The Lustful Time Lord's Revenge-Chapter 221 - The Panicked Elder

Maximus lunged once more. He dropped low, dodging Evan’s panicked thrust, and immediately wrapped his arms around his waist. In one swift motion, he hoisted Evan high above his head, both hands gripping his body, then slammed him down.

CRASH!

Evan’s body hit the floor with full force. Dust and marble fragments scattered. His frame bounced once, then lay still.

The Colosseum fell silent.

Slowly, Evan tried to move. His hands groped blindly, searching for his spear—now far out of reach. But his body refused to cooperate.

Maximus approached slowly, savoring the moment. He stood over Evan’s prone form, looking down, smiling.

"Trash," he said.

He didn’t strike again. The referee had already rushed to the center of the arena, checked Evan’s condition, and raised his hand.

"EVAN CANNOT CONTINUE THE MATCH! VICTORY GOES TO MAXIMUS TREYBERN OF NINE STARS ACADEMY!"

Cheers erupted. Most of the Nine Stars supporters roared with approval. Maximus raised both hands, turning to face each section of the stands, accepting the applause with a satisfied smile.

On the Drakefield bench, the medical team immediately rushed into the arena to evacuate Evan. Isaac, still sitting with eyes closed, merely exhaled softly.

"MAXIMUS TREYBERN HAS AVENGED HIS DEFEAT WITH AN IMPRESSIVE VICTORY! THE SCORE HAS NOW CHANGED!"

The scoreboard flickered.

NINE STARS ACADEMY: 6 WINS – 5 LOSSES

DRAKEFIELD ACADEMY: 5 WINS – 6 LOSSES

"NINE STARS REGAINS THE LEAD! WITH A TWO-POINT ADVANTAGE! THE NEXT QUESTION: WILL MAXIMUS REMAIN IN THE ARENA, OR WILL HE BE REPLACED? LET’S WAIT FOR NINE STARS’ DECISION!"

Maximus stood in the center of the arena, chest puffed out, both fists clenched at his sides. The cheers still echoed around him, but he showed no signs of retreating. His gaze swept across the Drakefield bench with a challenging stare.

He didn’t want to be replaced. Not until he lost. And he was certain no one could defeat him today.

The Announcer, noting his demeanor, immediately shouted, "MAXIMUS CHOOSES TO REMAIN IN THE ARENA! HE WANTS TO KEEP FIGHTING! THIS IS EXTRAORDINARY CONFIDENCE!"

On the Drakefield bench, a brief discussion ensued. Several heads turned toward Isaac, who still sat with eyes closed, but Isaac didn’t respond. Finally, a woman stood.

Talia Lebrance.

Her silver hair gleamed under the arena lights, her ice sword gripped tightly in her hand. Her face was cold, her blue eyes fixed directly on Maximus. Her steps were steady as she descended into the arena.

"TALIA LEBRANCE RETURNS TO THE ARENA! AFTER PREVIOUSLY DEFEATING KELVIN, SHE NOW FACES MAXIMUS TREYBERN AT THE PEAK OF HIS PERFORMANCE! ICE BLADE VERSUS STEEL-HARD BARE HANDS! WHO WILL CLAIM VICTORY?!"

I shifted my gaze to the arena, though honestly, I already knew how this fight would end. Maximus’s victory was predictable from the start. It would actually be stranger if he lost—Talia was no match for him. Her power was certainly impressive for an ordinary student, but against a monster like Maximus, specifically trained for physical combat? Clearly no contest.

Still, at least this would be more interesting than the previous fight.

The referee raised his hand.

"BEGIN!"

Maximus shot forward immediately, just like before. His initial speed was incredible, his massive body hurtling like a train without brakes. Talia was ready—she leaped sideways, leaving a thin ice trail where she’d stood, and simultaneously swung her sword at the floor.

A thin layer of ice spread rapidly beneath Maximus’s feet, attempting to make him slip. But Maximus just laughed. His heavy feet smashed through the ice, cracking it, and he kept running as if nothing had happened.

"ICE CAN’T STOP HIM! MAXIMUS KEEPS CHARGING WITH BRUTAL FORCE!"

Talia retreated, creating distance. Her sword swung again—this time three rapid consecutive thrusts, each leaving crystalline ice trails in the air.

Maximus deflected the first two thrusts with his forearms, and for the third, he caught the blade with his bare palm.

His left hand gripped that ice sword.

The air around him instantly grew frigid—I could see frost beginning to form on Maximus’s arm. But he didn’t let go. Instead, he grinned widely.

His right fist clenched and shot forward.

Talia released her sword and leaped back just in time. Maximus’s fist struck empty air where she’d stood a split second earlier. But without her weapon, Talia was now unarmed, or so it seemed.

She extended her right hand, and from her palm, ice crystals began forming. Not a sword this time, but a short ice javelin, better suited for throwing.

Maximus charged again.

The ice javelin flew, three times in succession. Maximus deflected two, and one struck his shoulder.

Or at least, it should have struck.

The javelin’s tip shattered on contact with Maximus’s skin. It left only a small bruise and scattered ice fragments.

Talia ground her teeth. Her ice abilities were indeed impressive—she could freeze moisture in the air, create weapons in an instant, even control the surrounding temperature. But compared to Yukie Iceblood, her ice was like fireworks compared to a blizzard. The gap was heaven and earth.

But she didn’t give up.

Talia ran sideways, leveraging her superior speed. A new ice sword formed in her hand, and she began attacking from multiple angles. Thrust from the right, slash from the left, ice-coated kick from behind.

Maximus countered each attack casually. Sometimes he deflected, sometimes he let the strikes hit his body and smiled as the ice weapons shattered. Sometimes he retaliated with punches that nearly struck Talia, forcing her to retreat further.

"MAXIMUS IS ABSOLUTELY DOMINATING THIS FIGHT! TALIA IS TRYING EVERYTHING, BUT MAXIMUS’S PHYSICAL POWER IS JUST TOO OVERWHELMING! CAN SHE SURVIVE?"

Talia kept trying. Her sword swung in increasingly complex patterns—sometimes thrusting, sometimes slashing, sometimes releasing small ice projectiles that stung but didn’t wound. She used every trick she knew, every technique she’d learned through years of training.

But Maximus just smiled.

And I knew the outcome wouldn’t differ much from the previous fight.

While half-watching the match, I returned to enjoying my own activity.

My right hand was still on Isabel’s ass. My fingers kept squeezing slowly, unhurriedly. Her combat uniform was thick enough, but it couldn’t hide the warmth and softness of the flesh beneath. And more importantly, [Lustful Touch] kept working without pause.

[Isabel’s Sexual Arousal increased to 19 (+2)]

[Isabel’s Sexual Arousal increased to 21 (+2)]

[Isabel’s Sexual Arousal increased to 23 (+2)]

Those little notifications kept popping up in my peripheral vision, making me smile inwardly.

Isabel sat rigid beside me, both hands gripping her own thighs tightly. Her face was flushed crimson, her eyes slightly glazed, and her breathing—she was trying so hard to control her breathing, to keep it from sounding strange. But every few seconds, a small exhale that was almost a moan escaped her bitten lips.

Nerissa beside her remained silent. Since the discussion about the threatening video, she hadn’t said much. Just occasionally glanced at me with a mixed expression—angry, scared, confused. But she didn’t dare say anything more.

The atmosphere in this back row was quiet, contrasting with the uproar from the arena and the spectators’ cheers.

Then footsteps echoed on the stairs.

I glanced over. Arianna Blazinger was climbing the tribunal stairs with slightly slow steps. Her face was still pale from exhaustion, even though her body had healed considerably thanks to superior HGA treatment. But what radiated most clearly from her expression was frustration.

She’d just lost her first match. In front of the whole world. In front of her mother.

Arianna walked past the middle rows, then unconsciously her eyes began searching for someone.

For me.

And the moment she found her target, she stopped.

Her gaze caught the scene in the back row: me sitting beside Isabel, my body slightly leaning toward her, my hand tucked behind Isabel’s uniform in a position that made it very clear what I was doing.

Arianna’s face instantly flushed. Bright red like a tomato. From her neck up to her cheeks, to her forehead, even to her earlobes. Her mouth opened slightly, but no sound came out.

I had no intention of hiding. Not from my own dog.

I just smiled faintly at her, then returned my focus to the arena, my hand still in place.

Arianna moved again, this time faster. She sat in the front row, in the empty seat beside Instructor Violet. Her posture was rigid, her back tense, and I knew she could still feel my gaze on her back.

Violet turned. "Arianna. How are you feeling?"

Arianna startled, then tried to smile normally. "I-I’m fine, Instructor. I’ve been treated."

Violet nodded. "Good."

Arianna looked down. Her fingers twisted the edge of her uniform. "Instructor... I’m sorry. I lost. I embarrassed our academy."

Violet regarded her for a moment. Then, in a voice that was flat but not cold, she said, "Consider this a lesson. After all, you’re still a second-year. Next year is your real chance to prove yourself."

Arianna lifted her face. Surprise showed in her eyes—she’d probably expected to be thoroughly scolded.

"Thank you, Instructor," she whispered.

Violet just nodded and returned her gaze to the arena.

But Arianna couldn’t settle. Occasionally, unable to stop herself, her eyes would flicker backward. Toward me. And every time she did, I was already waiting, returning her gaze with a meaningful faint smile.

Arianna would immediately look away, her face flushing again, and forcefully refocus on the arena.

Meanwhile, in the arena, the fight was reaching its climax.

Talia had run out of options. Her breath came in gasps, her body trembled from exhaustion and cold—she’d pushed herself too hard for too long. Her ice sword was now only half its normal size, as she lacked the energy to maintain it.

Maximus, on the other hand, was still grinning broadly. There were a few minor wounds on his body—scratches, bruises, a little blood at his temple—but he showed no signs of fatigue.

"Enough," Maximus said, his voice carrying clearly throughout the arena.

He lunged.

Talia tried to leap backward, creating a thin ice wall before her. Maximus tore through it like paper. Talia tried to thrust with her remaining sword. Maximus caught it, crushed it, and at the same time, his left hand gripped Talia’s throat.

Talia was lifted. Her legs flailed in the air, her hands beat uselessly against Maximus’s arm. Her face reddened, her breath choked.

Maximus looked at her with a cynical smile. "You’re strong enough for a woman. But not strong enough to beat me."

Then he threw her.

Talia’s body flew through the air, spinning, and slammed into the floor near the arena boundary. She rolled several times, then stopped, unmoving.

The Colosseum fell silent.

The referee ran to Talia, checked her condition, then raised his hand.

"TALIA LEBRANCE CANNOT CONTINUE THE MATCH! VICTORY GOES TO MAXIMUS TREYBERN OF NINE STARS ACADEMY!"

Cheers erupted. Maximus raised both hands, turning slowly, accepting the crowd’s acclaim. His face glowed with satisfaction.

The scoreboard changed.

NINE STARS ACADEMY: 7 WINS – 5 LOSSES

DRAKEFIELD ACADEMY: 5 WINS – 7 LOSSES

"MAXIMUS TREYBERN HAS SECURED HIS SECOND CONSECUTIVE VICTORY! THIS IS AN EXTRAORDINARY PERFORMANCE! HE HAS TURNED THE TIDE AND BROUGHT NINE STARS TO A TWO-POINT LEAD!"

On the Drakefield bench, the mood was grim. Talia was carried out on a stretcher, her face pale, her breathing weak. Several students watched anxiously. Others clenched their fists in frustration.

But one figure stood.

Isaac Moonfall.

He walked toward the arena with calm steps. His grey eyes fixed directly on Maximus.

The Announcer, seeing him, immediately shouted with explosive enthusiasm.

"OH! OH! ISAAC MOONFALL IS RETURNING! DRAKEFIELD’S STAR HAS FINALLY DESCENDED AGAIN! AFTER SUCCESSFULLY DEFEATING ARIANNA BLAZINGER, HE NOW FACES MAXIMUS TREYBERN WHO IS ON A WINNING STREAK! THIS IS THE MATCH THAT WILL DETERMINE THE TOURNAMENT’S DIRECTION!"

Maximus in the arena regarded Isaac with a dismissive smile. "Back again? You think you can beat me after fighting Arianna?"

Isaac didn’t answer. He just took his stance, both daggers gripped tightly, his body slightly crouched.

One more victory from Maximus would put Nine Stars three points ahead, nearly uncatchable. But one loss, and the gap would narrow again.

The referee raised his hand.

"BEGIN!"

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.

.

Meanwhile, in a room far from the tournament’s commotion, an old man sat in a leather chair with a panicked expression on his face.

His brown hair was disheveled, his thick beard unkempt, and his thin frame wrapped in simple robes appeared frail. But anyone who knew him understood that beneath that frailty lay power far beyond ordinary humans.

Eldertree. Guardian Council. The oldest among them, the wisest, and the one who least often showed panic.

But now, he was panicking.

His wrinkled fingers pressed the button on his phone once more. And a cold voice sounded from the other end.