On the opposite side of the burning courtyard, the eleven remaining Chosen Stones moved with the synchronized precision of mindless apex predators. They did not carry standard steel; their heavy weapons were forged from black alloy, humming with a grotesque, parasitic mana that caused the freezing rain to evaporate into white mist before touching the cobblestones. I stood entirely alone in the center of the ring, my all-crimson tailored suit standing out like a fresh bloodstain against the dark, roaring storm. My hands gripped the hilts of my modified black twin blades. I didn't need to check the spectral deck within my consciousness. The King of Spades had already cleared the low-tier vanguard fodder. This was a direct, raw test of unadulterated martial output.
“Kill the anomaly!” the lead Stone roared, his voice heavily distorted by the grotesque flesh corruption melting his vocal cords.
In a single, blinding millisecond, three of the closest Stones vanished from their spots. They traveled with an explosive, high-captain-level speed that completely shattered the sound barrier, re-materializing in a flawless triangular phalanx around my blind spots. Three massive claymores descended toward my neck and shoulders in a unified, crushing trajectory. The physical weight of their combined mana was catastrophic, enough to turn a standard knight into a paste of broken bones.
But my reflexes were already operating in a completely different dimension.
Instead of executing a standard parry, I dropped my center of gravity into a low, fluid spin, slipping entirely beneath the horizontal arc of their blades. Drawing both weapons in a blinding flash of matte-black light, I executed a twin vertical upward slash. The edge of my steel cleanly sheared through the unmutated knee joints of the first two monsters. Before their bodies could even tilt toward the wet cobblestones, I lunged forward, driving the tip of my right blade straight through the vizor of the third Stone's helmet. A thick spray of dark, parasitic fluid erupted from the wound as his massive frame collapsed heavily into the dirt.
One dead. Ten remaining.
“Form a defensive perimeter! Do not engage him one-on-one!” a Stone barked from the rear, frantically trying to organize a tactical withdrawal.
They were intelligent enough to recognize the chasm in our technical capabilities, but their unrefined swordsmanship relied far too heavily on raw, brutish force. The remaining ten Stones rapidly converged, interlocking their heavy black alloy shields to form an impenetrable wall of steel, charging straight toward me like a runaway iron train. The sheer atmospheric pressure of their advance began to violently crack the walls of the surrounding warehouses.
I didn't step back. I ran straight toward the oncoming wall.
Right at the point of impact, I activated a sudden, localized burst of my internal phantom pressure, vaulting high into the air directly over their shields. Mid-air, I rotated my torso with a flawless, weightless grace, executing a devastating downward air-cutter strike. A massive crescent arc of black physical air pressure violently detached from my swing, slamming squarely into the center of their formation and shattering the shields into flying, lethal shrapnel.
As the ten monsters staggered from the concussive feedback, I descended into the middle of their broken array like a falling star.
Clang! Clang! Slash!
The choreography of the massacre turned into a relentless, terrifying rhythm. I became a blur of crimson and black steel, weaving through their desperate, frantic counter-strikes with absolute precision. One Stone attempted a low-angle sweep, but I stepped cleanly on the flat of his blade, using the momentum to thrust my left sword into his throat. Another monster lunged from my rear, but without even turning my torso, I spun my right blade backward, cleanly severing his head from his shoulders.
Two more crashed into the mud, their bodies dissolving into grey ash.
The remaining eight Stones fell into a state of absolute psychological terror. They were supposed to be the ultimate, invincible human weapons of the Blood Throne, yet they were being systematically dissected by a lone masked rogue who wasn't even using magic.
“What kind of monster are you?!” a Stone shrieked, his mind completely snapping under the weight of the attrition as he threw his weapon away and charged blindly with his mutated, fleshy claws.
“I am your conclusion,” I whispered behind my crimson mask.
I sidestepped his desperate grapple effortlessly, grabbing his wrist and using his own massive forward momentum to guide him directly into the path of another charging comrade. My black alloy blades sliced through the air in a seamless, fluid figure-eight pattern. The sharp edges cleanly halved both of their torsos in a single, unweighted rotation.
Six left.
The storm above grew increasingly violent, the thick rain turning into a torrential downpour that washed the dark blood off my crimson trousers. The remaining six Stones realized there was no escape. Driven by a final, feral survival instinct, they completely abandoned their human forms, allowing the parasitic flesh of the Blood Tyrant inside their cores to violently overrule their bodies. Their limbs grotesquely swelled, bursting into a massive cluster of writhing, black tendrils and razor-sharp claws as their raw mana output doubled, completely rivaling the ultimate authority of Lord Drake.
They launched a massive, desperate, all-out assault from every single direction simultaneously. The air pressure became so dense it was nearly impossible to breathe.
I closed my eyes for a fraction of a millisecond, aligning my inner focus with the fated hilt of my uncle's blade. I didn't need the devil's cards for this final execution. Brute force means nothing if it cannot touch the target.
Flash.
I vanished. Moving at a speed that left perfectly stationary after-images of my crimson suit in the rain, I slid through the narrowest gaps between their writhing, monstrous tendrils. My twin blades moved in a beautiful, silent dance of pure annihilation.
SHING! SHING! SHING!
In a single, breathless second, I carved through the remaining six monsters, executing thirty-six micro-cuts along their primary mana channels. I materialized at the far end of the courtyard, slowly and calmly sheaching both of my twin black swords into my waist.
Behind my back, the six mutated human weapons froze in place. A microsecond later, their massive, swollen bodies cleanly split into pieces, collapsing into the wet mud as a mountain of smoking, grey ash.
The twelve Chosen Stones were dead. The human weapon facility was entirely wiped out.
Suddenly, a terrifying, cataclysmic crack of crimson lightning violently split the dark sky in half. The temperature in the courtyard instantaneously dropped to absolute freezing, and a colossal, earth-shattering pressure slammed onto the battlefield, forcing the rain to stop mid-air. The sky tore open, and a towering shadow loomed over the stone ridge. The real monster had finally arrived.
It's the Blood Tyrant’s mana.
The heavy, crushing weight of his power hammered down from the sky, freezing the very bones inside my body. I could feel him closing the distance at a terrifying, ground-shattering speed, moving straight toward my exact position.
DEATH’S GAMBIT.
The spectral deck flashed inside my mind, forcing me into an instant, split-second choice as the air warped under his immense pressure:
🃏 [DEATH’S GAMBIT: THE BORDER ENCOUNTER]
According to Kenon’s data, the Blood Tyrant’s raw power far exceeded the absolute output of my King’s mana flare. To close that massive gap in strength, I chose the Ace. I had to use the ultimate destructive power of the Black Flames of Hell.
Flash. The Ace of Spades card broke into black sparks, flooding my twin blades with pitch-black hellfire.
THUD!!!
Exactly as I predicted, the Blood Tyrant didn't stop for greetings or polite talk. He tore through the storm like a falling star, his enormous, mountain-sized broadsword coming down in a flawless, bone-crushing vertical arc meant to split me in half.
I crossed my modified twin blades, blocking his massive steel mid-air.
The massive physical impact violently threw my entire body backward, blasting me straight through the thick brick walls of a nearby warehouse. Iron beams snapped, and chunks of concrete rained down as I slid across the dust, coughing up a thick spray of blood.
I reset my stance, staring through the broken hole in the wall, expecting to see his giant broadsword completely turned to ash after the first physical contact with my hellfire.
But his weapon was entirely whole. Not a single chip lay on its edge.
“So... you are the little rat that Kenon was talking about,” a deep, dual voice echoed through the burning structure. Ruken stepped through the heavy smoke, his massive, starless cloak catching the wind, his eyes holding an intense, monstrous bloodlust .
He looked down at his unblemished blade, a slow, sinister smile spreading across his scarred face.
“From the look behind your torn crimson mask, you must be wondering why the hell my sword is still perfectly whole after touching those devilish flames of yours,” Ruken laughed darkly, his voice vibrating with a terrifying power. “It is quite simple, an anomaly. I heavily coated my steel with my own internal Demonic Mana.”
My mind entirely froze in shock behind my mask.
Demonic Mana?
Does that mean the Blood Tyrant has a direct, active contract with an underworld devil? But according to Grim’s extensive historical records, only Phantoms can get contracts with high devils when they die for the very first time. Ruken was a human. How was he channeling the raw currency of the underworld?
I remained completely silent, resetting my stance as the black flames continued to flicker wildly along my blades.
“I will teach you one highly important rule of the dark, boy,” the Blood Tyrant whispered, stepping into the ruined warehouse, his presence completely taking over the room. “Your demonic mana cannot burn another source of demonic mana. It is an absolute stalemate of energy. Think about it carefully—if your hellfire could burn its own origin, your own body, which is currently filled to the brim with demonic power, would have been turned to a pile of smoking ash by now. So tell me... are you truly ready to fight me without your little trump card?”
Dammit, a cold sweat broke out across my skin.
I had made a terrible mistake. I should have gone with the Queen of Spades wager. Because of the strict, unyielding laws of the spectral deck, I could not make a new contract or swap cards until the full three-minute activation timer of the Ace completely ran out. I was utterly locked into a failed bet.
A heavy, sharp focus returned to my crimson eyes. If I ever found myself trapped in a similar bottleneck in the future against the first Sage, there would be only one definitive way to avoid absolute defeat. I couldn't afford to run. I couldn't afford to wait.
I WILL HAVE TO SURPASS HIS DEMONIC MANA AND BREAK THE STALEMATE
___________________________________________________________________
After knocking out Kenon, Kiro rushed quickly toward the warehouse where the Crimson Card had vanished.
Slash! Thud!
Suddenly, two swift knights lunged out of the smoke to attack Kiro. But their movements were far too slow for his veteran reflexes. He dodged both strikes effortlessly, stepping back onto the wet stones.
“Stop! Tell me where the Crimson Card is!” the first attacker demanded. She glanced toward the unconscious body of Kenon for a brief second, then snapped her eyes back to Kiro. “I know you are working with him! Tell him that QUILIA, the Knight of Justice, is here to help him if his goals are good... and to kill him if he is evil!”
Kiro’s jaw tightened beneath his tattered hood. Dammit... she is the foolish princess Erik warned me about. I cannot kill her, and without knowing her true limits, I can't risk trying to knock her unconscious.
“What exactly are you doing here, Princ—” the second attacker started to speak from behind, but she was quickly cut off.
“I am QUILIA, the Knight of Justice, Lady Erina!” Quina whispered loudly. She rapidly closed the distance, leaning in close to Erik's sister. “Erina! We cannot let our enemy know my true royal identity!”
“R—Right...” Erina muttered aloud. But her internal thoughts were completely different. She really, honestly believes that tiny travel mask hides her face. Everyone can see who she is.
Kiro’s scarred face grew incredibly tense. If that other girl is Erina... Erik’s older sister... then I definitely cannot kill her either. I can't even run away from them, because that would lead them straight to where Erik and Ruken are dueling.
“Sorry, Erik... just hold on a little longer,” Kiro whispered to himself under his breath.
Quina raised her weapon high into the stormy sky.
“RISE NOW, TSUKIHIME!”
A blinding, explosive blue light violently burst from the legendary elven blade, slicing through the torrential rain. Erina drew her own steel sword right beside her, her eyes burning with a sharp focus.
“Wait a second,” Kiro spoke up, trying to buy time. His mind quickly formed a new plan—he would focus on defeating Quina first, then use the princess as a legal hostage to force Erina to back down so he could get away. “Are you two really going to launch a two-on-one assault? Didn't you just call yourself a proud Knight of Justice, Quilia?”
“You are right!” Quina blinked, pausing her stance. “Erina, step back! I will go alone—”
“Keep your mouth shut, Quilia!” Erina snapped furiously, grabbing the princess's shoulder to pull her back into line. “We have to attack together! Can't you see this grey-skinned monster is walking and talking completely fine after taking down this entire kingdom’s Knight Commander? He is dangerous!”
“You are right, Erina,” Quina nodded solemnly, her initial bravado returning. “We must work together to crush the darkness!”
With their mana flaring in unison, both girls rushed forward at full speed, targeting the motionless Kiro.
Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!
Use arrow keys (or A / D) to PREV/NEXT chapter