NOVEL NEXT Chapter 77: Sword saint (1)
The forest clearing was bathed in the cool, spectral glow of the crescent moon. The sound of the waterfall, a ceaseless, rhythmic roar, was the only natural noise.
Beside the churning pool, Armin—clean-shaven, his lean frame resting cross-legged, the handsome angularity of his face lending him a youthful air despite the long strands of grey hair tied back into a neat bun, opened his eyes abruptly.
The reflection of the moonlight on the polished surface of the longsword across his lap vanished as his deep concentration was broken.
A twig snapped behind him.
He didn't turn immediately, but a second later, a figure emerged from the dense shadows of the trees.
It was a creature of unsettling design: skin the colour of dark, rich mahogany, heavily crisscrossed with numerous red, spiraling tattoos that seemed to pulse in the moonlight. His hair, green and stiff like sharp, spiked blades, raked backward from his forehead.
Most unnervingly, his lips were extended into a grotesque, permanent rictus, stretching from ear to ear to expose rows of sharp, needle-like teeth.
His eyes were huge, circular orbs with vertical, reptilian pupils set within a blazing red iris.
Resting on his shoulder was a colossal sword, one edge lined with wicked, sharp teeth-like thorns. He moved with a low, crouching gait toward the water's edge.
"What business do you have with an old man like me in the middle of the night?" Armin asked, his voice calm, yet resonating with restrained power.
The figure hissed, a wet, serpentine sound. "So even the Sword Saint Armin thinks of himself as an old man, but is hypocritical enough to keep his young face. Hahaha! What a joke."
Armin's lips curled into a faint, dry smile. He slowly rose, the movement fluid and effortless. As he stood, he drew his longsword from its sheath.
The blade hissed against the leather, its razor edge glinting. He turned to face the grotesque figure.
"Since you know me, I guess your intentions aren't pure. Tell me... are you here for a duel, or do you wish to say goodbye to this world?" Armin's voice was firm, stripped of its previous contemplation.
"I've heard quite a lot about you," the figure said, moving closer with a disturbing, predatory bounce.
"Even some from my own race have praised your skills. That piqued my interest. I couldn't stop thinking about you. I knew I had to see for myself what you are, old man."
Armin shook his head, a look of mock disappointment crossing his face.
"Woah! Woah! Hold your horses, mate. I don't go that way," he said, holding up a palm.
"I'm a hardcore straight man. So I'd have to disappoint you, but you should look for someone with your preferences." He gave a patronizing nod.
"You fucker! Still playing jokes, huh?" The figure's tone became furious, the hissing noise intensifying.
The sharp, thorny teeth lining his colossal sword stood upright, immediately releasing a sense of churning crimson aura.
He planted the sword's tip on the ground, pointing the wicked blade directly at Armin. "Let's see if you can keep that attitude of yours after I slice you into two."
"So you really have come to die," Armin chuckled softly.
He brought his own sword into a ready position. Not a trace of external aura was visible; just the flawless, shining edge of the blade, reflecting the crescent moon.
"Are you looking down on me?" the figure growled through his gritted teeth.
"You're not worthy for me to look up. Let's end this fast. It will be time for my night drink soon."
The figure didn't wait for another word. He vanished from his spot, a dark, explosive blur.
The moment he reappeared, he was directly in front of Armin, his gargantuan sword rushing in a devastating horizontal arc toward Armin's neck.
But right before the blade could nick the Sword Saint's skin, Armin's longsword moved.
It was an unimaginable motion—a precise, infinitesimally small twist of the wrist that transformed a defensive guard into an aggressive counter.
The blade danced and struck the flat of the incoming sword with blinding speed, perfectly parrying the blow.
The huge sword bounced violently back, and a massive jolt of vibration shot through the figure's arms, forcing a gasp of pain from his throat.
His circular eyes opened wide in shock. The power behind that single, precise strike was immense, unfathomable. He couldn't comprehend how such a lean, "lanky" arm could generate such brute force.
He immediately leaped back, retreating to the exact spot where he first stood, his predatory crouch replaced by stunned disbelief.
Armin lowered his sword slightly, a relaxed, easy smile on his face.
"You're not bad, mate. Guess I'll use a single skill in respect for your conviction."
The figure gritted his needle teeth, the pain from the initial parry overriding his shock and fueling his fury.
He didn't waste time with words; he rushed forward again, his massive, thorny sword cutting the air in a heavy, brutal vertical slice.
Armin met him with a soundless blur of steel.
Clang! Th-thump! Shiiiiing!
A series of rapid, echoing sword clashes reverberated in the clearing, competing with the roar of the waterfall.
The two combatants became impossible to follow with the naked eye. They left only faint, shimmering light trails and blurs in their wake, exchanging dozens of deadly strikes in a minuscule timeframe, a whirlwind of steel and murderous intent against flawless precision.
Finally, they separated. Armin stood tall and perfectly centered, his longsword raised forward, the tip unwavering.
The figure, meanwhile, slid several meters along the wet ground, grinding to a halt only by plunging the tip of his enormous, jagged sword into the earth to anchor himself.
Armin offered a soft, mocking smirk, a subtle upturn of the lips that held boundless confidence and invited nothing but the figure's deepest fury.
The figure didn't need any more invitation. With a furious roar, he yanked his sword free from the dirt and vanished abruptly, the air snapping shut where he had been.
Armin's instincts screamed. He heard the faint whoosh of displaced wind at his back and spun immediately.
His sword slashed backward in a wide, defensive arc, cutting through empty air where his attacker should have materialized.
But just as he realized he'd struck a phantom, the figure appeared out of nowhere, right in front of him, having used his speed to execute a complex, unexpected maneuver.
His colossal sword was rushing at Armin's chest, but this time, the blade was transformed.
With a sickening mechanical click, the individual teeth-like thorns lining the edge had parted, causing the blade to split open horizontally.
The effect was terrifying: the sword's wide surface formed a massive, iron maw, a jagged, deadly enclosure that rushed to devour Armin whole.