The Legendary Mage (Alavin)

Chapter 164

To the uninformed, it might’ve seemed Alavin and Cedrick harbored deep-seated hatred for one another, but for both, the greatest respect was to defeat the other.

Sword and blade struck, and both the iron blade and ancient sword were sent flying, not from the force of their attacks, but because both men's hand bones fractured simultaneously, blood flowing freely.

The Dawnedge Blade whistled through the air and flew off the mountaintop, embedding itself at the base of the mountain.

Mariela was the first to step forward, taking her stand beside the ancient blade, her brows furrowing as she gazed up at the mountaintop.

Cedrick's iron sword, controlled by an unseen force, tumbled through the air and returned to its place, hovering ominously above his head.

The throng of people scattered across the valleys fell into a silent, tense watch over the high mountain. Could it be time for a victor to be decided? Cedrick's sword was not one to be countered by mere flesh; to confront Cedrick was to face both the man and his iron blade. With Alavin deprived of the ancient sword, was he not at a disadvantage?

"Unless Alavin has some secret move up his sleeve, he is surely doomed," murmured Orland. His brow creased in focus. Alavin might have won against Orland’s two fellow apprentices with Shadowlord’s Wrath, but besting Cedrick was an entirely different challenge.

Alavin and Cedrick stood on opposite ends of the mountaintop, panting heavily. Wounds covered their bodies, and blood stained their forms. They resembled wild beasts. Their presence exuded a ferocious and untamed might.

"My soul is the sword's spirit; my body is the sword's form. I am the sword, and the sword is I; all of creation, my weapons of war," Cedrick uttered in a hoarse and deep voice reminiscent of a demonic whisper from the depths of hell. The fresh blood from his wounds and the crimson stains upon his skin began to rise mystically, merging into a thin mist of blood essence and surging towards the battle sword floating high above.

In an instant, an invisible aura enveloped the mountaintop. Broken rubble and particles of dust all lifted into the air, radiating a deadly intent as if transforming into a thousand blades.

The Commanders were all watching with knitted brows. This was no Combat Magic from Cobalt Strike; this was the Iron family's most potent secret technique.

How would Alavin respond? The decisive moment seemed imminent. NôvelDrama.Org copyrighted © content.

Alavin's ragged breath could feel the oppressive might of the sword energy engulfing the heavens. Far from retreating, his will to fight only grew stronger.

Crackling with energy, Alavin's entire body sparked with electrical energy, dancing wildly across his limbs. Amidst this tempest of lightning, wisps of dark mist spread without restraint, growing more abundant until almost enveloping him entirely. Lightning and darkness interwove, the chilling aura pervading the mountaintop.

His hands, tense as talons, slowly came together before his chest. Dark mist surged from his palms to converge in the center, spinning violently like a small tornado.

The battlefield fell eerily silent. A chilling, murderous intent was spreading silently. The Protégés below felt an icy dread. Their skin was crawling.

"Such a formidable aura!" Ziros and Nelsor exchanged looks of alarm. They had experienced much, but nothing as terrifying as this.

A faint wailing seemed to emerge from the fabric of the world, like a gust of wind or distant cries, ethereal and elusive.

"Strike!" bellowed Cedrick, launching the first assault with a speed so uncanny that his form blurred. His hands clasped together as he charged at Alavin.

The crowd was stunned; they saw what seemed an illusion. Cedrick had transformed into a brilliant battle sword, cleaving towards Alavin. Of course, he had not truly become the weapon—that was a miraculous manifestation. This nascent divine power created an illusion so convincing it illustrated the terror of the moment.

In the sky, the battle sword resonated fiercely, unleashing pressure as immense as a mountain, dragging a long, dark tide toward Alavin. Thousands of shattered stones from the mountaintop rose, converging into a dense swarm, all morphing into sword energy.

It was as if a single stone had triggered a thousand ripples. The entire mountaintop boiled with chaos. Yet at the brink of this pandemonium, at the edge of death, Alavin stood unafraid, his gaze ablaze. Suddenly, his hands shot upwards. The violent black whirlwind scattered to reveal a small dagger, both real and illusory. Its presence sent shivers down the spine as if cradling a seed of death.

"What is that?" Protégés were flabbergasted. The chilling intent and murderous will was palpable even from a distance.

The Commanders frowned; this dagger was no ordinary weapon! Once again, Alavin had surprised them.

"The blade's name is, Shadowbringer!" Alavin roared. The black dagger struck forth, cutting through time and space. Its icy chill caused souls to shudder, and a bone-piercing murderous intent engulfed Cedrick completely.

The final blow would determine victory or defeat.

Silence fell over the field, the tension palpable. Countless eyes widened, minds blanked, and many a mage clenched their fists, watching intently as battle hung in the balance.