In the silence that gripped the courtyard, Kazel's smirk deepened.
Then—he vanished.
A blur tore through the air.
Before anyone could react, Kazel had already closed the distance.
"Wha—!" Maldan barely unsheathed his sword when the halberd came crashing down.
CLANG!
Steel clashed—but Kazel's strength was monstrous.
The impact sent Maldan hurtling backward, crashing into his own disciples like a meteor. Bodies scattered, groans echoed. Dust and blood filled the air.
Kazel didn't even chase him.
He just stood there, one hand gripping his halberd, the other relaxed by his side.
"Weak."
The word left his mouth with the weight of judgment.Casual. Dismissive. True.
Maldan groaned on the ground, coughing. Agabah's face twisted with rage and disbelief.
"Y-You…!" Agabah snarled, drawing his blade.
But Kazel's gaze shifted toward him, calm and indifferent.
"You next?"
"Encircle him!" Agabah's voice cracked like a whip.
The remaining disciples obeyed with trembling conviction, forming a tight circle around the lone invader. Their spears raised, tips gleaming in the high sun.
But Kazel's eyes didn't even flick toward them.
He stared at Maldan, who slowly pushed himself up. Blood dripped from the corner of the patriarch's lips, staining his once-immaculate robe.
"Die and begone, Kazel!" roared Agabah.
Shk!
All at once, the spears lunged in a vicious pincer formation—designed to end him then and there.
Elder Crane's eyes narrowed. He saw it all. (The only way out is up.) His legs tensed. (Jump… and he dies.)
But Kazel…
Moved forward.
Straight into the storm of spearheads.
The first spear pierced his robe—
But stopped there.
It did not penetrate his skin.
"What…?" the disciple's voice faltered.
Before his mind could comprehend what had happened, Kazel spun inward, his body brushing past the shaft—then in a flash—
SLASH!
The halberd carved through the disciple's neck, sending his head tumbling in the air like a broken fruit.
Blood sprayed like ink across the courtyard tiles.
Gasps filled the air.
Kazel stood in the wake of the first kill, the lifeless body slumping beside him. His smirk deepened.
"Try harder."
And the encirclement... shattered.
The circle wavered.
Fear cracked through their discipline like a fissure in glass. One kill—too fast—and now they were hesitating.
Kazel didn't wait.
His halberd dragged along the ground as he walked—not rushed—toward the nearest disciple. The sound of metal grinding against stone sent chills through their spines.
The disciple lunged.
Too slow.
Kazel sidestepped and dug the end of the halberd into his gut, lifting the disciple off his feet before hurling him like trash into the approaching line. Bones shattered on impact.
Another tried to flank him.
Crack!
Kazel elbowed him in the jaw, sending teeth flying like dust in the wind. The halberd followed, sweeping low, cleaving the disciple at the knees. A scream tore through the courtyard—but only for a second. A downward slash ended it.
"Four," Kazel muttered, counting like it bored him.
Then—
Boom!
He amplified, his body vanishing for a blink, appearing behind a group of three. His halberd became a blur.
Schick. Shlk. THUNK.
Three bodies fell at once—one with no head, one with a severed spine, and one split from shoulder to hip.
Blood spilled like wine across the cracked stone tiles.
Elder Crane's eyes widened. (He… he fights like a monster.)
"You call this Soul Refining?" Kazel sneered. "I call it warm-up."
The remaining disciples lost their courage. Some turned to run.
Wrong choice.
Kazel threw his halberd like a spear. It spun once—twice—
Thud!
It pierced through two fleeing backs, pinning them together against a pillar.
"Six," he said.
Then he walked toward the embedded halberd, pulling it free with a clean yank.
Kazel pulled his halberd from the final corpse, blood slick and steaming in the sun. The courtyard was now a painting of death and silence, broken only by the distant crackle of fire and the slow drip of blood off shattered stone.
He turned, exhaled through his nose.
"Seven."
Suddenly, a blur.
Elder Crane struck like a phantom, his palm glowing with soul force. (He must be losing his stamina already...) Crane thought, confident. The halberd had slowed slightly—just slightly.
But Kazel didn't dodge.
He caught the elder's wrist mid-strike, the force cracking the tiles beneath them. Crane's eyes widened.
"Wrong bet," Kazel whispered.
He slammed his forehead into Crane's face—a loud crunch followed as blood spurted from the elder's nose. Before Crane could stumble, Kazel kicked him in the gut, sending him flying into a wall.
But then—
Four elders descended at once, blades flashing, all masters with decades of refined combat. They surrounded Kazel in a diamond formation, soul energy swirling.
One came from the front—Kazel sidestepped and cut off his arm with a clean arc.
Another slashed from behind—Kazel ducked, then pivoted low, sweeping the legs, following with an upward slice that split the man from groin to throat.
"Eight," Kazel muttered, still calm, but a bead of sweat rolled down his temple.
The third elder finally managed to touch him—a shallow cut across the chest. But when the blade touched him, all four of Kazel's spirit beasts roared inside his soul space.
A pulse of energy erupted.
His muscles tensed. His veins lit up with spirit light. With one roar, Kazel overpowered the elder's stance and broke through, slamming his halberd into the man's shoulder and driving it down through his ribs—one slash, two corpses.
Only Elder Crane managed to stand again, blood leaking from his mouth.
"How… How is he not slowing down?" Crane gasped.
Kazel turned to him.
Elder Crane stepped forward as the battlefield stilled. The air shifted.
A majestic white figure bloomed behind him—his Epic Spirit Beast, the White Crane—its wings like blades of moonlight, its cry sharp enough to silence doubt.
"White Crane Elusive Might."
Crane vanished.
What followed was a storm of motion—eight forms, eight strikes, eight directions, all woven into a style so fluid it defied prediction. His figure reappeared beside Kazel, behind him, above him—each blow aimed with surgical perfection.
On the edge, Agabah smirked to himself. (There it is. That technique made Elder Crane untouchable during the Southern Duels. No one under Level Three Soul Refining survived it... let's see him dance now.)
But Kazel…
…didn't flinch.
He stepped forward, almost casual, and slammed his halberd into the ground. The clang of metal meeting stone echoed across the ruined courtyard.
Then he raised his fists.
No weapon. No spirit skill.
Just two bare hands—and a grin like winter's bite.
From within, Frostfang's instincts surged through his body, his spine straightened, his muscles coiled, and his breath matched the incoming rhythm.
Crane's eyes narrowed.
Then they widened.
Kazel was following the pattern.
The first strike came low—Kazel met it with a precise parry that forced the elder to shift.
The second came from above—he pivoted under it with flawless footwork, not wasting a single motion.
Then came the real assault—flashes of Crane's blurring fists, elbows, and knees aimed at Kazel's neck, ribs, spine, heart.
(He's… reading me—!)
Elder Crane's thoughts stuttered.
Every move was being met, not just blocked but predicted. And then redirected.
A soft deflection here. A crushing palm there. A perfectly timed duck that let Kazel slide into the blind spot of the legendary technique.
"At least make me sweat," Kazel muttered, before countering mid-dance with a brutal upward elbow to Crane's jaw.
The elder's body jolted—crack!
Blood spurted.
The dance faltered.
Kazel didn't.
He pressed forward like a ghost with weight. He wasn't just surviving the famed "Elusive Might"—he was dismantling it, breaking it down piece by piece with footwork, rhythm, and devastating counters.
Elder Crane could feel it. (He's not just strong… He's practiced. He's studied forms beyond this realm. This isn't raw instinct—it's refinement. Precision. Mastery.)
"You dance soft," Kazel said, weaving behind him.
Crane spun to respond—too late.
A vice-grip clamped his neck. Then a knee—sharp as a blade—slammed into his spine.
His spirit beast shrieked—and shattered into glowing fragments.
Crane dropped to the ground, coughing blood.
Crane wailed in agony, his body crumpled like snapped bamboo. His limbs twitched, his breath was ragged. The once-proud elder, bearer of an Epic Spirit Beast, a master of evasive arts—was broken.
He never imagined his spine would be shattered mid-skill. Not by a boy. Not like this.
Agabah staggered back, sweat trickling down his temple.
"I-Impossible!" he shouted, panic gripping his throat."Crane is a Level Five Soul-Refining Realm! HOW can you possess such strength? You were a Body Tempering runt just days ago!"
Kazel didn't even bother replying.
Instead, he walked toward Crane's gasping figure. His halberd scraped the stone as he lifted it lazily.
Then, with a single, cold, almost gentle motion, he severed Crane's head. Blood spurted, the body jerked once, and silence reigned.
Kazel didn't even blink.
His gaze never left Agabah.
"How boring," he muttered.
Then his eyes turned.
To the patriarch.
To Maldan.
"Are you the last one now, Maldan?" Kazel asked. His voice was calm—too calm—and that made it worse. "Will you carry the banner of your dead? Or die just as quietly as them?"
Maldan, wide-eyed and shaking, gritted his teeth. His fingers curled into fists. Veins bulged at his temples.
"DEVIL!!" he roared, voice cracking from fury and disbelief.
"Tch," Kazel clicked his tongue. "Is that the best preach you can muster? I've met dying dogs with better final words. Even a stutterer I once met made a more compelling speech."
He spread his arms wide, daring.
"Come, Maldan! Show me the might of the Second Moon! This is your last chance to prove it... ever existed."
The tyrant smirked.