Realm Lord
Chapter 99: Round 2 (5)

Chapter 99: Round 2 (5)

Arthur’s blade collided with the Sheepman’s sword, the impact sending a cascade of brilliant sparks erupting into the air between them. The knight’s steel produced a wealth of light that Arthur’s shadow-infused weapon seemed to devour hungrily, the darkness coalescing along its edge drinking in the sparks like fuel for some greater purpose.

The collision lasted only seconds. Arthur, teeth bared in a feral grimace, pushed his full body weight into his weapon, pressing hard against the gleaming steel of the Sheepman’s blade. With his muscles straining beneath torn clothing, Arthur saw his opportunity. Using the pressed-together blades as a makeshift springboard, he kicked off from the ground with explosive force, propelling himself high into the air above his headless opponent.

Time seemed to slow as Arthur reached the apex of his jump. The rage that had clouded his thoughts momentarily parted like a curtain, clarity returning to his mind as he looked down into the empty neck of the armor below. What he saw inside the Sheepman made everything suddenly, unbearably obvious.

There was nothing inside the knight’s armor. Absolutely nothing—except for a small, intricate spell circle etched into the interior metal, drawn in red. Arthur’s eyes widened as he recognized the pattern. It was identical to the ones he had seen drawn on the dolls in the laboratory.

His mind raced, processing the revelation at lightning speed. Images flashed before him—the paintings in the great hall with these Sheepmen in every single portrait, always watching silently from the background. At the time, he had assumed they were merely bodyguards, but what royal family would allow mere servants to intrude on intimate family portraits?

Unless the royal family saw the Sheepmen as more than servants... as something akin to family.

The ancient spell that maintained the cursed castle required totems of significant value to the casters—the royal family—objects that couldn’t be living things but held immense personal importance. If the Sheepmen were valued by the royal family as if they were kin and were no more than dolls controlled by an ancient spell...

"The Sheepmen are the totems," Arthur whispered, the final piece of the puzzle clicking into place.

That explained everything—why their attacks had been so futile, why they couldn’t detect what rank they were. They weren’t living beings or corrupted ones at all, but enchanted dolls created by whoever had worked in that arcane laboratory before this realm was destroyed. The headless knight continuing to fight despite decapitation suddenly made perfect sense.

The revelation hit Arthur so hard that he completely botched his landing. Instead of touching down gracefully, he tumbled awkwardly onto the stone floor, rolling several times before scrambling to regain his footing, sword raised defensively.

The Sheepman turned quickly, its empty armor somehow radiating menace as it faced Arthur once more. The sword in its gauntleted hand gleamed in the darkness of the ancient room, poised for another assault.

Arthur’s manic expression returned, but this time accompanied by a crazed smile that split his blood-spattered face. His eyes burned with newfound understanding and purpose.

"I got you now, motherfucker," he snarled, laughing with unhinged intensity.

Instead of charging headlong as he had done repeatedly throughout their battle, Arthur changed his grip on his blade and did something completely unexpected. He took a large step forward, planting his foot firmly against the cracked stone floor. Raising his sword beside his head like a spear, Arthur channeled every ounce of his newfound strength into his arm.

With a primal roar, he launched his sword through the air.

The blade pierced through the air, somehow collecting the ambient darkness around it as it flew. The shadows seemed to propel the weapon to even greater speeds, the air distorting in its wake as it hurtled toward the Sheepman.

The construct reacted with inhuman reflexes, quickly planting its armored feet and preparing to meet the threat. Both metal hands gripped its hilt tightly as it swung to intercept Arthur’s flying sword.

When the blades met in mid-air, the impact resonated throughout the chamber. Sparks and shadow erupted from the collision point. The Sheepman had managed to knock Arthur’s blade off course, but the tremendous force behind the thrown sword proved too much for the construct to simply deflect. The impact nearly wrenched its own weapon from its gauntleted grip, sending the headless knight stumbling backward, fighting to maintain its balance.

It had no time to recover.

Arthur had already closed the distance, moving like a shadow behind his thrown weapon. As the Sheepman attempted a desperate one-handed swing with its destabilized grip, Arthur made his move. His shadow arm shot out with impossible speed.

The shadow hand caught the Sheepman’s blade in mid-swing, fingers wrapping around the steel without hesitation. With a savage twist, Arthur yanked the sword past him, pulling the Sheepman forward and off-balance. In the same fluid motion, his other hand seized the exterior of the armor’s elbow joint.

Pivoting his hips inward, Arthur used the knight’s own momentum against it. He executed a perfect throw that sent the armored construct sailing over his head before slamming it down against the stone floor with bone-shattering force.

The impact echoed through the chamber, dust and debris raining down from the ancient ceiling. Before the Sheepman could react, Arthur stomped down on its sword hand with such violence that the metal gauntlet crumpled beneath his boot like parchment, forcing the weapon from its grip.

Darkness swirled around Arthur’s shadow arm as he raised it high above his head, the limb drawing in all the surrounding shadows as if they were being pulled into a vortex. The claw-like fingers lengthened and sharpened, becoming something monstrous and primeval that no longer resembled a human hand.

"DIE!" Arthur screamed, his voice no longer sounding entirely human.

His shadow fist descended with apocalyptic force, targeting the exact spot beneath the neck piece where he had seen the spell circle drawn into the metal. The impact was cataclysmic. Stone cracked beneath the Sheepman as Arthur’s darkness-enhanced fist punched straight through the enchanted armor and obliterated the arcane circle within.

The spell shattered with a sound like breaking glass, releasing a burst of magical energy that dispersed in a visible shockwave through the chamber. Blue light flared briefly from the broken circle before fading away, the magic that had animated the armor finally extinguished.

The Sheepman’s body convulsed once, then fell still. The hollow shell of metal that had fought with such deadly precision now lay broken and lifeless on the ground.