Jinn BLADE
Chapter 120 | Crimson Edge

Chapter 120: Chapter 120 | Crimson Edge

*Back to Present

With a sharp exhale, Jinn unleashed another powerful slash, his blade cutting clean through the thick armor of an undead.

*Crack!

The strike lacerated one of its feet completely, causing the creature to stumble and fall sideways.

But before it could even crash onto the ground, Jinn’s blade was already there waiting.

In one smooth motion, he brought it down across the undead’s neck, cleaving through it entirely.

The head dropped to the dirt below, and the moment it did, the entire body began to burn away—turning into ash instantly as it was consumed by the golden flames emitted from Jinn’s blade.

He didn’t even flinch.

The sword he carried glowed with something more than just his own power.

Jinn could feel it.

He knew his crimson red eidra flowed into the weapon, guiding it, empowering it—but that wasn’t the only force at work.

Mixed within the energy was something else.

Something older.

Something stronger.

A golden light that pulsed from within the blade, wrapping around his crimson eidra like a second soul.

He didn’t know it yet, but it was prime eidra.

It felt like the blade was alive, as if it had its own will, its own essence.

With every strike, it reacted not just with strength, but with intent.

Like a living being that chose to fight alongside him, rather than being just a weapon he wielded.

Each movement felt smoother, more fluid, almost guided by an unseen hand.

Still, Jinn didn’t stop.

He continued his slaughter without hesitation, vanishing and reappearing across the battlefield in blinks of motion that the eye couldn’t follow.

His form flickered like lightning, cutting down enemy after enemy with precision.

Undead fell around him in pieces, some never even seeing where the blow came from before they were destroyed.

Jinn could hear his own heartbeat in his ears—not panicked, not wild—but steady.

Calm.

A strong, controlled rhythm that matched his every breath.

The wind whipped around him as he moved faster than sound, his body slicing through the air with effortless grace.

It felt like he was flying.

No resistance, no weight. Just movement. Pure, unstoppable, and free.

As he continued to fight, Jinn began to feel it—a familiar warmth spreading through his chest, subtle but steady.

It wasn’t burning, not like an inferno, but it wasn’t weak either.

It pulsed gently, flowing through him like a steady current, almost like a reminder of something he couldn’t forget.

It was the same warmth he had felt when he met that mysterious man within his dreams.

That warmth coursed through his veins, not overwhelming, but full of strength.

It didn’t rage, it didn’t scream, yet it filled him with energy so clear and powerful that it made him feel unstoppable.

His body moved like it was lighter than air, his arms steady, his steps sure.

It was as if his limbs had no weight, and the power flowing through him only grew with every breath.

Jinn couldn’t feel any sign of tiredness.

Not even the slightest.

His constant movement, the endless fighting, the blinking from one enemy to the next—none of it wore him down.

In fact, it felt the opposite.

His strength didn’t drain.

It built up.

It surged through him like a rising tide, growing more and more as if the eidra within him was becoming excited.

Not at the sight of blood.

Not at the violence.

But at the fight itself.

The battle stirred something deep inside his eidra, like it had a heartbeat of its own.

It was thrilled at the challenge, at the momentum, at the act of pushing forward again and again.

His soul didn’t crave destruction.

It craved purpose.

Movement.

Combat.

With a breath, calm and measured, Jinn gathered his energy.

The power built in his blade, whirring with golden and crimson light.

He raised his sword, and in a single motion, unleashed a wide, powerful wave of eidra that roared through the battlefield like a storm.

The energy carved a massive path, slicing straight through the horde in front of him.

At least a hundred undead soldiers were cut down in that one attack, their bodies turning to ash before they even touched the ground.

The wave cleared the field ahead, buying Jinn more space to move.

"I could do this all day," Jinn muttered with a small breath, his eyes narrowing as he stepped forward once more.

The number of undead was starting to thin now, their endless numbers slowly crumbling beneath the weight of his unrelenting onslaught.

And still, he moved forward, blade ready, breath steady, as the warmth within him never faded.

As he fought his way through the battlefield, slashing and weaving through the crumbling lines of undead, Jinn caught something familiar at the edge of his vision.

To his side, faint but clear, he saw a wall—glowing with the deep, pulsing hue of crimson eidra.

It was solid, firm, and unmistakable in its form.

That must be where Zendrell is... where Verkaryon and that woman are, Jinn thought, his focus sharpening even more.

His eyes returned forward just in time to meet a strike from one of the last standing undead soldiers.

The creature swung down with a jagged blade, its motion clumsy but heavy.

Jinn brought up his sword and parried the attack easily, the force barely making him step back.

With a fluid motion, he spun his blade and countered, slicing straight through the undead’s body.

The soldier didn’t even scream—it simply dropped to the ground and turned into ash the moment it touched the earth.

Then, silence.

He looked around.

The battlefield that was once full of chaos, of mindless undead charging from every direction, was now nearly empty.

The army had thinned out so much that only a few scattered figures remained, some still limping toward him with broken weapons, others wandering in confusion.

Their ranks had collapsed completely, no more order left in their formation, no purpose.

Just shattered pieces of a force that had already lost.

Their structure was gone.

Their strength undone.

There was no line left to push through.

Only the remnants of what had once tried to overwhelm him.

"I should finish things here," Jinn muttered under his breath.

With a firm grip on his sword, he bent his knees slightly and dashed forward once again, his form vanishing in a streak of crimson and gold, already aiming for the last of the undead that stood in his way.

*Inside Zendrell’s self-made arena

"DIE!" Jirael screamed, her voice sharp and furious as she raised her staff and unleashed a barrage of small, dagger-like shards of dark eidra.

Each shard cracked with energy the moment it left her fingertips, and in a blink, she released them all at once.

They flew forward at blinding speed, cutting through the air like a wave of death aimed straight at Zendrell.

At the same time, Verkaryon beat his wings hard, sending out a violent burst of black feathers.

The feathers were not ordinary—they shimmered with dark eidra, each one sharpened and laced with corruption.

They flew alongside Jirael’s attack, combining into a single stream of deadly projectiles.

Dozens turned into hundreds, all aimed toward one target.

Zendrell.

But Zendrell didn’t move.

He didn’t panic.

Instead, a smirk curled at the corner of his lips.

His eyes, glowing faintly with yellow light, showed no fear.

His hands gripped tightly around the handle of his massive crimson blade, which had already begun to hum with power.

The surface of the sword shimmered, violent sparks of crimson eidra pulsing across the edge.

And then, he moved.

Zendrell spun the giant sword in front of him, turning it in a perfect circular motion with incredible speed.

The weapon moved like a shield, rotating faster and faster until it created a barrier of spinning crimson light.

Sparks flew with every rotation, and as the barrage of daggers and feathers reached him, the spinning sword met them head-on.

*Clang! *Crack! *Thoom!

Each shard, each feather, was met with a strike, deflected one by one with violent force.

The sound of dozens of impacts filled the arena, echoing like metal striking stone.

Dark energy crashed against the wall of spinning eidra, only to be pushed back, broken, or turned into smoke by the sheer pressure of Zendrell’s defense.

Not a single one got through.

Not one scratch touched him.

He stood tall at the center of the storm, blade still spinning, face calm—and smiling.

A few seconds passed in silence after the storm of attacks ended, the air still humming faintly with leftover energy.

Then, without warning, Zendrell jumped high into the air.

*BANG!

His movement was fast, almost graceful for his size.

In one swift motion, he reached out and grabbed hold of one of Verkaryon’s feet mid-flight.

Verkaryon didn’t even have time to react.

"Kurghk!" Verkaryon grunted in pain, his eyes wide as Zendrell’s powerful grip began crushing his foot.

The pressure tightened fast, bones cracking underneath the force.

"My turn," Zendrell said with a smirk.

Then he yanked downward with all his strength, dragging Verkaryon from the sky and hurling him toward the ground below.

*BOOM!!!

The impact was violent—Verkaryon’s body smashed into the earth with a loud crack, sending dust and broken stone flying outward in every direction.

Zendrell wasted no time.

*Bang!

He kicked off the air with explosive force, closing the distance as he raised his massive crimson blade high over his shoulder, ready to bring it down in one finishing strike.

His blade howled with power as it descended, the edge glowing bright with crimson eidra, hungry for the kill.

But just before it landed, it struck something else.

*Brrk!

A dark barrier formed right in the way, appearing at the last moment.

It wasn’t Verkaryon who made it—it was Jirael.

Her arms outstretched with her staff, her energy focused into the protective shield.

Zendrell’s sword smashed against the barrier with overwhelming power, and though the barrier shattered almost instantly from the impact, it had done its job.

The delay was just enough.

Verkaryon recovered in that moment and retaliated, driving a spear-like dark eidra straight into Zendrell’s leg.

*Crack! *Gush!

The attack was fast, and it pierced clean through his flesh, causing Zendrell to grunt and leap back, his footing momentarily shaken.

"HAH!" Verkaryon shrieked in pride, rising back into the air.

"Take that, you buffoon!" he shouted with a wild grin stretched across his face.

But Jirael quickly raised a hand and stopped him, her expression serious.

"Don’t rejoice now, Verkaryon," she said coldly.

"Attacks like that won’t work on him. You can’t take Zendrell down piece by piece. You need to finish him in one blow, or not at all."

Just as her words left her mouth, the truth became clear.

Zendrell’s wound—deep and brutal only a second ago—was already gone.

Crimson eidra pulsed around his leg, wrapping it tightly before sealing the injury shut in the blink of an eye.

There was no blood left.

No pain.

Just the same towering figure, standing unbothered.

"Glad you haven’t forgotten," Zendrell said, cracking his neck with a loud

*pop!

as he stepped forward again.

A smirk formed across his face, calm and dangerous.

"It would be boring if you did."

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