The Academy's Doomed Side Character-Chapter 206: Execution Of Trash [2]

The room crackled with tension, the air charged and thick with power—his and mine, colliding in an invisible storm. My breath came slow and steady, every muscle in my body tuned for war.

Samuel—or the one who inside him—tilted his head with an eerie grace. The glow around his chest dimmed to a steady pulse, like a heartbeat tethered to something older than time.

"No more masks then," he said, stretching his fingers like a pianist about to play a requiem.

I didn’t answer.

There was no need to.

A fight was already inevitable.

His next move was fast—but not as fast as mine.

The moment his foot shifted, I also moved.

My body blurred, vanishing from my original position and reappearing at his side in the blink of an eye. Lan’s blade hummed in the air, a silver flash carving toward his ribs.

But this time, he was ready.

With one smooth motion, he raised his hand and caught the blade.

Not with a weapon.

With his bare fingers.

A flicker of divine resistance shimmered over his skin. Sparks flew as metal scraped against magic, and for a brief moment, we were locked there—me pushing forward, him holding firm.

"You’re quick," he said calmly, almost admiringly. "Too quick."

I twisted my wrist, disengaging the lock and using the momentum to flip backward, just as his other hand came down like a hammer.

It cracked the floor where I’d just stood, leaving behind a crater that spiderwebbed outward.

"That coin..." I murmured, eyes narrowing.

It wasn’t just resurrection. It had to be amplifying him now. No normal relic offered that much strength passively.

"You noticed," he said, brushing dust from his sleeves. "It’s burning the rest of its luck to boost my body for five minutes. After that, I go back to being breakable."

He smiled.

"So let’s finish this before that happens."

He dashed forward this time—faster, heavier.

The floor cracked beneath each step as he closed the gap. I brought Lan up to block, but his punch came from the side, not the front.

Bastard’s smart.

Thwack —!!!

The blow slammed into my ribs, sending me flying across the room.

I rolled with the impact, skidding along the ground and gasping as I hit the far wall. Pain flared through my side, sharp and deep. I tasted blood in my mouth.

But I stood up.

Because pain was old news.

Because I’d already made my peace.

Lan buzzed in my hand, sensing my resolve. A pulse of energy surged through the blade as I activated its second form.

"Lan split!"

The dagger split, unfolding with an elegant click into dual short swords, each etched with glowing runes—one pulsing blue, the other red. One for speed. One for power.

I vanished again.

This time, I came from above.

Samuel turned, raising his arm too late.

My red blade crashed down against his shoulder, staggering him with a shockwave of force. The blue blade followed, slashing across his chest in a blur of light. Sparks burst from the impact points, his barrier cracking visibly.

He roared, sweeping an arc of flame from his palm—another artifact, this one elemental. I ducked under it, lunging forward with both blades.

But just before I hit him again—

He grinned.

"Boom."

BOOM—!!!!

My body was blasted backward by a sudden explosion of fire erupting from his chest. Not flame—raw mana. An area burst, wild and uncontrolled, like a magical landmine.

I slammed into the ground, coughing violently. My uniform was scorched. Blood dripped from my lip, my shoulder dislocated.

He walked through the smoke, not even breathing hard.

"You’re good," he said, circling me. "But this isn’t a duel anymore. It’s a slaughter."

I spat blood and reset my shoulder with a sickening pop.

"You’re talking too much for someone who was hiding behind a mask for years."

His grin twitched.

And I saw it—the smallest flicker of irritation behind his eyes.

I pressed.

"Does it bother you? That I saw through you first? That your act didn’t fool everyone?"

"I was never trying to fool everyone," he snapped, his voice finally cracking. "Only the ones who mattered. You? You’re not one of them."

"Then why are you bleeding?"

That hit a nerve.

"That’s it. No more games."

A flicker of black shot through the air, slicing toward my neck. I barely dodged, spotting the red sparks just in time—his warning sign.

It was Shadow Fang, the real artifact he relied on.

Like Lan’s [Soul Bound Staff], it manipulated shadows, twisting them freely into weapons. But it had a tell, and a fatal flaw: it couldn’t strike twice in quick succession.

"Strange," he sneered. "You’re clearly weaker than me. Just some broken-down trash. So how are you still standing?"

He wasn’t wrong.

I was hanging on—dodging, blocking, scraping by. Every move I made looked more like surviving than fighting.

...I probably looked pathetic, especially after claiming I’d die here today.

But I couldn’t beat him until I stripped away all his recovery tools. 𝒇𝓻𝓮𝓮𝙬𝙚𝒃𝒏𝓸𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝓬𝓸𝒎

I’d already destroyed the most annoying one—Gambler’s Mercy—so maybe two or three more to go?

"If you’re so curious," he said, "just die quietly. I might tell you about it as a farewell gift in the afterlife."

I grinned, blood trickling from the corner of my lip.

"No thanks. I’d rather catch you and peel it out of you slowly. I’ve gotten curious about what your screams sound like."

He laughed—bitter, sharp.

"God, your lines suck. What are you, a villain from twenty years ago?"

I kept talking, throwing barbs back and forth, but truth be told, I wasn’t relaxed.

Not even close.

This could go either way.

And I still had to win.

Even if just by an inch. Even if it meant breaking every bone left in my body.

Samuel—or whoever he really was—charged again, closing the distance in a flash. But this time, I didn’t dodge.

I stepped in.

His fist flew toward my face. I twisted my neck just enough for it to graze past, feeling the heat singe my skin. My red blade flashed upward, not to strike, but to parry his wrist—and in the same breath, my blue blade slid in from below, stabbing toward the coin on his chest.

Clink.

Not enough. A barrier flared again, blocking the blow.

But I wasn’t aiming to destroy it. Not yet.

I just wanted him off balance.

I let him slam his knee into my gut—I took it. The pain rang like a gong in my skull, but I was already moving, hooking his leg with mine, toppling both of us into the floor.

We crashed down hard, a mess of limbs and sparks, and for a moment I was close enough to see it: the faint burn lines spreading from the coin’s surface into his chest.

His time was running out.

I whispered, just loud enough for him to hear, "Three minutes left."

He snarled and threw me off him with brute force, sending me spinning through the air.

I twisted, landed on one knee.

Lan reformed in my hands again, short swords gleaming with renewed power.

He stood now too, chest rising, mouth curled into a sneer. "Still bluffing? You don’t know how long the coin has left."

"I don’t need to," I said, straightening. "Your face told me. You basterd."

His eyes flared. Just for a second. Rage, panic, calculation—blinking like a faulty circuit.

Then it was gone, buried under the mask again.

But I’d seen it.

He was running out of time.

"Shut up," he growled.

He raised both arms, and the shadows rose with him—dozens of tendrils coiling upward like black serpents, twisting around the room, blotting out the light. The walls groaned under the weight of dark magic, the floor beneath us fracturing in spiraling veins.

Shade Fang’s real power wasn’t just speed or deadliness.

It was control.

And he was done pretending now.

I felt it—the surge of mana, pure and unfiltered, as the relic poured its reserves into the field.

This was a domain.

A shadow field. His.

"Let’s see you dance in the dark," he said, voice low and resonant, like a king announcing an execution.

The shadows snapped forward—blades, claws, chains.

I blurred again.

Not to escape.

To charge.

Sparks lit the void as I cut through the first tendril, then another. My blades were burning hot, runes flaring brighter the closer I got to him. Every move was sharper, more deliberate, the patterns drilled into me a thousand times in training and war.

My feet didn’t slip.

My arms didn’t slow.

The pain didn’t matter.

Because I was counting.

Every swing.

Every heartbeat.

Every crack in his composure.

I reached him again, red blade leading with a downward arc, feinting low—

He went to block.

I switched mid-swing, twisting both hilts, sending the blue blade slicing straight across his ribs. The impact blew a hole in his barrier.

And I saw it.

A piece of the coin’s edge—blackening.

Not cracked.

Burned.

He gasped.

So did I—because in the next moment, he retaliated with a point-blank burst of magic.

I barely raised my arms before the blast hit.

Lan’s absorbed most of it—but the sheer force still sent me tumbling, blades clattering from my hands.

I hit the ground and didn’t rise immediately.

Breath ragged.

Vision flickering.

"Just die already," he shouted, a rawness bleeding into his tone now. "You’re wasting both our time."

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