Could Leonel give Spear Domain over just to save his own life? The answer was obviously no. This was sothing his father had left behind for him and it was the Heirloom of the Morales family. He had no intention of losing it in this place.
But at the sa ti, Leonel felt like he had really painted himself into a corner. He already knew that receiving the next portion of [Dinsional Cleanse] had beco impossible. He had no illusions about defeating Ary. However, the main issue was that though jumping from the edge of the road seed to be just two steps away, in the current situation, Leonel felt like it was a world away… That was how far apart the skill between the two young n were.
Still, the more helpless it all seed, the colder and colder Leonel's expression beca. By the ti Ary had raised his foot to take a second step, Leonel's countenance was like an iceberg, his features all individually carved out in the strongest of lines.
Ary paused, scanning Leonel up and down before shaking his head.
"Definitely not worthy. Emotionless, blockheads like you should stick to fighting with your fists, at least that way you won't be drawing a line between yourself and your weapon. How can you hear your blade if you don't want to hear it? What a sad excuse for a spearman."
Leonel didn't react to this in the slightest. Even though they were said in a different way, hadn't he already heard these words once before? It was exactly what Old Man Hutch had told him when he tried to get him to switch to the machete.
Leonel simply didn't believe that a weapon needed to be loved. He had said it then and he would say it again. He had chosen the spear out of convenience because he just so happened to have been born with a Lineage Factor that suited it. If he had affinity with a sword or saber or a machete, he would have chosen that as well.
All this rambling about 'loving' your weapon and 'communicating' with it sounded like the ravings of a madman to Leonel.
To him, it felt like Old Man Hutch and this young man before him were both abstract artists trying to convince you that the banana they taped to the wall had a deeper, underlying aning you were just missing because you 'didn't get it'.
Their words fell into the sa pot of ridiculousness for Leonel. As far as he was concerned, these two just had talent in the blades they chose and explained away their innate gifts with nonsense like 'love' and 'emotion', when the truth was that they were just better suited to those weapons in comparison to others.
To Leonel, it was just that simple.
However, at least now, he understood why it was that Ary said he wasn't worthy. Unfortunately, that changed nothing.
How would Leonel face his father if he lost the Heirloom he had been entrusted with? How would he subdue the Morales family if he lost sothing so precious to them without having even earned the right to have it in the first place? How would he look himself in the mirror if he couldn't manage to take two steps to the left against an enemy no older than himself?
Leonel's palm flipped over, his body suddenly erupting with Vital Star Force from head to toe. But, this ti, it felt far different than it had in the past even as his Runes flickered to life.
Rather than a billowing diamond blue steam, he suddenly began to radiate an incomparably majestic athyst. From top to bottom, his body was surrounded by a delicate light violet hue, his hair becoming an endless river of foggy energy and his eyes becoming homogenous with it all.
This was Leonel's third form of Star Fusion: [Star Fusion: King's Might].
Even with his aura rising like a tide, Leonel didn't make a single move. He brandished his spear, his nerves walking a cliff's edge. However, it was then that it happened.
Compared to Leonel, Ary's aura was a wisp of nothingness. He stood there, his robes completely unaffected by what should have been winds that would put any hurricane to sha.
In one instant, he was ten ters from Leonel, his body having not moved a single inch. In the next, Leonel's pupils constricted to an extre.
A wooden blade appeared before his nose, slashing downward with a slow, unhurried montum that simultaneously weight as heavy as a mountain. Despite how much effort Leonel had put into watching his every action, despite how much care and attention he had placed toward predicting his next movent, it had all been completely useless.
Leonel's life flashed before his eyes. No matter how hard he thought, he couldn't seem to think of a thod to survive. It was crushing.
In just those few milliseconds, Leonel's mind seed to slow down the events into a stretched length of ti that spanned what almost felt like several days.
What did it feel like to be contemplating your own death for so long? One would think that it would be enough to drive a person mad. It was like a ticking clock set to co to a stop the mont you breathed your last…
How would it feel to know the exact date, ti and second of your death? How would one feel as the monts waned and the sand within the hourglass beca lesser and lesser? How would you feel watching a guillotine being taken to your future aspirations and goals.
Maybe you might even find the humor in it all. Why was it that your mind was slowing everything down to such an extent now, but couldn't have done so while the person who wanted your life was swinging his sword…?
Leonel was in exactly this sort of hopeless situation, a lethal wooden blade descending like a heavenly punishnt to sever his ties to the world.
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