Genius Noble With System
Chapter 340: Sword Slashing Reality

Chapter 340: Sword Slashing Reality

The moment the strike landed—

A ripple ran across the battlefield.

The ground groaned. The sky fluttered. But what shocked him even after taking his sword strike head-on, it didn’t seem to be injured and continued to move towards him.

Apollo slashed again—twice—cleaving through layers of space and essence, but still—

It pushed forward.

The faint black mist pouring from its body started to spread—slowly eating away everything in its path.

Seeing this, he quickly used his space rules and teleported, moving away from it, but it seems to only target him and didn’t let him go, continuing to chase after him.

He slashed multiple times, but the results remained the same, like this ghost didn’t belong to the universe; even his Eternal Sword rule, which had never failed before, seemed useless at the moment.

Behind him, his sword danced—multiple slashes, dozens of phantom lines streaking across the space in graceful arcs. Each stroke infused with rules, with sword intent capable of destroying sun and moon, and yet it seemed utterly ineffective in front of this ghostly creature.

Apollo’s eyes darkened. For the first time he felt troubled, as in addition to his sword rule, he tried his other rules, even the rule of destruction, but it seemed to not do anything. But he didn’t become anxious; he believed this thing could not be invincible and there had to be some way.

"Maybe I’ve been using my Eternal Sword Rule the wrong way..."

He believed his sword rule could not be ineffective; he just needed to use it properly to create a sword move to destroy this ghostly being.

His eyes became sharp with extreme concentration as if he wanted to create a sword move to kill things; he needed to understand and look through it carefully.

And with that thought, the next round of battle began. Now he moved carefully, evading every attack but also trying to understand the very essence of it.

Apollo’s movements became deliberate and minimal, yet filled with a profound sharpness. He no longer attacked with brute force or even refined technique—now he observed.

Each step, each flicker of his sword, was like the stroke of a calligrapher etching truth into the air.

The ghostly abomination came again, silent as ever, dragging with it that yawning void that eroded the edges of the world.

Apollo didn’t meet it with power.

Not yet.

Every shift of the creature’s presence, every pulse of that desolation, was analysed—not with eyes alone, but with will, with intent.

The battle continued for a long time, and Clark, Sara and Aravin watched from afar. They were anxious even though Apollo had fought with it for more than an hour; nothing seemed to have changed.

They cannot believe there is such a weird creature that is unaffected by whether physical or spiritual attacks making it practically invincible.

Even from afar, the sheer pressure emanating from the battle crushed the hearts of those watching.

Clark clenched his fists. "This... this thing isn’t alive. It’s like the embodiment of annihilation."

Sara’s voice trembled. "Not even Apollo can kill it... What kind of existence is that thing?"

Arvain remained silent, his eyes darting across every movement in the battle.

At that moment, something changed.

The creature halted mid-lunge. Not from a blow, not from injury—it simply stopped. The void around it pulsed erratically, spasming like a wounded heartbeat.

Apollo stood several metres away, sword lowered slightly, breathing ragged but calm. His gaze was like a blade that had tasted truth—sharp and unwavering.

Then—his pupils dilated.

"...There. A way," he whispered, barely audible even to himself.

He wasn’t entirely sure what he saw—there were no threads to cut, no heart to pierce—but for a fleeting instant, the creature’s form wavered unnaturally, not from his attacks, but from some internal contradiction. A place where its existence buckled slightly against the laws of this universe.

It didn’t belong here.

But maybe... It wasn’t complete.

A single imperfect fragment forced into a world it did not fit.

His sword hand tightened.

He felt something; his sword rule was eternal and never-ending, so he wanted to cut that which contained the embodiment of eternity. A sword that cannot be reversed and will cut through everything or anything.

Only his sword is eternal.

His aura shifted from a powerful and sharp presence to one that was nearly imperceptible. He at that moment appeared to have become a mortal without any strength.

The entire dimension of the sanctum seemed to become calm. The restraints on the entire dimension seemed to begin to loosen, and every ancient entity within felt that.

Far across the ruined sanctum, ancient statues cracked open slit-thin eyes. Deep beneath the surface, sealed remnants stirred restlessly in forgotten tombs. Even the winds—lifeless for countless eons—murmured in reverence.

Because at that moment...

Something eternal was waking.

Apollo took a step forward. Not fast, not forceful. Just... a step. But the world responded.

"Only my sword is eternal," Apollo murmured. Not defiant. Just certain.

His sword—once radiant and terrifying—now looked plain, nearly invisible, as if the world refused to acknowledge it. But every step he took with it, reality shifted, like it was making room for something it could not comprehend.

And in that silence, he slashed.

No light. No shockwave. No power.

Just a quiet line drawn through space.

It seems to cut nothing.

And yet—it undid.

The moment the sword swing ended, the ghostly creature screamed. This time, not soundless. Not vacuum. It was a cry that split all things.

Not from pain.

From unbeing.

Its body twisted, contorted violently as the fracture in its presence became a rift. A rent in its very foundation. The aura of desolation, once unshakeable, now was torn apart.

"Eternal Sword: Severance of the reality."

The creature thrashed violently, parts of it folding into themselves, unravelling like failed concepts—its arms became ideas of arms, then echoes of memories, then nothing at all.

It tried to move but found it impossible to stand —because Apollo’s sword didn’t just cut it. It cut the right to exist.

The entity let out one last whisper of distortion before it collapsed inward, not as a body, but as a broken thought exiled from the world.