Realm Lord
Chapter 98: Round 2 (4)

Chapter 98: Round 2 (4)

The ancient chamber trembled, dust cascading from cracked stone arches above as Arthur summoned his sword. Darkness coalesced around the blade, writhing like living smoke before solidifying into a thin, obsidian filament along the edge. The dark steel—already formidable—transformed into something otherworldly, something that could slice through solid rock as effortlessly as parting water.

Arthur’s muscles tensed beneath torn garments. His shadow arm gripped the sword’s hilt with unnatural strength. The corrupted limb pulsed with veins of midnight, sending waves of cold power through his entire being.

He drew a labored breath, lungs burning from exertion, and planted his foot forward. The stone floor beneath him cracked, spider-web fractures racing outward from the impact point. For a heartbeat, Arthur remained still—gathering the newfound strength that coursed through his altered body.

Then he moved.

The chamber blurred around him as he accelerated to a speed he’d never before achieved. He was shadow and fury, a dark comet streaking across the battlefield. To any normal observer, he would have been nothing but a smear of motion, impossible to track with human eyes.

But the Sheepman was no ordinary foe.

The armored knight met Arthur’s charge with equal velocity, bringing its own blade to bear with mechanical precision. When their swords collided, the impact sent a shockwave reverberating through the chamber. Sparks of darkness and light erupted where the edges met, casting bizarre shadows across ancient walls painted with forgotten histories.

Steel shrieked against steel as they tested one another, each pushing with terrifying strength. Arthur’s arms trembled with the effort, but something primal had awakened within him—something that refused to yield.

An animalistic war cry tore from Arthur’s throat, echoing off stone as he channeled every ounce of his newfound power into a single, devastating push. The Sheepman faltered, its perfect balance disrupted for just a fraction of a second.

It was enough.

Arthur brought his blade down in a vicious arc, the shadow-enhanced edge howling through the air. The Sheepman barely managed to bring its sword up to block, metal meeting metal with a thunderous clang that sent vibrations up Arthur’s arms.

"DIE!" Arthur screamed, spittle flying from his lips as he pressed his advantage. Technique abandoned him, replaced by raw, unbridled rage. Each swing carried the full weight of his fury—for Jonas, for himself, for everything that had been taken.

Any possibility of elegant swordplay dissolved into a brutal offensive barrage. He swung his blade over and over, each strike powerful enough to shatter stone. The Sheepman parried and blocked, but Arthur would not relent, his eyes wide with hatred, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

In his single-minded pursuit of vengeance, Arthur left himself exposed. Cuts began to appear across his body as the Sheepman’s blade found gaps in his frenzied assault. Blood welled from a slice across his shoulder, another across his ribs, a third along his thigh—yet Arthur barely registered the pain. Each wound only fueled his rage, pushing him to strike harder, faster.

Crimson droplets spattered the floor with each exchange. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except making this thing pay.

Minutes stretched like hours as they danced their deadly waltz through the chamber. Despite his wounds, Arthur began to push the Sheepman back, each wild swing forcing his opponent to give ground. The creature’s perfect technique was being overwhelmed by Arthur’s savage onslaught.

Then came the mistake.

Arthur’s blade bounced awkwardly off the knight’s sword, the jarring impact throwing him momentarily off-balance. His feet slid on the blood-slicked floor as he struggled to recover his stance.

The Sheepman seized the opening without hesitation. It stepped forward and brought its blade down in a powerful overhead strike, aiming to cleave Arthur from crown to sternum.

Time seemed to slow as Arthur made his decision. Rather than attempt a block he might not survive, he planted his back foot firmly into the cracked stone floor and opted for a desperate counter.

As the Sheepman’s blade descended, Arthur angled his sword and body, not meeting the strike head-on but redirecting it. His shadow-enhanced blade slid along the length of the Sheepman’s sword with a shower of dark sparks, riding the edge all the way to the hilt. With a sudden twist of his wrist and shift of his weight, Arthur forced his opponent’s blade downward.

The Sheepman’s perfect balance faltered once more.

Arthur pivoted, every muscle in his body coiling like a spring before releasing into one devastating upward swing aimed directly at the knight’s helmeted head. The scream that erupted from his throat wasn’t human—it was the sound of primal rage given voice, echoing through the room like the cry of some forgotten beast.

His sword tore through the air, the blade continually drawing in the surrounding darkness, distorting reality in its wake. When it connected with the Sheepman’s neck, the enhanced edge sliced through the metal helm with virtually no resistance, severing the head just as it had done to Jonas earlier.

Arthur’s momentum carried him past his opponent. He stumbled forward several steps before regaining his balance, chest heaving, blood and sweat mingling as they dripped from his brow. The rage still burned hot in his veins as he turned slowly, expecting to see the defeated body of his enemy collapsed on the stone floor.

What he saw instead defied all reason.

The Sheepman’s armor stood tall and undefeated, headless yet still animated. The severed helm lay on the ground nearby, but the body remained upright, blood-slicked sword still gripped firmly in its gauntleted hand.

"What the fuck are you?" Arthur whispered, the question hanging unanswered in the stale air of the chamber.

The headless knight shifted its stance, preparing for another assault as if the loss of its head was merely an inconvenience rather than a mortal wound.

Arthur allowed himself no time to ponder this impossible enemy. He tightened his shadow-clawed hand around his sword’s hilt until it seemed the very weapon might shatter under his grip. Dark energy pulsed from around him into the blade, intensifying the aura of destruction that surrounded it.

The headless Sheepman charged once more, moving with the same deadly precision as before. Arthur matched its speed, both warriors hurtling toward their final exchange with weapons poised.

The Sheepman swung upward with terrible force, its blade whistling through the air from below. Arthur brought his sword down from above, aiming for a direct collision of steel against steel—the first step in the desperate gambit forming in his mind.

As they closed the final distance, time seemed to slow once more, the fate of both combatants balanced on the edge of their blades.