — tflickering dark light — caught fire.
The three energies didn’t layer. They fused. Crimson and white and dark light became something new — a slash that carried the properties of all three. It left the blade as a horizontal line no wider than a finger.
It hit Celestial Collapse.
The wall of sword intent consumed the first meter of Sky Breaker’s path. Then the second. Then the third. The slash accelerated.
Sky Breaker punched through Celestial Collapse.
The wall of intent shattered like glass — fragments of white-gold light scattering into the air, dissolving into harmless sparks. The remainder of Sky Breaker — diminished but intact — crossed the ten meters between Lucian and Wei Chen in a fraction of a second.
Wei Chen’s eyes tracked it. His body couldn’t move fast enough. His sword couldn’t come up in time. He saw the dark-light-red-white line approaching his chest and thought, So that’s what it feels like.
The slash landed.
A diagonal line appeared across Wei Chen’s chest — from his left shoulder to his right hip.
Blood poured from the wound. Wei Chen’s sword dropped from his fingers. His knees buckled.
The bracelet on his wrist blazed red.
"Chinese Vanguard Academy — Wei Chen — ELIMINATED."
The stadium erupted.
One hundred thousand voices screaming, crying, chanting, roaring.
Lucian’s vision was blurring at the edges. Primordial Sight flickered — the microscopic detail dissolving, the 360-degree processing stuttering.
He cancelled it.
The world snapped back to normal. Missing the crystal clarity he’d had seconds ago.
BE: 24%. Mana: 11,000/75,000. Can’t keep Blood Eclipse Art up much longer.
He raised his left hand.
"Blood Clone."
One clone materialized — weaker than usual, his mana too depleted for three. It immediately sprinted toward the EASA crystal, toward Rose and Nadia and Bao Lei.
Lucian turned toward the Chinese crystal. Toward Mickey, still fighting Liang Feng and Liu Jiang’s endless barriers.
He took one step.
A figure landed in front of him.
Bao Lei. Jade Fist raised. Perception Filter no longer active — with Wei Chen eliminated, there was no need for stealth. His expression was cold, calculating.
"Going somewhere?"
Lucian’s crimson eyes locked onto him.
The blood clone reached Rose’s position behind him. Bao Lei was between Lucian and the Chinese crystal. Between Lucian and ending this match.
Bao Lei’s jade-glowing fist swung toward Lucian’s face.
Lucian didn’t dodge. Didn’t block. Didn’t even blink.
"Blood Chains."
Crimson chains erupted from the ground beneath Bao Lei’s feet — wrapping around his ankles, his knees, his waist, his wrists — yanking him downward and backward in a single violent motion. His fist stopped centimeters from Lucian’s nose, the jade glow sputtering as his concentration shattered.
But Bao Lei was Mid Core Realm. His muscles strained against the chains. Veins bulged along his neck and forearms. The jade glow intensified — his A-Rank Jade Fist reinforcing his physical body, making his muscles dense enough to resist the constriction.
The chains groaned. Began to stretch.
Lucian raised his left hand.
"Light Chains."
Golden chains of solidified light joined the crimson ones — layering over the blood chains, doubling the restraint, locking Bao Lei in a cocoon of interwoven crimson and gold.
Bao Lei couldn’t move. The combined restraint of two binding techniques was too much, even for his reinforced body.
Lucian stepped past him without a glance.
"Hey!" Bao Lei roared, straining against the chains. "Come here and fight me!"
Lucian didn’t slow down.
"You’re not worth my time."
The words carried across the silent arena. Bao Lei’s face twisted — humiliation and rage burning in equal measure.
Lucian was already gone.
Light Steps.
Lucian’s body became a silver streak across the battlefield.
The Chinese crystal loomed ahead. Mickey stood before it, blood running from a dozen cuts, breathing hard, one hand pressed against a wound on his side. Liang Feng was on her knees thirty meters to the left, earth armor crumbling, mana visibly depleted but still crawling with residual earth energy. Liu Jiang knelt behind a single barrier — his last one — hands shaking, face pale as paper, drenched in sweat.