NOVEL NEXT Chapter 52: The Spirit Flame Sword
The air between their borders was thick with challenge, an unsaid dare crackling across like a gathering storm. Nyxander's eyes met Centric's, their eyes clashing like thunder and lightning. Beorn and Ken were caught between crossfires, going drenched by sweat, bodies straight as the oppressive atmosphere cut through.
"Since the sparring test has been fixed, why don't you wait till then?" Beorn finally broke the silence, his voice shaking, yet firm. He laid a firm grip on Nyxander's left arm, pulling him to walk away. "Let's go; our shift is almost over."
Nyxander's body didn't move an inch, as firm as a mountain of refusal. He didn't yield under Centric's gaze and said quietly, cool, "Even given the meager interactions we have had so far, even then you should have gained that much-the fact that sometimes I am weak when it comes to the aspect of turning down a challenge.
Nyxander raised the axe resting on his shoulder with a slow, deliberate motion and let its head settle on the ground. His grip loosened, and he allowed it to lean against his waist. Gently, he pried Beorn's hand from his arm and offered a fleeting smile. "And since he's extended this challenge, it would be impolite to turn it down as a man.
Turning back to Centric, Nyxander stretched out his right hand, his fingers curling and unfurling in a silent provocation. "Why don't you show us what you've got?" he taunted, cool confidence lacing his voice.
Centric's composure finally wavered, and his face hardened as he lifted his hand to his chest. A dark sword then materialized in his palm, shining with an otherworldly light on its blade. In an instant, a red system panel flared into view before him, displaying his fearsome stats:
[Name: Centric - (Vassal of God of Flame)]
[Race: Celestial Race - (Immortal)]
[Age: 20 years]
Stage: Ascendant Realm
Celestial Core: Immortal Core (70/70)
[Bloodline: Flame Immortal Lineage]
[Weapon: The Spirit Flame Sword]
[Skill: Flameborn Spirit]
[Techniques: Primordial Rhino Incarnation / Flame Spirit Butt]
"You've successfully provoked him. Right now, you're no different from a walking corpse," Ken sneered, his finger jabbing toward Nyxander as if to punctuate his words.
Beorn now turned to Nyxander, a hint of alarm lacing his voice. "You really ought to think about this. I know you're strong, but Centric is a different league altogether. Now would be a very good time to retreat.
Nyxander cast a sidelong glance at him; his calm expression did not betray the slightest trace of hesitation. "Retreat at the right time is indeed a wise man's choice," he said, raising his right index finger to emphasize his point. "But retreat is only meaningful when it's necessary."
"I hope you can hold onto that conviction after this attack," Centric shot back, his tone even but laced with malice. He swung his sword, his blade wrapping itself in flames as he muttered, "Flameborn Spirit: Primordial Rhino Incarnation."
[Celestial Core: Immortal Core (55/70)↓15 ]
Immortal energy swirled around the sword, condensing into a huge flame-incarnated rhino. With an earth-shaking roar, it charged forward, each of its steps falling like droplets of molten metal that hissed and died at the slightest touch of the ground. Its form emanated heat and strength, a sight of beautiful destruction.
Nyxander's eyes widened briefly in intrigue before narrowing in determination. "Impressive," he admitted aloud, his voice carrying across the battlefield. "But today, you're unlucky to face someone like me."
As the fire beast charged, Nyxander grasped the axe handle with great precision. With one smooth, flowing motion, he swung upwards; the blade cut through the rhino's belly. The construct of flames exploded in a spill of embers, its core-the Spirit Flame Sword-flipped high in the air to hurtle back toward Centric.
Beorn and Ken stood petrified, slack-jawed and wide-eyed from what they were used to seeing; beads of sweat began poring onto the ground as in their minds they registered the absolute impossibility of Nyxander's feat.
"Wha-ah," Beorn managed finally, his voice breaking the shocked silence. "Against his combustion flame, solid with just a pure metal axe counter. Wow.
Centric's face darkened as he raised his hand, catching his sword mid-air. With a flick of his wrist, it dissolved back into his invisible inventory. He turned to Nyxander, his smile thin and edged with menace.
"It's too early yet to celebrate," he said, his voice even but laced with a veiled threat. "The main event is yet to come. Don't disappoint me.
With nary another word, Centric turned and began walking away, Ken at his heels. The oppressive silence hung in the air, wrapping itself around Nyxander and Beorn like a shroud as they watched their adversaries disappear into the distance.
Nyxander hoisted the axe back onto his shoulder with an air of ease and turned to leave. The cool metal glinted faintly under the fading light, a silent testament to the earlier clash. Beorn trailed beside him, his footsteps light but his voice heavy with concern.
"I would caution you not to let your guard down," Beorn began, his voice laced with caution and encouragement. "You might have deflected his attack easily, but that was only because he underestimated you."
Nyxander looked at him, his brows furrowed in confusion, like a man grasping at an elusive truth. "Why do you say that?" he asked, his voice steady but probing.
Beorn cast a sidelong glance at him; his face reflected wisdom and profoundness. "You see, immortals mainly use weapons carrying the divine signature of the gods we follow. In fact, a technique's potency is directly proportional to how much immortal energy can be used for it. The attack Centric used could have been far worse if he put all his energy into it. The only limitation is his weapon holding up to the power without shattering, which did happen, even though it seldom does."
They walked along the remains of the evening's vibrant life in the district back to the hum of just a few in the evening. Flickering across the pathways was the light of lanterns, their softly glowing colors painting in shades of gold and amber in the streets.
Nyxander's voice cut through the silence, his tone inquiring and a bit raised, so that Beorn looked his way. "I found something weird with his sword," he said, his gaze distant, as if replaying the earlier confrontation in his mind.
"What is it?" Beorn asked, his head cocked slightly to one side, his interest piqued.
Nyxander's voice held a note of intrigue as he went on, "His sword turned into the form of a primordial rhino. Why is that?
Beorn chuckled and said in a tone that spoke of a storyteller unveiling a tale: "That is because the weapon he wields is called the 'Spirit Flame Sword.' It is said that this sword takes on, as its spiritual incarnation, the form of the first beast it kills. The first creature to fall to its blade was none other than a primordial rhino. When that happened, Centric was praised for his feat, particularly by our Astro leader, Lumina. That praise marked the beginning of his arrogance, and his feelings for her."
When they reached the head of a T-junction, Beorn drew to a halt as if his feet had reached the bottom line of a chapter. "This is where we split for the night. See you tomorrow evening in the business district for our patrol." He veered left down the path and gave a careless wave of his hand over his shoulder.
Nyxander took a moment, his eyes on Beorn's figure. "Yeah, sleep tight," he said, his tone warm but distant as he started to walk away to the road opposite.
"Zion," Beorn called out after him, stopping Nyxander in mid-stride. He cocked his head slightly, turning to him with a look of expectation.
"A friendly reminder," Beorn said, quiet seriousness lacing his tone. "Those bandits you dealt with this afternoon won't back down so easily. Although they're from the lowest tier of immortals in the heavens, for them to be here means they've relied on their strength to climb to the Fourth Heaven."
Nyxander's gaze narrowed, curiosity glinting in his eyes. "How can you tell?" he asked, his tone seeking clarity.
Beorn's voice fell to a soothing cadence, each word measured. "Because the road that leads to this primordial world can only be accessed from the Fourth Heaven and above."
"Ah, I see," Nyxander said, nodding as the pieces clicked into place in his head. A faint smile tugged at his lips. "Thanks for the heads-up, but I don't think I'm capable of turning down a fight.
Beorn huffed, the gesture of one waving his hand in dismissal. "Just stride carefully," he called out, voice growing distant with distance.
Nyxander lifted his right hand in acknowledgment as his figure moved away into the darkly lit street. The soft echoes of their words of parting hung suspended in the air like evening settling over the district-a quiet promise of what was to come.