497: Chapter 234 Death_3 497: Chapter 234 Death_3 The blade glimred like a crescent moon; the spear flared into a burning sun.
The trees and mountain rocks obstructing the duel between the two were as fragile as tofu, shattering at the slightest touch.
The clash of the two Great Knights resembled two Tyrannosauruses crushing through a forest.
Galron, surrounded by red flas, swung his war axe relentlessly, each slash refusing to pause for even a mont.
Arsen, bereft of his companion of many years—his long weapon—faced the onslaught with a war saber significantly shorter than the war axe.
He resisted the ferocious strikes of an adversary whose martial arts were no lesser than his own.
He dared not directly confront the searing, ignited spear blade, and for a ti, his inability to counterattack left him in a rather vulnerable state.
“Na yourself!
…Does no one respect the etiquette of knights anymore?”
Seizing a brief mont to pull away, Count Arsene shouted indignantly.
“—I am no knight.” Galron’s cold voice rang out as he lunged forward.
He could sense that the ti left for his spiritual body to remain manifested was scant, no more than several fleeting monts.
He was not Commander Gervin; as an ordinary Fla Sun Guard, he could not guarantee that in such a short span, he’d be able to kill this martial artist who threatened his lord.
“Hah…
Huff…”
…Leon, depleted of all strength, gasped heavily as though his lungs were an overworked bellows, sweat the size of beans sliding down his skin, blood seeping through the gaps of his clenched teeth.
The enormous consumption from maintaining the silver Nedy Card further drained his already near-withering Life Magic Elent.
His vision blurred, almost blind, as he desperately tightened his grip on the magic gun in his hand through sheer instinct.
He had expended his trump card; this was the last opportunity…
He must…
He must help Galron…
With one knee propping himself up, Leon strained to lift Garner, only to find it impossibly heavy.
Heavy to the point where he could no longer raise it as he usually did, let alone dream of summoning the strength to throw it to aid his Heroic Spirit.
“Lola…
next ti, get one that’s lighter…”
Bitterness filled his heart as Leon willed the magic wand into nothingness.
He raised his right hand high.
The formless atmospheric elent broke free, soaring into the sky.
Raising his head, his deep black eyes struggled to discern the indistinct commotion ahead amidst his dizziness and dim vision.
Leon extended his right hand forward, directing the scene, as thunder cracked within the clouds above.
Breaking through the taboo of wielding this imitation Holy Spear, he once again transford the magic gun into a physical presence this day.
—Garner!
Bursting thunder gathered within the stormy, oppressive clouds.
A divine punishnt-like thunder spear roared as it cleaved toward Count Arsene’s head.
The descending lightning exploded into a formidable shockwave, stirring up a whirlwind of dust as electric arcs crackled and burst outward…
Having expended the last traces of his magic elent, Leon’s vision plunged into darkness.
The tumultuous dizziness was no different from the near-death experience during his initial magic training when he exhausted all vitality, mirroring the agony of his first attempt to unleash Isa’s Arrow.
Except this ti, there was no Kovis to replenish his magic power, nor were there comrades to drag him away from peril…
Collapsed weakly against a tree stump behind him, Leon managed to avoid outright collapsing to the ground.
A sharp hunger…
a gnawing, soul-piercing hunger suddenly struck him.
Sothing…
was growing again…
For a long ti…
He had already lost even the ability to move his fingers, unable to discern whether he remained conscious or had succumbed to the throes of a delirious dream…
Until a pair of Knight Steel Boots appeared within his blurry vision.
It wasn’t Galron’s shin armor…
A crystalline card, broken in two, fell before Leon.
“…An astonishing magical creation.
Never could I have imagined that magic could summon a summoned creature of such imnse strength…”
An aged voice rasped, breath laborious and irregular.
The Dragon-Slaying Knight seed to have lost his earlier poise and ease.
The cold broken knife extended beneath Leon’s neck guard, lifting the Winged Helt Knight’s chin.
Through the faceplate, Leon’s vague gaze discerned the figure who had lost his Peacock Battle Helt—Count Arsene, clutching the deep, gaping wound at his side, his aged face gazing at him with regret.
“…How unfortunate.
Had you held out just one more minute, I might have perished at the hands of your witchcraft guard.”
Controlling his muscles to tighten the stomach around his grueso wound, Arsene reached out directly to remove the Winged Helt from the black-armored knight lying before him.
He wanted to see the face of the youth who had nearly driven him to the brink of despair.
The Great Knight’s imnse strength snapped the clasps, detaching the opponent’s helt effortlessly.
…Long black hair, unbound, cascading down the sides of a handso face…
Arsene blinked in faint surprise as he looked at the young knight’s pale, bloodless complexion and lifeless eyes.
He had never imagined that soone concealed such an unsuitable head of long hair beneath their battle helt.
But…
it didn’t matter anymore.
The blade pressed against the throat, and he resolved to keep his promise: to grant his opponent an intact corpse.
“I will rember your na, Orland’s Snake Slayer.”
The sharp blade swung…
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