Jared clenched his jaw and poured out another dozen blows. Sweat soaked through his tunic until it clung to his back like a second skin. He understood the gulf between them was a chasm. Onneas was sparring, almost teasing with effortless grace.
Desperation kindled a memory of the dormant dimension and time nascence hidden deep inside his marrow. That was Jared’s most secret trump card.
“Spatial Fold!” Space around rippled like water in drought. For the briefest heartbeat, Onneas’ outline smeared into a shapeless blur.
Jared lunged through that single crack, Dragonslayer Sword carving a golden arc that thrust for the very center of chest.
Onneas merely flicked a finger against the branch. A jade-green flash burst forth, crumpling the warped space. “Space nascence is promising, but your grasp rests at the surface.”
Undeterred, Jared summoned time nascence, willing the world itself to slow around her. Air thickened like syrup, yet Onneas still moved like dew on the breeze. The twig, alive and precise, met Dragonslayer again. “Time nascence bends only with the Heavenly Law. Forcing it will wound you first.”
The double strain upended Jared’s composure. Conventional swordplay would never graze Onneas. That truth rang painfully clear.
He watched Onneas stand serene beneath a drifting petal. A reckless idea ignited behind his eyes, one gamble, all or nothing.
Jared sprang backward. Every shred of dragon bloodline, every mote of spiritual energy, even the wisp of nascent power barely controlled, flooded straight into Dragonslayer Sword. The blade shrieked. Gold light forged itself into a tight, dragon-shaped arc that tore toward Onneas. ready to rip the sky apart.
The strike emptied Jared. If it failed, would crumple where stood, his very essence in tatters.
A flicker of surprise crossed Onneas’ eyes. She only shook head and swept branch-staff sideways. A teal waterfall of power crashed down, obliterating the golden dragon-shaped sword energy in an instant.
As the sword energy blew apart, Jared spun with the recoil, hurtling at like a kite whose string had snapped. The last filament of sword energy riding Dragonslayer went for the silk at collar.
There was no form, no discipline, only one final, reckless wager. Onneas had not expected such madness. She paused for a heartbeat, and in that heartbeat, the golden sword energy grazed sleeve.
The fabric hissed. A faint rip appeared along pale-cyan robe, loose threads fluttering away like silent snow.
She studied the tear, then the gasping man sprawled on the stone. The playful glint left gaze, replaced by a cool respect. “You do have a spine. The point is yours.”
Face pressed to the ground, Jared stared at that tiny cut and let a weak, satisfied smile bloom. He had bet correctly.
“Isabel, assemble three hundred Golden Armor Guards and ready the flying warship.”
Onneas spoke without turning, then knelt beside Jared and let a ribbon of emerald spiritual light pour into his core. “Regain your strength. We leave for level six at once.”
Thirty minutes later, on the plaza before the Celestial King Palace, three hundred Golden Armor Guards in gleaming plate stood rigid before a colossal golden warship.
Onneas, in robes the color of spring leaves, waited at the prow. Jared stood beside her, pulse hammering at the scale of the spectacle.
She lifted one hand. Teal spiritual energy surged like a tide, and the air ahead tore like wet parchment, unveiling a broad, radiant corridor. Beyond it shimmered the landscapes of level six.
No violet lightning of cosmic law, no savage backlash, only effortless grace.
“Move!” Onneas stepped through first, unhurried. Jared followed, yet paused on the threshold, casting one lingering look toward the distant level eight, emotions knotted and raw.
He had clawed through that barrier in agony, courting death. Yet, Onneas had parted it with a casual wave.
