The night sky was dotted with magnificent celestial bodies, and multiple bright moons hung above, providing ample illumination in the wilderness of Mulong even at night.
The crowd of onlookers was immense. Such a fierce one-on-one duel was even rarer than finding a video of Ms. A Jiao, especially with such an unexpected twist.
Liszt emerged from his conversation with Fafna, pushing through pirate after pirate, and made his way to the front line of the battle.
In the makeshift arena formed by the crowd, Magnus was still unscathed, but he no longer had the upper hand. In contrast, Archer looked like a ragged vagabond, slashed all over. However, his liver had metabolized all the alcohol, and he was no longer wobbling.
Just as Liszt arrived, he saw Archer get knocked down again.
But Magnus’s breathing was erratic, and his eyes were wide like brass bells!
He was now completely certain: the man before him was indeed an untrained brute an hour ago, employing nothing but instincts and muscle memory.
But what in the world was going on?
Magnus felt like... he was fighting himself!
"I’ve completely seen through your moves. Come on. Now I’m ready. What happened before doesn’t count. Only this round matters," Archer said shamelessly.
The crowd was dumbfounded. This guy had no shame! And he seemed to have completely forgotten that he was beaten up for over an hour earlier!
Magnus readied himself, knees shoulder-width apart, sinking low, with his blade held in a reverse grip, eyes fixed on Archer’s every move.
Uncle A’s right arm dangled as he too held the sword with his left hand in a reverse grip. His body was still in the red-hot state; if he didn’t take down this cripple today, how could he continue to navigate the world?
Magnus’s throat tightened. It didn’t feel like he was being imitated, but rather like fighting his own reflection.
Archer didn’t stabilize his balance with his right arm either. Instead, he exceeded it, relaxing his body completely, assuming a bizarre, crouched posture reminiscent of the rampaging Iori in King of Fighters 97. Nᴇw ɴovel chaptᴇrs are published on NovelHub(.)net
"The betting is open! This time, I’m putting five silver coins on Uncle A to win."
"Don’t let the villain beat you, big brother with the broken arm."
"This time, he might really turn it around."
Some had witnessed Archer growing fiercer by the second. He was the kind of genius who, after seeing someone perform a few Qigong moves or some fancy swordplay, could master it in one go and apply it in battle.
The situation now seemed like a newbie who just finished the tutorial, practicing for an hour in the training room, and then defeating Krel with ease.
Wolman was drenched in sweat. Technically, this was the first time he had seen Archer spar with anyone. Archer had never had the interest or care for bouts. Even Old Wei, stubborn as he was, had considered taking Archer as a disciple, recognizing something extraordinary in him. But Mr. Gion was almost always engrossed in drinking or playing.
"I’m honestly terrified you’re going to shout ’Amatras,’ Uncle A!"
Rein had never really respected anyone before, but now he genuinely did. The blind steel was compatible, experience points doubled, and even Kakashi was defeated.
The wild winds swept across the wilderness.
A showdown was imminent.
Like a storm sweeping away fallen leaves, Archer fiercely kicked Magnus’s good leg and relentlessly attacked his unguarded right arm. His bizarre, hunched offensive stance was like a tiger pouncing, while Uncle A remained silent, slashing wildly.
The sound of blades clashing filled the air, sparks flying like a waterfall.
There was nothing that a blade couldn’t solve; the only concern was if it was fast enough.
Magnus bore a heavy load, wielding his sword as if carrying a mountain on his shoulders.
But Archer was so light, as if he had negative mass, like the universe itself couldn’t bear his foulness and desperately wanted to expel him.
They moved so fast now that normal eyes couldn’t keep up.
It was impossible to tell whose blade was faster, just that each sought to outpace the other.
The shocking gusts from their clash flattened the surrounding shrubs, causing the spectators to retreat a few steps.
The clash of metals was deafening, and their positions constantly shifted in a dance of serpentine movements, blades disappearing and reappearing like ghostly phantoms.
Magnus’s steps were swift, his blade’s path like the slithering of dragons and snakes: fast, ruthless, slicing sinews and severing bones with each strike. This was now beyond mere sparring. With over twenty years of skill, could Archer withstand it?
Magnus experienced it twice in a short time. The first was against the insurmountable Deputy Director of Old Aran, and now... against an unknown rogue pirate.
The grass in a radius of several hundred meters suddenly fell silent. Bugs had been chirping, but now an eerie stillness prevailed. The insects seemed to sense imminent death, entering a state of shock-induced paralysis.
Being pummeled constantly, the red-hot withdrawal symptoms from alcohol had subsided. For the first time in over a decade, Archer entered a state of ZONE, with no flushed cheeks or burning ears.
Archer’s strange offensive posture reached its peak in this intense moment, his wild forward lunges almost making him fall, moving eerily across the ground. Even the Flying Sword Style would be left in tatters. He mimicked Magnus’s lack of balance, utilizing inertia to swing his sword in spinning movements. Within a second, he rendered Magnus’s sword useless, slicing dozens of notches into it, ending with a powerful upward slash.
A bang rang out, deafening.
The sword flew into the air, landing six meters high, and finally stuck vertically into the soil.
Magnus’s hand was numb, and he stared blankly at Archer.
Uncle A’s red-hot state finally dissipated.
"Damn it, get me a bottle of wine, quick."
Archer needed champagne immediately. Accustomed to bossing others around from his status, a bunch of diligent pirates promptly brought him a crate of alcohol.
Magnus wanted to say something, "Let me..."
Before he could ask Archer to be his mentor...
Shadi couldn’t hold it in any longer. This was too unreasonable! Really? That lazy boozehound of a pirate who dropped pearls from drinking is now a once-in-a-million genius?
"Whatever it is, save it for later. You’re amazing, Archer."
Zahak’s sword was broken during a fight against Joshua. Shadi took his Willow Leaf Blade and stepped into the battle circle, ready for a bout with Archer.
Yakai Chiyoko, on her miles-long husband chase, urged Shadi not to approach, fearing he’d carry that drunkard’s stench.
Just because I’m a despised 3D person doesn’t mean I’m not a god of war!
Immediately, a decisive blow.
"Get a grip, Uncle A really might unleash Heavenly Light, he’d even open Suzanoh!"
"Heh, you’re no match for me. You’re too ugly."
Archer observed his reflection in his blade and thought, damn, he looked handsome, showing his teeth in the sword’s reflection, stained and decayed uniquely.
He definitely had the rugged spitfire look of an old-school Hollywood cowboy, but his nasty stench and foul language left no good impression.
"You have Qigong, using a little magic shouldn’t be a surprise, right?"
In an instant, Archer cast a Fire Element Magic. It was just a basic Fire Tongue Technique, but...
People often saw Glasses use arcane magic. Getting drunk and pondering it, watching some arcane related magazines in Mika’s drawers, Uncle A’s magic descriptions were quite professional because they were copied straight from academy textbooks.
He managed to grasp the basics truly.
"Damn you! If you’re this good, what the hell have you been doing all this time?"
Liszt was dumbfounded.