Chapter 533: The Undead King's Submission (3)
He swung at
in a diagonal slash that carved a molten line across the floor. The force behind the blow was imnse, but I narrowly avoided it by twisting aside, letting it slice through empty air. Sparks and fragnts of rock showered the space behind . A second swing ca almost instantly, catching
off-guard with its speed. I managed to parry with the dagger, but the impact jarred my arm, sending a numbing shock from my elbow to my shoulder.
The Goblin King capitalized on my montary imbalance, thrusting the poml of his sword toward my chest. Gritting my teeth, I angled my body, letting the blow glance off my left side. Pain radiated through my ribs, but I exhaled sharply to keep my focus. The mory reminded
that underestimating him could have been fatal if I'd slipped for even a second longer.
I used the montum of his poml strike to pivot around his right flank, bringing my dagger up in a reverse grip. My intention was to stab beneath the pauldron, aiming for whatever black magic animated his body. The King, sensing danger, spun in place, refusing to let
get behind him.
We exchanged a barrage of attacks—slashes, parries, kicks, and punches—an intricate dance of lethal intent. His sword carved arcs of crimson energy through the air, each swing more oppressive than the last, while my dagger flashed like a serpent's fang, seeking a vital opening. Our footwear pounded against the stone in a rhythmic pattern, punctuated by the tallic clang of steel on steel.
At one point, he attempted to overpower
by locking our weapons. I found myself face-to-face with that ghastly visage, the stench of old decay and grave-dirt almost overpowering. Yet in his lifeless eyes, I saw a flicker of sothing akin to honor—or was it obsession? We pushed against each other, muscles straining in a deadlock. The necromantic aura around him crackled, and I realized the grip of his sword was spitting flecks of black lightning in every direction, scoring the stone floor and singing the edges of my coat.
Though the Goblin King had the advantage in raw strength, I had superior technique and a cooler head. I let him push for just a heartbeat longer, then abruptly angled my body, letting his force surge forward, toppling him off-balance. He stumbled, but quickly recovered with a snarl, spinning the greatsword in a wide circle to keep
at bay.
"Not bad," he rasped, the words escaping his undead throat in a guttural snarl. It surprised
to hear him speak, a sign that so vestige of his forr intelligence still lingered in that resurrected shell. My eyes narrowed, and I gave him a faint nod in acknowledgnt. So, he could still talk—and he was evaluating
in the sa way I was evaluating him.
"Likewise," I returned calmly, flicking so of the blood from my dagger. It was my own, from a shallow graze on my arm. The Goblin King's monstrous form lood, readying for another assault. I steeled myself, analyzing the subtle shifts in his stance. My instincts told
we were nearing a pivotal mont in the battle.
He roared again, brandishing his runeblade high. Crimson arcs of energy crackled, racing up and down the length of the weapon. Then he charged, each thunderous footstep threatening to crater the floor beneath him. This ti, I noted that he was not relying on a single slash. He was preparing a combination of strikes—an advancing flurry designed to trap
in a corner of the chamber if I gave way.
I would not give way.
Channeling power into my legs, I launched forward to et him in the middle. Our weapons collided with an explosive clash of steel and unearthly magic. The air rippled from the impact, distorting the torchlight into bizarre, flickering patterns. I moved with a dancer's precision, weaving between his strikes, each dodge so close I could feel the chill of necromantic energy graze my skin.
He unleashed a diagonal slash, and I twisted my torso to evade it, snapping a quick kick against his thigh to jolt him off-rhythm. He rebuffed the kick with a twist of his armor-plated leg. Sparks danced as tal grated against the reinforced material of my boot. He followed with a backhand slice, which forced
to duck quickly; the wind from the swing ruffled my hair.
Before I could regain upright stance, the Goblin King stepped in, capitalizing on my lowered position. He brought the sword down in a savage overhead chop, hoping to pin
in place and split
like firewood. I caught the flat of the blade with both palms, straining to divert it sideways. A tremor coursed through my arms—he was monstrously strong. My feet slipped a fraction on the stone, but I held my ground.
Our eyes locked for a breathless instant. I could feel the raw fury radiating from him, an undead hatred fanned by dark magic. Then I let out a hiss of breath, slamming the blade to the side with all my might. The montum caused him to stagger slightly, and I spun out of range before he could retaliate. My heart pounded against my ribs, the thrill of matching a foe of this caliber scorching my veins with adrenaline.
Seconds stretched into minutes, the relentless exchange continuing without pause. The Goblin King shifted his approach, aiming to overwhelm
with unstoppable force. I adapted, relying on positioning and timing to exploit his massive sword's slower recovery. A jab at the wrist, a slash at his side, a swift elbow to disrupt his guard—every small victory chipped away at his form, sparks flying as my dagger scored hits against the runic armor.
He refused to yield. It was clear that death was no longer a limitation for him; he would fight until his body was physically destroyed, or until I could break the unholy magic binding him. His monstrous roars filled the hall, layered with the clangor of our weapons and the crackling of sorcerous energy. My mind was singularly focused on that perfect opening, the precise mont when I could land a decisive blow.
Drawing on my training, I feinted again, baiting him to swing low at my ankles. He bit the lure, sweeping the greatsword in a lethal arc. I leapt, flipping over the blade and vaulting into the air, the torchlight passing beneath
in a blur. While airborne, I turned my body sideways, lashing out with a kick that collided with the side of his helm. He blocked it partially with a raised forearm, but the impact still snapped his head back, sending him staggering a half-step.
Upon landing, I used the montum to close the distance between us in a flash. My dagger ca up in a vicious thrust, seeking the gap in his armor at the joint of his elbow. If I could disable his weapon arm, the fight would quickly swing in my favor. But he proved once more that he was no mindless brute. He twisted his body, letting my blade scrape across an armored plate instead of slicing into undead flesh. Sparks ignited again, and I heard him emit a growl of annoyance.
"Your reflexes... are comndable," the Goblin King spat through clenched teeth, his voice resonating from sowhere deep within that hollow ribcage. It was guttural, halting, but still intelligible.
"A high complint from one of your station," I responded, voice taut with concentration. I pivoted, avoiding another powerful slash. The tip of his sword rang against the stone floor, leaving yet another smoking gouge in its wake.
For a mont, my gaze flicked to the edges of the chamber, where centuries of secrets lay buried in the shadows. This entire duel was like a microcosm of the shadows and magic that existed in that underground fortress, as if the two of us were ant to cross blades in a tiless conflict. It felt like destiny—or at least, it felt like a mont that would define the nights to co.
The Goblin King set his stance again, jaws parting in a silent snarl that revealed the faintest remnants of blackened tusks. I rolled my shoulders, taking a asured breath. I could sense the endga drawing near. Both of us had tested each other's abilities to the limit, yet neither had broken. If I wanted to finish this, I had to escalate my offense.
Shadows writhed around my dagger, intensifying with every heartbeat. A faint hum filled my ears as I channeled more of my necromantic energy into the blade. The swirling darkness glead, as if hungry to rend undead flesh. The Goblin King braced his greatsword, runes pulsing faster, culminating in an unearthly glow that dripped flecks of red light.
He lunged, sword raised for a brutal cleave. I stood my ground. This ti, I would not yield an inch. The distance between us vanished in an instant. At the critical mont, I sidestepped, letting the blade whistle past
by a razor-thin margin. The edge nicked my coat, slicing through fabric and barely missing flesh. The sound of torn cloth mingled with the clash of steel, but I was already moving, stepping into his guard.
I drove my dagger forward, aiming for the wrist that gripped the sword. If I could rupture the tendons or disrupt the binding necromantic runes, his weapon would be useless in this duel. The Goblin King saw the motion, tried to twist away, but my move was too fast.
His eyes flared with desperate intent. A surge of his aura collided with mine, pressing in on all sides like invisible jaws. Still, I pressed the attack.
The dagger glead, a swirl of black fla dancing along its edge as I channeled the final burst of my power. With unwavering focus, I delivered the strike that would decide our fates, ignoring the swirl of dust, sparks, and flickering torchlight around us.
And then, in a heartbeat of perfect clarity, my blade found its mark.
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