Chapter 215: The Weeping Serpent (Part 5)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 215: The Weeping Serpent (Part 5)
Blades crossed, shadows dancing in tandem.
In the deep of the night, two figures intertwined. Their similarly styled weapons moved with such seamless, rounded perfection that, for a brief moment, the torrential rain could not touch a single inch of their bodies.
Aside from the eerie lack of sound emanating from the clash, anyone watching would have seen a battle of incredible intensity—a spectacular duel between equals.
However, the further the Banshee fought, the more unsettled she became.
Incredible intensity? A duel between equals?
Is that how you’re supposed to describe a fight between a Peak Third-Tier and a Late Second-Tier?
If word of this got out, wouldn't people laugh their damn teeth off?
Looking at Muen Campbell’s handsome face—which showed no hint of fear but instead grew increasingly fanatical and ferocious—the Banshee’s expression darkened.
This had to be a joke.
Realm, prowess, raw power—no matter how she calculated it, she should have the upper hand.
The only thing the boy had going for him was that strange burst of speed he’d suddenly manifested.
But the gap between the Peak Third-Tier and the Second-Tier was immense. Even if his speed tripled for a short time, he should only be "slightly" suppressing her at best. It shouldn't have been enough to bridge the gap in overall strength. Yet, it was precisely that "slight" suppression that was giving her a massive headache.
The Banshee felt like she was fighting an eel.
A slippery eel that seemed to see right through every single one of her moves!
The man before her was incredibly evasive. He never overextended or got greedy with his strikes. As if predicting her every move, he would nimbly dodge her attacks, find a gap to leave a few shallow cuts on her body, and then immediately retreat.
Why had there been almost no sound for the past few minutes?
Because their weapons had hardly even touched!
Yet, in just a minute or two of combat, the Banshee’s body was already covered in dozens of wounds. Though they weren't deep, the burning agony caused by Elizabeth’s unique trait was enough to drive her mad.
Evil cultists possessed tenacious vitality, and while she knew she wasn't immortal, she realized that if this continued, she would be whittled down until she died!
"Why?! Why can't I hit you?!"
The Banshee shrieked. A ghostly blue light, cold as moonlight, suddenly erupted from her scimitar. Muen’s heart tightened, and he hastily threw himself back to dodge.
The cold light carved a massive fissure into the empty ground, packing enough power to grind Muen into dust ten times over.
But no matter how powerful an attack was, it was useless if it didn't land.
In contrast, the Banshee had overexerted herself. Unable to purge the residual Holy Light from her system, many of her wounds tore open again, turning her into a literal woman of blood.
"It seems Miss Banshee isn't quite as confident as she was a moment ago," Muen said, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth with a grin.
"Do you have Magic Eyes?"
"Magic Eyes are rare treasures. How could I have something like that?"
"Can you see the future?"
"The future is vague and unpredictable. As the mere son of a Duke, that’s naturally impossible for me."
"Then why can you dodge my attacks?!"
The Banshee’s earlier composure was gone, replaced by a gaze full of malice and ferocity. She demanded, "Not just that—several times, you clearly predicted my strikes before I even made them!"
"Just a trivial little trick, nothing worth mentioning."
Muen smiled nonchalantly. Taking advantage of the brief lull, he quickly crushed a magic crystal in his hand to replenish his nearly depleted mana.
*
Being able to suppress the Banshee despite the massive gap in their realms wasn't due to some "trivial trick."
It was mostly thanks to the ten-fold time dilation of the Eternal Clock.
When his internal time was extended, it wasn't just his physical speed that increased—it was his cognitive speed.
This gave Muen ample time during the heat of battle to react and analyze his opponent's patterns.
And as it happened, of all the things the Banshee could have done, she chose to fight while practically naked—reminiscent of certain "educational films" from a particular island nation.
This meant that every muscle contraction and every surge of power was laid bare before Muen’s eyes.
To the Banshee, the result looked like precognition.
As noted before, the Banshee’s direct combat experience was significantly lacking. Otherwise, had he been facing any other Peak Third-Tier expert, Muen would never have been able to gain an advantage through such clever maneuvering.
Take the adventurer recorded in the Black Book, for instance. He also fought naked, yet Muen never dared to judge his moves based on muscle movement alone. For a true master, even the subtlest twitch of the body could be a trap designed to lure the enemy into a fatal mistake.
*
"I underestimated you, Muen Campbell."
The Banshee suddenly took a deep breath. Her eyes remained dark, but her expression gradually calmed.
"Sometimes I really wonder... are you truly a pampered Duke’s son? This ruthlessness, this experience, this composure... it wouldn't be an exaggeration to say you were raised in a sea of blood and corpses."
"Heh, people ask me that a lot. But I suppose some people are just gifted—born this way, perhaps."
Muen chuckled, tossing out a casual lie.
However, his heart began to sink.
Because looking at the Banshee now...
"Originally, time was on my side. But now it seems I’m the one who can't afford to wait, or I’ll be carved into pieces by you, one stroke at a time."
The Banshee spread her arms. Her long black hair danced wildly as an eerie light suddenly erupted from her eyes.
Here it comes!
Muen also took a deep breath, his muscles tensing instinctively.
Next, she would surely leverage her superior cultivation to unleash a Peak Third-Tier Martial...
"[Prayer]."
The Banshee’s voice was cold and melodic, like a haunting lament.
As those words fell, everything seemed to go silent. Even the sound of the rain vanished.
It was as if the entire world was standing still, waiting for her next words.
"[O Great Lord of the Dark Night, God of the Lightless, Silent Moon who governs all shadow and stillness in this world—]"
"[Please respond to the summons of your humble servant. Here, descend with your Great Power.]"
It wasn't a Martial Technique. It was... a Prayer?
In that moment, watching the Banshee’s seductive red lips move, Muen gritted his teeth, cursing furiously in his mind.
Dammit, are you serious right now?
You didn't even try a few Martial Techniques first? You just went straight to dragging an Evil God into this?
Where’s the sportsmanship? Where’s the justice?!
A Third-Tier fighting a Second-Tier, and you don't even hesitate to call for backup? Have you no shame?!
But Muen was powerless to stop her prayer. He could only watch as the Banshee cast a mocking glance his way, spilling the rest of the eulogy word by word, clear as day.
Muen realized he was completely unable to move.
Cold moonlight spilled down, beautiful enough to steal one's breath. Yet Muen felt no beauty in it—only an endless, biting chill that froze his very soul.
Under the moonlight, Muen’s shadow stretched out long and thin. Then, his own shadow began to move on its own, transforming into countless tentacles that wrapped around his body, dragging him toward the ground.
His ears were filled with a cacophony of noise, like thousands of venomous serpents hissing right beside him.
The crushing pressure made him feel as though he were submerged in the freezing depths of the ocean; even his blood struggled to flow.
Forced onto his back on the ground, letting the heavy rain pelt his face, Muen stared up at the sky—at that eerie blue moon that gazed back with cold indifference.
Suddenly, he grinned. He extended his middle finger—the one part of him he could still barely move—toward the high and mighty deity and uttered a perfectly enunciated, classic profanity.
"Dumbass."