He did not know how Jared had survived the void passage, yet he was certain a one-handed swat would be more than enough to crush a mere Earthly Immortal.
Jared smiled faintly. His palm opened, and sword intent shimmered into being, born from nothing but the conviction in his blood. In the same heartbeat, his body vanished.
To face Enaricus, he did not even use the Dragonslayer Sword, forging instead a weapon from raw sword intent alone.
The sight wiped the smirk from Enaricus’ face. Brows furrowed, he felt a ripple of unease slip beneath his armor of pride.
Summoning a blade that swiftly, from sheer will, was something no ordinary Earthly Immortal could fathom, much less achieve.
Enaricus stamped forward. His right hand rose and plunged, unleashing a crushing tide of power that billowed outward from his palm.
A streak of blinding sword light screamed toward Enaricus, splitting the air with needle-fine precision. Yet the moment the sword light met the lord’s aura, it shuddered, trapped beneath the brute weight of his domineering aura.
Jared flicked his wrist. The intent-blade flared, erupting with a terrifying edge that shredded the pressure holding it at bay.
The impact thundered. Enaricus staggered back, boots gouging deep channels in the stone as he skidded nearly a hundred paces before finding balance.
A collective gasp rippled through every throat present, the sound cresting like a sudden wave against a silent shore.
The moment Jared’s blade flare forced Enaricus to stumble back, a collective gasp swallowed the plaza. Even Onneas, whose gaze rarely betrayed emotion, stared at Jared with something close to awe, no, outright fright, as if lightning had cracked open the ground between them.
Percival’s cheeks burned crimson. Only seconds ago, he had mocked Jared as a provincial upstart. Now that very arrogance returned like an open-palmed slap, echoing across his face.
He knew with brutal certainty he could never, not in a single move, force Enaricus into retreat. The realization left the prince feeling small, exposed, and suddenly very mortal.
Enaricus steadied himself, boots skidding to a halt on fractured stone. His expression curdled into something foul, as though he had been made to swallow ash and bile in front of thousands.
Humiliation radiated from him like cold smoke. Yet beneath that anger slithered a deeper shock. He had studied Jared’s progress, knew the young swordsman could fight above his official rank, but when Jared had defeated Cormac a while back, it had taken effort.
Now, in the space of a single breath, the young man’s power had ballooned into nightmare territory. Enaricus could think of only one word, aberration!
Farther back, half-hidden among the spectators, Cormac felt an involuntary shiver crawl down his spine. Without a second thought, he turned and slipped into the fractured air itself, vanishing between folds of trembling light.
Cormac had planned for both outcomes. If Enaricus triumphed, he would step forward, basking in reflected glory. But, if Enaricus fell, he would dissolve into the crowd and pretend he had never pledged allegiance.
Tonight’s verdict arrived with ruthless speed, and flight was the only reasonable answer.
None of the Third Hall disciples noticed his exit, and Enaricus, consumed by fury, remained oblivious. But Esorin’s eyes tracked the fleeing silhouette with ease.
Esorin’s lips curved into a wintry smile.
“Running from a single swordsman, are we? Did the fool forget that I still stand here?” His voice, though soft, dripped with derision and carried across the hush like falling needles.
Despite Jared’s astonishing display, Esorin felt no dread. To him, Jared was still a mere Earthly Immortal, a child sparring with titans. Impressive, yes, but hardly world-ending.
Jared lowered the gleaming point of his sword, disappointment tightening the corners of his eyes. “One strike and you still stand, clearly I need more practice.”
Weeks spent brawling with flame meteors inside the void passage, weeks absorbing Maxwell’s star-forged legacy, had rocketed his cultivation beyond expectation. He had believed the current blade strength enough to sever Enaricus where he stood.
Enaricus still breathed. That alone irritated him.
“You’re too arrogant!” Enaricus trembled with rage, Jared’s casual tone gnawing at his pride.
The very idea that an Earthly Immortal thought he could be felled in a single stroke, unforgivable.
Before the overlord could lunge, a new blade shimmered into existence, pure sword-intent made iron, appearing a handspan from nothing and howling toward Enaricus’ chest.
There had been no warning, no flash of drawn steel, only Jared’s will condensing the surrounding air into lethal form. Wherever his intent reached, swords were born like silver flowers in a storm.
