Jinn BLADE
Chapter 114 | Clash

Chapter 114: Chapter 114 | Clash

"CHARGE!" shouted Jirael, her voice cutting through the air like a crack of thunder as she raised her staff and pointed it straight ahead.

*rumbling!

In that instant, the undead soldiers responded with a deafening cry, surging forward like a wave of cold flesh and armor.

Their bodies, some barely intact, moved with unnatural speed as the ground trembled beneath the weight of their charge.

Weapons clattered, rusted metal scraping against bone and steel.

Behind them, the cloaked eidrics stood still, their hands glowing and humming with thick eidra, already preparing their long-ranged attacks from afar.

"Here they come," Zendrell muttered, his tone calm, almost too casual for the scene unfolding before them.

His posture remained relaxed, his hand resting loosely on the hilt of his sword, but Jinn knew better.

That was how Zendrell always was—unbothered, loose, but only until the moment he struck.

Jinn had trained under him, seen how he fought.

He didn’t need to tense up to be dangerous.

"You handle the trash, kid," Zendrell said while beginning to step forward slowly.

His crimson eidra started to flicker softly around his shoulders, trailing faint sparks as he moved.

Then, right before breaking into a full pace, he turned his head over his shoulder, glancing back at Jinn.

"They should be no match for you at this point," he added, his voice carrying both confidence and trust.

Jinn didn’t answer him.

He simply nodded.

The black sword in his hand pulsed again, golden and dark eidra swirling across its blade like living fire.

The weight of it no longer felt foreign.

It felt right.

Fitting, even.

He stepped forward too, his eyes narrowing as the wave of undead approached, and the air around him began to shimmer from the pressure of his rising eidra.

He was ready.

Jinn then focused his breathing, steadying it as the sounds of battle began to rise.

His chest rose and fell slowly, his eyes narrowed, and his grip on the black sword tightened.

Crimson eidra slowly bled from his body, wrapping around him like smoke, and began to merge with the cracking black and golden eidra that danced across the surface of his sword.

The blade hummed with power, responding to his will, pulsing like it was alive.

Then, just like before, he positioned the blade at his hip—his stance calm, silent, precise.

He subtly gripped the handle, charging it with a steady flow of his energy, the tension rising around him.

And in a flash, he drew the blade and slashed the air.

*CRACK!!

A powerful wave of golden eidra erupted forward, cutting the air with a roar.

It blasted out in a blinding streak, speeding toward the oncoming undead soldiers like a scythe of pure light.

Jirael’s eyes widened.

Her staff whirred violently as she raised it, already forming a powerful counter to intercept the golden wave.

But just before she could unleash her own eidra—

Zendrell moved.

He had already charged at her, appearing before her in an instant, his speed almost impossible to track.

Jirael flinched, forced to abandon her casting and instead conjure a defensive barrier of thick dark eidra around her body.

Zendrell’s sword, glowing crimson red, slammed down with such force that the barrier cracked instantly under the impact.

*Crack...!

And then—shattered.

*Crash!

The barrier broke into shards of flickering dark energy as Zendrell pushed through, his momentum unbroken.

"Lady Jirael!" Verkaryon shouted, descending from above with wings spread wide.

Black eidra swirled around his talons as he dived fast, aiming straight at Zendrell, his claws gleaming with deadly force.

But Zendrell already sensed him.

With a low growl, he plunged his sword into the ground just before the talons could reach him.

*Boom!

A massive shockwave of crimson eidra burst out from the blade, exploding outward like a ring of compressed wind and energy.

The force struck Verkaryon mid-flight, his wings flailing as the gust slammed against him, halting his dive and pushing him back into the air.

The wind howled.

The pressure pulsed in all directions.

In the background, Jinn’s eidra wave finally collided with the approaching army of undead, slicing through multiple enemies as it travelled like a blade of light.

Those who were cut in half thrashed weakly on the ground, some trying to crawl forward, but it was all in vain.

Their movements slowed, and one by one they began to disintegrate—burning away into black mist as the Prime eidra that surged from Jinn’s attack completely halted the corrupted energy flowing inside them.

With no chance to heal or recover, their bodies faded into the wet soil beneath.

Jinn exhaled once more, his breath steady, his hands tightening around the hilt of his blade as he bent his knees low.

Then, in a sudden burst of speed, he exploded forward.

*Boom!

His sword moved like a blur, cleaving through the air as he swung it over and over, each strike practiced, smooth, and deadly—every motion a memory of his training under Zendrell.

His blade didn’t slow.

It moved with a sharp swiftness and a brutal grace, cutting through the undead like they were made of thin paper, tearing through armor, bone, and flesh alike.

One fell, then another, then more followed, each collapse faster than the last.

Still, Jinn remained calm.

His breathing never quickened, and his heartbeat stayed low, like a whisper within his chest.

There was no panic in him—onlyfocus.

His eyes narrowed as he moved, seeing everything, every twitch of muscle and flicker of motion, every bit of eidra that surged inside the creatures.

With the help of his mechanical eye—the one Amaron had installed—he could see their weaknesses, their corrupted cores, their decaying nerves.

Every undead enemy appeared like a map before him, and he read them perfectly.

It was almost like time slowed.

The world dimmed, and Jinn became a phantom, slipping through the horde with no wasted movement, his sword carving a clean, ruthless path through the swarm.

Zendrell saw it, Jirael saw it, and even Verkaryon couldn’t deny it.

The way Jinn moved... the calm in his breathing, the sharp focus in his eyes, and the weight behind every strike—there was no denying it now.

This boy... this apprentice of his... carried a fragment of Muradryn.

And if he lived long enough to master it, there would be no stopping him.

"Tch!" Jirael clicked her tongue, her face twisting in anger.

"Verkaryon! Target that boy now! I’ll deal with this brute!" she barked, already channeling dark eidra through her staff.

"Yes, my lady!" Verkaryon answered without hesitation.

He flapped his wings wide and pushed himself toward Jinn with a powerful burst of wind, talons out and dark eidra wrapping his arms.

But he didn’t get far.

"Oh no you don’t!" Zendrell’s voice cut through the air like a blade as he launched upward, his timing perfect.

He caught one of Verkaryon’s legs mid-flight and with a grunt of force, yanked the avian mid-spin, then hurled him backward with a heavy swing of his body.

*CRASH!!

Verkaryon hit the ground near Jirael with a loud crash, dirt and broken stone flying up around him.

Zendrell landed a second later, his boots cracking the earth beneath as he drove his sword straight into the ground.

*Crrrrr... *BANG!!

Crimson eidra erupted from the point of impact, snaking outward in sharp, violent arcs before bursting upward in jagged spikes that encased all three of them in a ring of glowing red.

"Heh... where do you think you’re going, bird brain?" Zendrell said as he began to walk forward, tapping the flat of his massive sword against his shoulder.

His voice was calm, but there was no mistaking the edge in it.

"You don’t get to attack my apprentice without my permission now."

Zendrell smirked.