Transmigrated with my corruption system-Chapter 68: Art of the Deathless Sword

With every exchange, Orros grew more confused. Yet he didn’t get a chance to voice the doubts clawing at him.

As Ulric was upon him once more. Even worse, he couldn’t track his movements as he vanished and reappeared.

With each time he flared, a resounding clash echoed as punch after punch landed on his body, leaving him battered under the youth’s relentless assault.

At the side, Greyson’s eyes narrowed for a moment before his voice echoed out slowly as realization dawned on him.

"He’s moving through the shadows," he muttered, his high perception allowing him to pierce through it easily.

Even in his dire state, he couldn’t help but rub his face, a thoughtful expression etching across it.

For an S-rank talent, the wide variety of abilities he had displayed within the Wolf Den dungeon made it worthy of its rank.

But this... this was something else entirely. He had read tales of mages who could bend space, allowing them to instantly clear distance.

But even then, they were extremely rare, found only in royal cities and widely valued.

Now watching the sight, his already heavy breath couldn’t help but hitch slightly.

His son was replicating the same feat, only instead of space, he used darkness as a medium.

A feat even S-rank talents rarely managed and here he was, executing it effortlessly. It overwhelmed him.

His thoughts being continuously reaffirmed, with the potential he displayed, he was destined for greatness.

He couldn’t even begin to imagine the dexterity and level of control it would take to pull off such a feat. Monstrous. Truly monstrous.

Behind him, gasps of shock echoed as the smiles on their faces froze. Even with the knowledge they had acquired of the young lord, they had simulated multiple scenarios of how the battle would play out... but what was happening... they had failed to account for.

It was just too preposterous that they hadn’t even dared entertain the thought.

Ulric was dealing blow after blow to Orros’ now battered face, sinking into the darkness every time the blade was slashed at him before the loop repeated itself.

At this point... he was just toying with the figure. Graegor at the side couldn’t help but swallow audibly. Given how easily he had been defeated, he had thought the young lord would only be truly challenged by D-rank beings.

But the sight before him was not exactly as he had foreseen. More crazy was he had seen the young lord’s advancement in other aspects.

The scythe he had yet to use. The blades of darkness that invoked terror with just a single look. And more. He wasn’t using his full strength, yet he was easily dominating the fight, constantly sending Orros back with blow after blow. This was all just too crazy!

At the receiving end, Orros wasn’t exactly thrilled as all the other figures watching the battle unfold. It wouldn’t be exaggerating to even say at this point the youth was wiping the floor with his face.

All brought about by his elusive shadow ability, making his frustration grow more as time slipped by.

He had already figured out the youth’s ability was similar to teleportation and tried to anticipate where he would next emerge from by sensing the disruption in the air around him.

But that had proven especially futile. It was as if the youth could entirely predict his next moves before he even knew them, allowing him to dodge with eerie ease. And as if that was not enough, he did that all with his eyes closed.

At first, he thought this was an open gesture of disdain at how the youth didn’t need his eyes to fight him. But as the fight continued, he didn’t think that anymore.

For some reason, the youth’s senses were far sharper with his eyes closed than when they were open.

The longer the battle continued, the contempt he once felt for the youth was slowly washed away as a sensation of raw terror crept in.

Feeling another punch emerge from the shadow, blasting him into the distance.

If it were another D-rank being, he would have been a little wary. But this was an E-rank... possessing the power to push him to this point.

Displaying what he could only define as indescribable raw talent. If they were at the same stage, he didn’t have a doubt he would have easily killed him in one strike. But now, he wasn’t!

And as the thought anchored at the back of his mind, he raised his sword into the air before swinging it down to the ground with as much force as he could.

The result was instantaneous as fissures and microfractures raced across the ground. Using that force, he propelled himself back to create as much distance as possible.

Before fully inspecting his body, causing him to clench his fists in rage. Multiple wounds lined his body, thanks to Greyson’s earlier damage.

The black-robed youth capitalized on that to injure him more. But what made him most mad was his face.

Given the youth had directed most of his attacks there, it was fully swollen, almost giving the impression of a pig, as lines of blood slowly trickled. Causing him to wince sharply as he forced himself to come to terms with the truth.

If their battle remained purely physical, then death was certain. It was absurd, given a D-rank physique was supposedly at least ten times stronger than a regular E-rank being.

But that didn’t matter now. If there was anything he had established across the course of the battle, it was that the youth was far from normal.

And watching him slowly walk forward, his hands behind his back, no noticeable injury across his body, that thought couldn’t help but be reinforced.

"You should be proud you’ve managed to push me to this state," Orros muttered, inadvertently taking a step back with every one the youth took.

A gesture all the figures present noticed.

"But if you think that will be enough to slay me, then you’re wrong. This shall be where you will fall."

Narrowing his eyes, Ulric watched as the gleaming dark blade in Orros’ hands lit up in a crimson sheen, as a red hue covered his body.

"An art?" Ulric mused, his brows arching slightly.

Despite the monstrous disparity in strength, what truly set apart E-rank beings from D-rank beings was the art they awakened when they advanced.

Almost similar to innate skills. Warrior arts allowed them to forge their bodies to terrifying degrees.

Mages enhanced their magical capabilities.

And swordsmen, just like Orros, enhanced the intent of their sword, the sharpness shooting up a notch.

He supposed he hadn’t used it before because he hadn’t fully mastered his yet, laced with the pride engraved in his being.

But now that he was at the edge, he had no other option.

The elders at the side had their faces grow grave as their breaths stilled. This was the clash that would determine the winner of the battle.

Watching Orros charge his attack.

Ulric extended his hands. From them, darkness slowly swirled to encapsulate a hundred-meter radius.

Before he slowly melded it into blades. Two... four... six... ten... twenty... forty...Only stopping when there was a sea of blades. But he didn’t stop there, snapping his fingers.

The blades clashed, melding into each other until a monstrous blade extending more than ten meters hovered behind him.

Seeing Orros’ eyes widen at the sight, he couldn’t help but smirk.

"I’m something of a blade master myself."

Causing his lips to twitch slightly, but he didn’t reply.

The crimson sheen hovering around his blade had grown intense, reeking of death energy.

He could see his entire bearing shift, and for a moment, he almost felt his presence fade as if all that remained was his blade.

Finally fixing his eyes on him, he muttered,

"Art of the Deathless Sword."

As he slashed at him. Instantly after, Ulric flicked his wrist; the blade shot forward, colliding with Orros’ in an epic display.