Chapter 60: Wind Slice
Lucien moved, beginning to harvest the life of the pack. Within moments, only their corpses remained, scattered across the crimson-stained forest ground. Their bodies gave off a burnt, acrid smell that mingled with the metallic scent of blood, and the ground was scorched in several places, darkening the crimson soil; evidence of the battle that had taken place.
Lucien sheathed the blade armament but didn’t return it.
"Since you have watched enough, aren’t you going to come out?" he said in a calm tone.
Nobody replied. Only the wind answered, rustling through the crimson leaves, carrying with it the faint scent of damp earth and decay.
Lucien’s expression didn’t change. "You have been following me since Draktharion City, and now you’ve gathered your men. Aren’t you going to come out and introduce yourselves?"
It was only when Lucien spoke these words that seven men emerged from the shadows. His gaze held no surprise, only calm. He had sensed them from the very beginning; their breathing, their footsteps, the faint rustle of their movements.
None escaped his senses.
"So what brings you here?" Lucien asked with nonchalance.
Normally, he would have been able to kill the entire pack when he attacked the leader. But because of them, he had put on this show. He didn’t want them to run early; he wanted to give them the illusion that they could still beat him.
And they had fallen for it.
"Young man, you shouldn’t have offended who you shouldn’t have," a black-haired young man said, his gaze disdainful and arrogant. His voice was sharp, cutting through the forest’s silence like a blade.
Lucien shook his head, truly of the same mould. He held his chin in thought. "I shouldn’t have offended anyone... Oh, oh! There was this fool!"
He shook his head in dejection. "Such a fool!"
The young man knew exactly who Lucien was referring to and said, "Young man, you have offended Mr. Kaelen. Perhaps if you beg him, he might spare you."
Lucien heard their words and shook his head, a faint, mocking smile playing on his lips. "According to the rules of the assessment, you can’t kill a fellow participant."
"Who said we need to be the ones to kill you?" the young man sneered, his arrogance dripping from every word. "We can waste you and hand you over to some volkoids to finish the job."
"On what basis?" Lucien asked, his tone laced with sarcasm, his eyes glinting with amusement.
"On the basis that you offended Young Master Kaelen!" the young man roared, his voice echoing through the crimson forest. He unsheathed his armament, a longsword that gleamed with a cold, deadly light. The others followed suit, drawing their weapons of various types: bows, whips, daggers. But Lucien’s gaze swept over them, and he shook his head slightly at their quality.
"Should I call you smart, stupid, or simply pathetic?" Lucien said, his voice dripping with amusement, his posture relaxed, almost bored.
The young man’s face twisted in fury. A flicker of doubt crossed his eyes for just a moment, but he quickly suppressed it. He gave a sharp signal, and the seven men rushed forward, attacking Lucien simultaneously from all directions. Blades whistled through the air, arrows streaked toward him, and whips cracked like thunder.
Lucien didn’t move from where he stood. He remained still, watching as their attacks descended upon him like a storm.
At the very last moment, he moved.
All that remained was a crackling lightning streak, a blinding flash that seared the air where he had stood. The attackers’ weapons struck nothing but empty space, their momentum carrying them forward as they stumbled. The scent of ozone lingered where Lucien had been.
"Hmph. Some flashy movements," the young man snorted, his eyes scanning the area. "But flashy won’t save you."
He moved, swift as the wind, closing the distance between himself and Lucien in an instant. His blade arced toward Lucien’s neck, fast and precise.
Lucien wasn’t surprised. He had already sensed the young man’s approach. He raised his blade, meeting the strike with a fluid motion.
Both swords clashed, and the sound of ringing steel echoed through the crimson forest like a battle cry. Sparks flew as their blades locked, the force of the impact sending shockwaves rippling through the air. The young man felt the vibration travel up his arm, a dull ache settling in his wrist.
The young man’s eyes widened slightly. He had expected his strike to cleave through his opponent, but Lucien’s blade held firm. There was strength behind that sickly appearance, strength that caught him off guard.
"Not bad," Lucien said calmly, his voice steady despite the clash. "But you’ll need more than that."
The young man was at the eighth level of the Spirit Realm, while the Crimson Stalker pack’s strongest had been at the first level of the Spirit Realm. The young man had assumed Lucien struggled to kill the pack, which was why he had expected his attack to succeed.
And Lucien’s cultivation was at the ninth level of the Origin Realm, seemingly on the verge of breaking through to the Spirit Realm.
This was the foundation of his arrogance and confidence.
The young man immediately paused, putting distance between himself and Lucien.
"You are going to regret ever offending Young Master Kaelen," the young man chuckled in disdain.
He poured his Originat into his longsword. Wind swirled around him, the aura of the blade and his own cultivation rising as wind Originat began to gather at the tip of his sword. The air around them grew sharper, colder, carrying the faint whistle of a coming storm.
Below Lucien, a large, circular green rune appeared on the ground. Numerous thorns burst forth, immediately wrapping around his legs and holding him in place.
The thorns tightened, their sharp edges pressing against his skin, anchoring him to the ground. The young man’s smirk widened as he saw Lucien immobilized.
At the sides of the clearing, two of the men stood with their bodies glowing with wood Originat. Their faces were strained with concentration, their hands pressed against the earth as they channeled their energy into the binding technique. They were the ones responsible for the thorns.
"Verdant Embrace," the young man muttered, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "A simple wood binding technique. Nothing flashy, but effective. You won’t be moving for a while."
He raised his longsword, the wind Originat at its tip now swirling into a condensed, razor-sharp vortex. The grass around him flattened from the pressure, and leaves were torn from nearby branches.
"Now, let me show you the difference between an Origin Realm weakling and a true Spirit Realm cultivator," he said, his eyes gleaming with malice. "Wind Slice."
He swung his blade downward, releasing a crescent arc of compressed wind that screamed through the air toward Lucien, wanting to shred him into pieces.
The wind engulfed Lucien, swallowing his entire form as the young man smirked in disdain.
This is what you get for going against Young Master Kaelen.
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