Chapter 173: Chapter 173: Damage
As Artorias’ words echoed in his ears, the mad grin on Ulric’s face widened as a soft chuckle slipped past his lips.
Still, he couldn’t blame him. He had known there was a measure of risk in his plan. But the probability had been low. Extremely low. Low enough to give him the confidence to proceed.
Even so, what was life without a little risk?
If Artorias or any other major powerhouse could hear his thoughts, they would no doubt spit out a mouthful of blood.
What nonsense about a little risk? That was a life-and-death deciding moment!
It was even more bizarre given that the more talented one became, or the higher one ascended the ranks of power, the more afraid of dying they grew.
But the youth before him was different.
Quite the opposite, actually.
Probably why he had fallen into the trap so easily.
He just hadn’t expected the youth to be so fearless in the face of death. Definitely far braver than he had anticipated.
But that didn’t matter now.
Taking in a strained breath, Artorias glanced at the approaching youth before swallowing his pride as he muttered,
"What do you say we end this here and now and call it a draw?"
With each word that slipped past his lips, he could feel his pale face growing red with shame.
He had utilized superior battle experience and techniques far beyond the youth’s. Yet in the end, he had still been brought to this state.
His head lowered further, weighed down by the humiliation of it all.
But the youth’s words twisted the knife even deeper.
"Is that defeat I see in your eyes?"
Ulric chuckled, a look of mock surprise flashing across his face as he reached toward Artorias’ cleaved arm, still lodged deep within his chest.
With a slight grunt, he gripped it tightly with both hands before yanking it free in one fluid motion.
If he were a regular mortal—or even an ordinary powerhouse—this wouldn’t have been such a great idea. It would only accelerate the rate at which he lost blood.
But Ulric was neither.
He could already feel the flesh around his chest moving, slowly knitting itself back together.
With his absurdly resilient Asura’s Demonic Physique and his fine mastery over the healing properties of water, he could feel the wound healing, albeit far slower than he would have preferred.
More importantly, he could feel the arm hindering that process.
By his calculations, removing it was the better option.
"But you and I both know this can only end one way," Ulric continued, as if what he had just done was of no consequence.
Staring down at the gaping hole in his chest, he watched blood slowly flow out before gradually easing until it stopped altogether.
Leaving behind only a flesh wound that was steadily mending.
"This..." Artorias mumbled, momentarily lost for words.
But he soon snapped out of his daze as he clenched his fingers tightly.
Did the youth think he wanted this either?
This was the only logical conclusion to their battle.
If this continued... the most likely outcome would be both of them dying.
Even if, by some unlikely chance, Artorias came out on top, his condition would be no better than death.
A glance toward the city walls and beyond already confirmed what he had suspected.
The residents of Tempest would not allow their rising genius to be ripped away so easily.
And if doing so required them to give their lives in return, they seemed more than willing.
The only reason some of them hadn’t already intervened was because of the repeated gestures the youth had made, motioning for them to stay back and not interfere.
At first, Artorias had found it amusing.
Now?
It would be a lie to say he wasn’t a little fearful.
At his peak, even hundreds of peak C-rank beings wouldn’t have been enough to bring him down.
Let alone a bunch of measly D-rank beings.
But he wasn’t at his peak.
And more than that, he was gravely injured.
A single well-placed attack could quickly turn fatal.
That was why his eyes repeatedly swept across the surroundings.
He couldn’t risk another sneak attack.
Raising his head once more, he opened his mouth to speak, trying to talk some sense into the youth.
There was no shame in retreating to fight another day.
But the words froze in his throat as his eyes locked onto the youth’s crimson gaze.
He could see it.
The unyielding glint flashing within.
His mind was already made up.
And Artorias doubted there was anything he could say to change it.
Just as he was considering his next course of action, the youth’s voice echoed in his ears, causing the rage welling inside him to nearly explode.
"Tell you what. If you fall to your knees and beg for your life, I might consider sparing you."
"Y-you..." Artorias growled.
For a moment, he was tempted to attempt slaying the youth one final time, even if it meant going down with him.
But he barely suppressed the urge.
He wouldn’t be surprised if this was yet another one of the youth’s cunning traps.
"No?"
Ulric grinned, the malicious glint in his eyes deepening.
It didn’t take a genius to sense the dangerous intentions hidden beneath the facade of diplomacy.
Not that Ulric cared.
At this point, he viewed the figure before him as more of a nuisance than a threat.
The quicker he eliminated him, the better.
As for sparing his life?
The thought had never crossed his mind.
Still, it was worth seeing how far Artorias was willing to go to preserve his dignity.
"This... this isn’t over," Artorias growled.
And before Ulric could respond, Artorias muttered something beneath his breath.
Instantly afterward, the mystical flying treasure that had been hovering overhead suddenly buzzed before streaking toward him in response to his command.
Leaping into the air with the last bit of strength he could muster, his figure blurred before vanishing into the distance.
All within the span of a single second.
Staring after him, a faint smile carved across Ulric’s face.
If he wanted, he could chase him.
But that would be pointless.
He had already gained everything he needed from this battle.
Once he fully internalized those gains, he was certain his growth would explode once more.
Besides, he doubted Artorias would return.
And even if he did, both of them knew who would come out on top the next time they met.
His growth was simply too monstrous.
If Artorias knew what was good for him, he would crawl back into whatever hole he had come from and pray Ulric never came looking.
Still, that didn’t mean Ulric had given up entirely.
Willing it, he pulled up his system interface and sifted through the recent notifications.
[Ding! You have killed Kael Malgrave, Level 99 Human!]
[Ding! Congratulations! You have gained... Experience Points!]
[Ding! You have leveled up!]
[Ding! You have leveled up!]
[Ding! You have leveled up!]
[...]
[Ding! Your Blood Scythe has successfully assimilated the Drop of Aether and evolved! You have gained the Aether Blood Scythe!]
Staring at the final notification, the grin on his face widened.
"Finally," Ulric breathed as he extended one hand into the empty air before him.
A few seconds passed.
Then suddenly, in the distance, a deafening screech echoed out, no different from a death wraith.
A bloody-red streak shot across the horizon before crashing into the dark-robed youth.
A shockwave erupted outward, spreading for hundreds of meters and sending dust and rubble flying in every direction.
When the surroundings finally cleared, the figure of the dark-robed youth stood revealed, an intricately carved scythe clenched firmly in his grasp.
"Incredible," Ulric muttered as he traced his fingers along its surface, instantly noticing the changes.
The most striking of them all was the bluish sheen coating its edges, giving it a surreal appearance.
He could feel their connection had grown stronger than ever.
And with it, the explosive power surging within.
"You’ve grown stronger," Ulric murmured, a playful glint flashing across his eyes before hardening into something far more dangerous.
"Go forth."
And with a flick of his wrist, it was gone.
***
Thousands of meters away, Artorias let out a sigh of relief.
Taking in multiple sharp breaths, he tried to steady himself.
This was the closest he had ever come to death in his entire life.
If someone had told him beforehand that he would be driven to such a state by a youth several realms beneath him, he would have laughed it off as utter nonsense.
But now he saw it clearly.
He could only pity the future opponents who dared underestimate him because of his low rank.
Just as he was sinking deeper into his thoughts, a sharp screech echoed from the distance, drawing his attention.
"What is that?" he muttered, a curious glint flashing across his eyes as he turned toward the source of the sound.
A scythe?
Artorias’ eyes narrowed dangerously.
And not just any scythe.
He could sense the youth’s energy reeking from it.
The relief in his eyes vanished, replaced by panic.
He was far too drained to dodge as he watched helplessly while the scythe shot toward him before lodging itself deep into his back.
A sharp groan of pain tore from his lips.
The panic in his eyes bloomed into outright fear as he sensed the scythe siphoning away his natural mana reserves and what little vitality he had left.
"W-what is happening...?" Artorias shrieked madly.
Unlike the Phantom Blades, which had only sealed away part of his energy temporarily, he could feel this was different.
Permanent.
Desperation surged through him as he reached back, trying to tear the scythe free from his body.
Only after a prolonged struggle did he finally manage to wrench it loose, its strength seemingly diminishing the farther it strayed from its wielder.
But the damage had already been done.
