Chapter 105: Chapter 105
Ethan’s fingers tightened around the grip of the Desolate Sea Bow as he drew it back, the string pulled taut to a perfect crescent like the full moon hanging in a silent harvest sky.
The blood-colored arrow shimmered unnaturally against the ethereal string, then split silently into three narrow streams of crimson light, hurtling forward toward Seraphina like silent blades drenched in death’s own essence.
Seraphina’s gaze sharpened, chilling as glacial winds, fixed unblinkingly on the advancing crimson streams.
There on their surfaces danced faint arcs of water, a subtle yet mesmerizing shimmer that betrayed no hint of menace, yet pulsed with a power that stirred a primal caution deep within her. It was an instinct she neither welcomed nor fully trusted, a quiet voice of warning against the arrogance that had filled her pride until now.
In her hand, a delicate sword materialized—Moonveil—the heavenly spiritual weapon given to her by her master. It glowed faintly, radiating a serene but deadly light that betrayed the years of unyielding mastery woven into its blade.
"Look, the Saint has drawn her sword!" whispered a disciple near the arena edge, breath caught.
"That is a heaven-grade spiritual weapon!" another echoed, awe thick in his voice.
"The outcome rests on this moment—her sword drawn means victory or defeat has already been cast," someone else murmured.
Seraphina’s eyes remained locked upon the blood-red streams—as merciless and unrelenting as the winter frost—while her sword stood guarded before her, poised in a stance heavy with intent and honed purpose.
A sweep of her long hair stirred around her like a shadow, the icy sword energy coalescing into countless sword shadows that shimmered with a frosty brilliance, rippling outward as though alive.
"Go!" she hissed, unleashing a flurry of swings with Moonveil. The sword energy roiled violently, condensing into swirling blades of piercing cold that surged forward, meeting the silent blood arrows head-on.
Where steel met spirit, there was no clang of metal, no ringing of clash—only a quiet, eerie unfolding of forces unseen to ordinary eyes.
The crimson streams, like spiraling drills charged with brutal essence and blood power, carved through her sword shadows with relentless precision.
Though their power waned against the heavenly spiritual sword, the blood arrows remained, hurtling through with unspent core strength.
The attack bore through the icy defense, leaving Seraphina’s expression flickering with surprise and concern.
She had only a heartbeat before she swept Moonveil again, sword energy flowing in vertical and horizontal arcs, creating a half-moon shield that obliterated Ethan’s threatening advance.
The confrontation was brief, but its force was undeniable.
To all present, it was clear: the Saintess was on the losing side.
Gasps echoed through the crowd.
How could the disciple promised to lead the sect, the goddess revered by countless disciples, find herself faltering before a lone unknown youth and his bow and arrow? This was, without doubt, a collision of tradition versus raw fury, power against pure will.
"Your Highness, how do you bear my attack now?" Ethan’s voice cut through the murmurs, cold and sharp as a scythe’s edge.
Seraphina’s face darkened to the hue of storm-churned skies, clenched fists trembling with the fire of wounded pride.
"I admit—I underestimated you," she spat, voice raw with barely contained fury. "But this battle has only just begun."
Before Ethan could speak, a voice rang out from the arena fringe, sharp and commanding.
"Arrogant boy, that’s enough from you!"
Adyr’s figure blazed into the space Ethan had occupied moments before, eyes burning with lethal intent.
"This one hurt my disciple," Adyr intoned grimly, "and it is I who will deal with him."
Ethan’s eyes flickered with a mix of amusement and anticipation, stepping back swiftly.
"Quick reflexes," he acknowledged with a cruel smile.
Adyr’s gaze pierced like forged steel as he approached, his aura a tempest of power barely reined in.
"I barely saved Sam’s life," Adyr growled, "but even if he awakens, he is as good as dead—destroyed utterly by you."
"Old dog," Ethan laughed, arms crossed, "your disappointment is palpable."
His body hummed with the enduring strength granted by the Celestial Jade Physique Scripture—resilience and rapid self-healing intertwining to fortify him beyond mortal limits.
Though Adyr’s power towered above his own, Ethan faced him without fear.
The Chaos Clock artifact bolstered him further—no matter what schemes were employed by Adyr or Lyralei, Ethan was safe within its timeless embrace.
"Foolish disciple, for daring to harm mine, even as a mere disciple of Azure Sky Peak, I will kill you without hesitation!" Adyr’s spirit blazed, palms gathering a spectral force of devastation.
Ethan merely chuckled, his arrogance almost tangible.
"Is that all you have to offer?"
Then, with the violent crack of spiritual force, two figures fell before him: Edwin and the ethereal woman in plain dress.
Althea, the Sword Peak’s new and unmatched master, the famed Sword Immortal.
Watching from afar, Liana exhaled, tension easing as her father took command.
Her expression softened—hope rekindled.
"Master Adyr, speak your purpose," Edwin’s voice was calm but conveyed weight.
"To kill a junior?" Athlea pressed.
Adyr snarled, "Would you sing such gentle tunes if your disciple nearly met death?"
Ethan’s smile was cold as steel.
"Old dog... do you understand why I ended your disciple?"
Adyr hesitated, then snarled, "I do not, yet none of your words shall save you from death."
Althea’s voice was calm, yet commanding.
"Peak Master Adyr, heed Ethan’s words before haste leads to ruin."
Adyr’s anger flared, dismissive, frustrated by the interruption.
"Junior, you may not command respect as the new Sword Peak master! Don’t presume upon your position."
Althea’s response was quiet but firm, a chill in her voice.
"Oh? Then will you teach me swordsmanship yourself?"
A slender purple sword appeared in her hand, radiating a natural sword intent of perfect clarity and terrifying power.
She was a figure forged of elegance and strength, wielding art that towered far beyond Seraphina’s icy grace.
The crowd whispered her legacy: one of the greatest geniuses in Azure Origin Dao Sect’s millennia-spanning history—among the top three prodigies ever.
"Where are the elders of Voidshade Peak?!" Adyr roared, summoning three figures to his side.
Edwin’s gaze narrowed.
"Peak Master Adyr, you must think carefully."
Adyr’s fiery spirit burned despite the scattered warnings.
"Huh, even if I get seriously injured today, you can’t stop me!"
A/N:
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