Incubus Lord: Lust Harem System

Chapter 163: Chapter 163: Damon Vs Kai [2]

Kai’s spear shot forward like a golden serpent, its tip aimed at Damon’s throat.

Damon stumbled.

It looked accidental. His foot caught on a loose stone, and his body tilted just enough for the spear to whistle past his ear.

Kai’s eyes widened.

He recovered instantly, spinning the spear into a horizontal slash aimed at Damon’s ribs.

Damon tripped again.

This time, he fell forward, his wooden sword clattering against the ground as he caught himself. The spear passed over his head, missing by a hair’s breadth.

Kai gritted his teeth.

"What are you doing? Fight me!"

He thrust again. And again. And again.

Each strike was faster than the last. The Golden Sun Spear became a blur of golden light, a storm of steel and spiritual energy that should have been impossible to evade.

But Damon kept stumbling.

He staggered left, then right. He tripped over his own feet. He dropped his wooden sword twice, fumbling to pick it up each time.

Every movement looked like luck. Pure, blind, infuriating luck.

The crowd murmured.

"Is he... drunk?"

"He’s going to get himself killed."

"How is he still alive?"

Kai’s face twisted with rage.

He had trained for years. He had mastered the Reventon family’s techniques. He had reached the Heavenly Spirit Realm.

And this outer disciple was dodging his attacks by falling over?

"Stop mocking me!" Kai roared.

He abandoned finesse. He abandoned technique. He just attacked.

The spear became a whirlwind. Golden light exploded from every strike, carving trenches in the arena floor. The air screamed as the spear tore through it, again and again and again.

Damon stumbled through the storm.

He ducked under a thrust. He swayed past a slash. He tripped backward, landing on his ass as the spear tip passed inches from his face.

Kai screamed in frustration.

"Hold still!"

Damon scrambled to his feet, brushing dust off his robes.

"I’m trying. This floor is uneven."

Kai’s eye twitched.

"Uneven? I’ll show you uneven!"

He channeled every ounce of his spiritual energy into the spear. The golden light blazed so brightly that the crowd had to shield their eyes.

"GOLDEN SUN’S WRATH!"

The spear descended like a falling star.

Damon watched it come.

And then, for the first time, he moved with purpose.

He didn’t stumble. He didn’t trip. He stepped forward, his wooden sword rising to meet the spear.

Crack.

The sound echoed through the arena.

It wasn’t the sound of wood breaking. It was something deeper, something sharper. A sound that cut through the air like a blade.

A collective, sharp intake of breath rippled through the spectators, the sound rising like a sudden gale in the arena.

The heavy atmosphere shifted as the blinding, auric radiance of Kai’s ultimate technique abruptly faltered.

The momentum was extinguished.

Kai remained frozen in his place, his knuckles white and his grip rigid, yet the burning golden light of his weapon hissed and flickered like a dying ember in the wind.

His breath hitched in his throat, and slowly, with a strange, dazed tremor in his limbs, he lowered his gaze.

His eyes locked onto his own hands, which were still locked fast around the shaft of his spear.

They were shaking.

No. They were bleeding.

Thin lines of red ran down his palms, dripping onto the arena floor.

"What...?"

Damon stepped back, his wooden sword held loosely at his side.

"Nice strike."

Kai’s eyes snapped to the wooden sword.

It wasn’t damaged.

Not a scratch. Not a chip.

"How...?"

Damon smiled.

"I told you. A weapon is only as good as the person wielding it."

Kai’s face contorted with rage.

"Shut up!"

He attacked again.

The spear came in a wide arc, aimed at Damon’s neck.

Damon raised his wooden sword.

Crack.

Kai’s hands jerked. More blood dripped from his palms.

He ignored it. He attacked again.

Crack.

Crack.

Crack.

Each strike was met with the same sound. The same sharp, cutting crack that seemed to resonate through Kai’s bones.

His hands were bleeding freely now. The blood made the spear slippery, hard to hold.

But he didn’t stop.

He couldn’t stop.

He was Kai Reventon. He was the pride of the Reventon family. He was supposed to crush this outer disciple, not bleed from a wooden sword.

"Die! Die! Die!"

The spear became a blur. Golden light filled the arena, a storm of power that should have overwhelmed any opponent.

But Damon met each strike.

Crack.

Crack.

Crack.

The sound was rhythmic now. A steady beat that matched the pounding of Kai’s heart.

Kai’s hands were raw. The skin had split open, and blood coated the spear’s shaft.

He couldn’t feel his fingers anymore.

But he kept attacking.

Because if he stopped, that meant he had lost.

And he couldn’t lose. Not to this nobody. Not in front of the entire sect.

Damon watched Kai’s desperate assault with calm golden eyes.

He saw the blood. He saw the trembling hands. He saw the fear hiding behind the rage.

’He’s breaking.’

Damon waited.

He let Kai exhaust himself. He let the spear grow heavier. He let the blood flow.

And then, when Kai’s attack slowed, when the golden light flickered, Damon struck.

He stepped forward, his wooden sword cutting through the air.

Crack.

The sound was deafeningly clear this time, a sharp, splintering crack that echoed across the hushed arena like a thunderclap in a storm.

Kai’s spear, once a fierce golden light, was violently wrenched from his weakening grip.

It spun erratically through the air, performing a chaotic, blood-flecked arc before finally clattering against the stone floor of the arena with a hollow, metallic ring that seemed to signal the end of his delusions.

The massive crowd, who only moments ago had been shouting in a fervor of anticipation, abruptly fell into a suffocating, deathly silence.

Every eye stayed locked on the stage, where the pride of the Reventon family stood trembling.

Kai’s gaze drifted downward, falling upon his own empty, shaking palms.

He stared at them as if they belonged to a stranger, unable to comprehend that the weapon he had wielded with such arrogance was now nothing more than abandoned debris at his feet.

They were covered in blood. Deep cuts ran across his palms, his fingers, his wrists.

He looked up at Damon.

Damon stood ten feet away, his wooden sword held loosely at his side. There wasn’t a scratch on him.

"How...?"