The World Is Mine For The Taking-Chapter 1231 - 190 - Leon Vs. Shredica (4)

Leon’s POV

Something felt wrong the moment I blasted Shredica back.

It wasn’t just the usual shift you’d expect after someone forces out more mana. No—this was deeper. Heavier. Her aura twisted and warped, like it had been grabbed by unseen hands and violently stretched beyond its natural shape. The air around her felt dense, almost suffocating, like standing too close to a furnace that was burning something it shouldn’t.

Her magic didn’t just increase. It exploded.

It had easily tripled—maybe more—and her physical strength followed right along with it. The way she stood, the way her muscles tensed and relaxed, it didn’t look like her anymore. It was like she was borrowing power that didn’t belong to her body, wearing it like armor that didn’t quite fit.

And I knew exactly why.

The cursed sword.

She was gripping it tightly in her hand, the blade humming faintly, pulsing with a sinister rhythm that matched her heartbeat. That thing wasn’t just a weapon. It was a parasite. Cursed swords were notorious for that. They offered strength, obscene levels of it, in exchange for slowly tearing their wielder apart from the inside.

They didn’t just eat mana.

They ate you.

Using one was basically gambling your sanity, your body, and your soul all at once. Dangerous didn’t even begin to cover it. Still, she chose to rely on it. Maybe desperation pushed her. Or pride. Or obsession.

Or maybe she just really wanted to beat me that badly.

Honestly, I didn’t even know why she cared so much about winning this tournament. It didn’t feel like it was just an order from the Commander. This wasn’t obligation. This wasn’t duty.

This was personal. Or something...

If I had to put money on it, this whole thing traced back to Veronica somehow.

But whatever.

At that moment, it didn’t matter why.

What mattered was that Shredica was slipping.

Her movements were sharper as well as aster, but there was a stiffness to them. It was as if someone else was pulling the strings and she was struggling to keep up. The cursed sword wasn’t just amplifying her power. It was trying to take over.

With cursed swords, it always came down to one thing.

You either controlled them...

Or they controlled you.

There was exceptions and compromises. There was no cute middle ground where everyone played nice.

And right now?

It wasn’t Shredica holding the sword.

It was the sword holding Shredica.

Then she moved.

She vanished in a blur, the ground cracking beneath her feet as she launched herself straight at me. The speed was overwhelming. It was actually borderline absurd. For a split second, the world itself seemed to lag behind her movement, like my vision couldn’t keep up.

She was already swinging before most people would’ve even registered that she moved.

But I stayed calm.

Yeah, it was fast. Blindingly so. Enough to make most fighters panic, or freeze, or eat steel to the face.

But I still caught it.

Barely, sure—but barely was enough.

The instant she dashed, my body had already reacted. Footwork adjusted. Grip tightened. Weight shifted. I was ready to dodge and counter before her blade even reached its apex.

I wasn’t reacting.

I was anticipating.

Two steps ahead. Maybe three. Hell, maybe even four.

"Fufufu, isn’t it fun?" she said mid-motion, her voice distorted, layered with something else—something that didn’t belong to her at least. "You really are a worthy opponent after all. Using this woman’s body to fight you was the correct choice. Without it, I could never face someone like—"

She stopped.

Just like that.

Her body froze mid-stance, muscles trembling as if something invisible had slammed on the brakes.

"What are you doing?" she snapped, her tone sharp and irritated. "Get down there. You’re just a sword. You don’t get to control my body."

That caught my attention.

Was Shredica... fighting back?

Trying to reclaim control?

I honestly didn’t think she had it in her. Most people who let cursed swords dig in that deep were already lost causes. Once the blade got its hooks in, that was usually it.

But this was Shredica.

Stubborn. Prideful. Annoyingly resilient.

Maybe I shouldn’t have been surprised.

"You... you can still control your body?" the voice replied, clearly not hers anymore. The tone was smoother, amused, and was dripping with arrogance. "How unexpected. I knew you were special, but this is beyond my calculations. Truly surprising."

So yes, I guess. Definitely the sword talking now.

"Oh well," it continued, almost bored. "There’s no point if you keep interfering. I can’t enjoy myself if you’re constantly in the way. Very well—I’ll step back for now. I’ll grant you my full power. Make sure you defeat him."

There was a pause.

"Though honestly," it added, "even with everything I give you, I doubt you can."

And just like that, the presence receded.

Shredica didn’t say a word.

But I could tell—the control had returned to her.

Which was... bizarre, to say the least. Cursed swords weren’t known for being cooperative. Most of them were stubborn, egotistical pieces of shit that refused to let go once they tasted blood and mana.

Not like Ayuru, though.

She was different. She willingly submitted to me. As long as I fed her mana, she behaved herself.

This sword, though? Letting go so easily?

Yeah. That was suspicious.

Still, even with the sword stepping back, the power pouring out of Shredica didn’t fade. If anything, it stabilized. It settled into her frame like molten metal cooling inside a mold.

The aura around her crackled.

It really had decided to let itself be controlled by her.

Again—surprising.

"Now then..." she said, lifting her gaze to meet mine. Her eyes were sharp, focused, and burning with intent. "Let’s continue this fight, Leon."

I exhaled slowly.

"Alright," I replied, raising my sword and pointing it straight at her. "Come at me."

That was all it took.

She vanished again, this time even faster.

Her power surged violently, easily tenfold compared to before. The pressure alone was enough to make the ground groan beneath us, cracks spiderwebbing outward with every step she took.

Overwhelming was an understatement.

Yeah, sure—someone could argue this was cheating. Mana doping through a cursed artifact and all that. But the rules didn’t forbid it, and tournaments like this were never fair to begin with.

So who cared?

I sharpened my focus and followed her movements with every sense I had.

Sight. Sound. Mana perception. Instinct.

She attacked relentlessly, coming at me from every angle, from high, low, blind spots, feints layered on top of feints. Each dash blurred into the next, her blade flashing like a storm of silver arcs.

And every single time?

I deflected.

I didn’t chase. I didn’t retreat.

I stayed right in the center.

It was like she was orbiting me, testing, probing, and trying to overwhelm me through sheer aggression. She wanted me to crack. To misstep. To panic.

Too bad.

She never stood a chance.

Not even a sliver of one.

Because the truth was simple—I wasn’t even taking this seriously.

Right now, she was just a fly buzzing around my field of vision. Loud. Irritating. Easy to swat. I just hadn’t bothered yet.

If this was all she had—even with that ridiculous power-up—then she still amounted to nothing against me.

It was about time I showed her something she’d never forget.