Way of Overlord
Chapter 112: Rule Number One

Chapter 112: Rule Number One

Aeryon feet moved

With a swift kick off the ground, Aeryon propelled his sword forward like a lightning bolt, determination etched upon his face.

Durka grinned in response, channelling his immense strength into a powerful slash of his halberd.

BOOOM!

The clash reverberated through the air once more, producing yet another dazzling spark of fire as their weapons met.

Swoosh!

Swoosh!

A mesmerizing duel of contrasts unfolded before the spectators’ eyes.

The sword, swift and agile, danced with grace and precision, while the halberd, formidable and weighty, struck with a force that demanded respect.

Each move, a symphony of power and finesse, served as both defense and offense, as they countered and parried, launching intricate sequences in a mesmerizing dance of arms.

In the heart of the fighting ring, the two warriors demonstrated an unparalleled mastery of their respective weapons.

The beauty of their technique and the intensity of their struggle captivated all who bore witness, rendering the audience silent in awe and reverence.

As the battle intensified, an electrifying surge of adrenaline coursed through their veins, driving them to new heights of speed and precision.

With every passing moment, their movements became a blur, the dance of their weapons an exquisite symphony of power and finesse.

The grass swayed in a fervent frenzy, unable to withstand the force of their explosive exchanges.

Swoosh!

BOOM!

The ground beneath their feet erupted with each step, bearing witness to the extraordinary power they unleashed.

Sword light streaked through the air like shooting stars, and the halberd’s resounding sound sliced through the air like it is cutting fabric

The battleground became a canvas of mastery, marked with the etchings of their conflict.

The ground bore the scars of the sword’s passage, while the halberd’s missed strikes left the once pristine earth in disarray.

With every move, they left an indelible mark,

"Hahaha!’ Aeryon laughed. The more he fights the happier he becomes; a temperament of a great hero seems to ooze out of him.

They both did not want to back down from each other, yet they respected each other and admire each other

Aeryon could not help but want Durka even more.

"This kind of talent is needed! With this kind of talent, why would I worried not being able to conquer the world!" he thought to himself.

At this moment, in this battle, Aeryon felt like he assimilated with the original Aeryon. The original Aeryon himself is a person with great ambition in his heart.

Was it him that drives the ambition to unify the Great Steppe? Or was it the lingering desire of the original Aeryon? Which was it?

But....is it important? Aeryon had already made a move, and he has already had the plan and the desire is already there.

Whether it is the original Aeryon lingering will or his own desire....the arrow has been released from the bow.

You could not take it back

Durka on the other hand sighed inwardly as he keep fighting with Aeryon. He is old. And Aeryon is young.

He does not like making excuses. But if he makes this excuse, he is truly justified.

If he is younger, than it would not be an exaggeration for him to fight evenly with Aeryon

The more they fought, the more they seemed to transcend the limits of mortal ability, transforming into embodiments of martial excellence.

The sword and halberd engaged in an elegant yet fierce ballet

But the reality is that, the longer the battle became, the more advantageous it is for Aeryon and the more disadvantageous it is for Durka

Sword light flew pass, halberd sound cuts the air, the ground is marked with sword mark, the ground turns into a mess with each missed halberd strike.

The halberd Durka gripped in his hands was a behemoth of metal

Only the most resilient and dedicated of warriors dared to pursue this esoteric martial skill, for its training was an arduous journey riddled with countless trials and tribulations.

But Durka relentless pursuit of mastery was evident in every fluid motion, as he wielded the unwieldy weapon with an elegance that belied its colossal heft.

What set Durka apart was his absence of innate strength, unlike Belarion everyone knew born with innate strength.

Yet, here he stood, the epitome of determination, showcasing to all that true greatness transcended birth right.

With each calculated strike, the halberd sang its deadly tune, and the battlefield became a canvas for his artistry.

In the midst of the tumultuous combat, Aeryon discerned a glimmer of a great leader’s aura surrounding Durka.

"A kind of an aura" he thought to himself.

The halberd’s immense weight, counting in the hundreds of pounds, did not deter Durka in the slightest.

The grass yielded before its razor-sharp edge, as if bowing in reverence to the might it represented.

The ground beneath their feet quivered and erupted in response to the unforgiving strikes, bearing the scars of their titanic clashes.

With each halberd swing, a howling wind surged forth, unleashing a force unmatched in its ferocity.

The halberds weighing hundreds of pounds, the grass were cut cleanly, the ground exploded up into the air and every halberd strike set off a howling wind, unparalleled in power!

That is Aeryon thoughts. And in that moment of power, Aeryon could see it.

In that pivotal moment, Aeryon keen perception honed in on a vulnerable spot in Durka defense, a minute flaw amidst the overwhelming might of the halberd.

His smile widened, a glint of determination flickering in his eyes as he recognized the chance to turn the tide of the battle.

Like a wolf spotting its prey’s weakness, Aeryon seized upon the opportunity with unwavering focus.

With razor-sharp instincts, he calculated the precise instant to strike, aiming to exploit the chink in Durka seemingly impenetrable defense.

"Now," his inner voice echoed with conviction, as he readied himself to act.

He uses his sword but he did not thrust it forward or slashes it.

Instead, he kicks the ground and he retreated, the range of the halberd could not reach him, the movement method is light and agile, like a boat in the sea of halberds.

In a blink of an eye, Aeryon sheathed his sword, fluidly transitioning to another weapon concealed behind his back—a bow.

With deft hands, he notched an arrow and released it toward Durka. The arrow flew through the air like a swift hawk, aimed directly at its mark.

Durka swung his halberd with remarkable speed, attempting to fend off the incoming projectile. The arrows clashed with the deadly weapon, the metallic sound of iron meeting iron and the subsequent splitting of the arrow resonated throughout the battlefield.

Tting!

Tting!

The sound of iron clashing and the sound of the arrow being cut reverberated across the area.

But Aeryon smile becomes wider.

"Like I thought"

A battle is not just a chaotic clash of brute force; it is a war of tactics and strategy.

The art of combat demands more than reckless aggression—it requires calculated moves and strategic acumen.

When two opponents possess almost equal strength, the use of tactics becomes the pivotal factor, determining the course of the battle, and even life and death.

As the contest continued, Aeryon keenly observed Durk relentless swings, recognizing the energy expended with each powerful strike.

Durka physical prowess was awe-inspiring, but it came at a cost—the expenditure of significant energy with every halberd swing.

wearing Durka down is as crucial as finding a weakness in his defense. He sought to exploit the toll that Durka mighty blows took on his stamina, waiting for the opportune moment to execute an attack

Like a master tactician, Aeryon planned his moves with foresight and precision.

He recognized the value of patience and chose to conserve his own energy, knowing that in this war of attrition, measured actions could lead to victory.

Every swing of Durka halberd, while awe-inspiring, revealed potential openings and patterns in his technique.

Aeryon senses were heightened, attuned to every nuance of the battle. He stored away this valuable information, crafting a blueprint for his next move.

The artistry of war blended seamlessly with the art of combat, and every decision made held profound consequences.

Aeryon smile, once fuelled by anticipation, now exuded a sense of quiet confidence. It is good that I did not travel in a high fantasy world, he thought to himself.

In this world, where magic exists, but in limited measure, the art of combat takes precedence over mystical feats.

Although some possess extraordinary abilities like gliding through the air or displaying inhuman strength, the world remains grounded in a sense of realism.

"At least in my world realism. After all, the perception of reality differs between worlds"

Miraculous healing through consuming something is a rare occurrence, making tactics and strategy still the cornerstone of triumph on the battlefield.

the people of the Steppe understand that battles are a matter of life and death.

Honour lies not in adhering to rigid rules, but in survival and prevailing against formidable adversaries.

The notion of exploiting weaknesses or conserving energy is not deemed dishonourable but rather, a testament to a warrior’s cunning and adaptability.

In such perilous battles, where the consequences are dire, the number one rule is that there are no rules.

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