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Chapter 263: You are a parasite

Lira's knuckles tightened around the hilt of her blade, her calm demeanor stretched thin as she faced the man standing across from her. Lucavion. Of all the opponents she could have drawn, he was the one she despised most. A worm who had somehow crawled his way to the semifinals—a feat she could scarcely believe, considering he had no sect, no lineage, no legacy to stand on.

'How does someone like him even make it this far?' she thought with a flicker of disdain. 'A nobody who dares challenge the Cloud Heavens Sect. He's a fool playing at heroics, blind to the fact that his fate was sealed the moment he chose to go against us.'

Her lips curled into a faint sneer as she regarded him, her blade resting lightly at her side. It wasn't worth her time, not really. Lucavion was a blip, a minor inconvenience that would be erased by the end of this match. She could feel the weight of the crowd's eyes, their cheers mixed with the murmurs his earlier accusations had stirred. He was loud, persistent, but ultimately irrelevant.

'A resilient worm, I'll give him that,' she admitted to herself grudgingly as she watched him take his stance. He didn't falter, didn't shrink under the weight of her gaze. No, he came forward with that maddening smirk of his, his estoc gleaming faintly as mana flickered along its edge. He looked almost amused, like this fight was something he'd been waiting for, something he relished.

It only fueled her anger further.

"Still standing, are you?" she said, her voice calm but laced with venom. "I'll admit, you're persistent. But persistence won't save you."

Lucavion tilted his head slightly, his smirk deepening. "Persistence is a good start. It's better than resting on stolen laurels."

Her jaw clenched. She didn't want to engage, didn't want to validate his nonsense with a response. He wasn't worth it. And yet, his words sank under her skin, needling at her composure.

"You talk a lot for someone who has nothing to back it up," she snapped, raising her blade and stepping forward with precision. "Do you think your words will win you this match? Or are you just trying to distract me from the inevitable?"

Lucavion didn't step back. If anything, he closed the gap further, his estoc ready, his posture casual but perfectly balanced. "Oh, the match is inevitable," he said lightly, his voice carrying just enough mockery to send her blood boiling. "But you might not like how it ends."

Lira's gaze hardened as she stared at Lucavion, her grip tightening on her blade. The smirk on his face was insufferable, as though he believed himself her equal. It was laughable, really. In any other circumstance, he wouldn't even be worth her time. He was a worm, the type of man destined to crawl through the dirt until he found himself thrown onto a battlefield to die anonymously. Someone like him? His purpose was clear: to serve, to obey, and ultimately, to be discarded when no longer useful.

'Someone like him should be licking my boots,' she thought with a sneer. 'If I were in a good mood, perhaps I'd indulge him—play with him a little, let him think he mattered. And then I'd toss him aside where he belongs.'

But she wasn't in a good mood. Far from it. This was a waste of her time, a blemish on her day. Lucavion's insolence only worsened her already sour disposition. Who did he think he was? Strong? Capable? The very thought made her want to laugh out loud.

'Just a man,' she thought, her contempt palpable. 'Nothing more, nothing less. His kind exists for one purpose—to serve me and others like me. And here he stands, pretending he's more than that. Pathetic.'

Her blade gleamed in the sunlight as she raised it, her movements sharp and deliberate. If Lucavion thought he could toy with her, he would soon learn otherwise. She shifted her stance, her mana flowing steadily into the weapon. The air around her seemed to hum faintly, charged with the power she channeled. This match didn't deserve the elegance of her finest techniques, but it did deserve an efficient end. She would remind him—and everyone else watching—of her rightful place.

"I've had enough of your arrogance," she said, her voice cold, devoid of the earlier veneer of composure. "Let me show you why worms like you should stay in the dirt."

Lucavion tilted his head slightly, his expression maddeningly calm, as though he were daring her to make the first move. "Oh, please do," he said, his tone light, mocking. "I'm dying to see what the great Silent Thunder can do."

SWOOSH!

Her blood boiled. Without another word, she surged forward, her blade cutting through the air with deadly precision. The strike was swift, aimed directly at his center. He wouldn't have the speed or the strength to block it—not someone like him.

CLANK!

But then, to her annoyance, he moved. His estoc flicked up to meet her blade, the clash of steel ringing out as he deflected her strike. The force of the impact rippled through her arms, and for a moment, she felt the resistance of someone who didn't plan to crumble so easily.

Her eyes narrowed, her lips pressing into a thin line. He was still standing, still smirking, and that infuriating confidence hadn't wavered.

'Fine,' she thought, her movements growing sharper, more aggressive as she launched another flurry of strikes. 'I'll break him piece by piece. Let's see how long that smirk lasts.'

Lira took a deep breath, steadying herself as she let her mana flow through her veins, saturating her blade with its power. The air around her grew heavier, charged with the energy she wielded. Her robes fluttered in the unseen current, and the faint scent of ozone hung in the air. She was ready to end this, and she would do it on her terms.

'Enough playing,' she thought, the disdain she held for Lucavion sharpening her focus. 'I don't need poison to beat a worm like him.'

She knew the poison coursing through his system would act soon—it was subtle, undetectable in the heat of battle, but she could sense the faint tremors in his movements, the slight tension in his muscles as his body began to falter. But she didn't want the victory tainted. No, she wanted to crush him outright, to prove her superiority without question.

Her stance shifted, her blade rising as she prepared to unleash one of the most renowned techniques of the Cloud Heavens Sect: Blossoming Tempest Steps. The technique was a whirlwind of power and precision, its strikes enhanced by the wind mana swirling around her, forming razor-sharp currents that could cut through even the most steadfast defenses.

With a single step, she vanished, her speed amplified by the wind mana coursing through her body. In an instant, she was upon him, her blade flashing toward his shoulder in the first of three calculated strikes. The crowd gasped, the air electrified by the sheer force of her movement.

But then, Lucavion moved.

His estoc flicked upward with startling precision, deflecting her strike with what seemed like effortless ease. The clang of steel meeting steel echoed through the arena, and her momentum was disrupted.

'What—?!'

She adjusted instantly, pivoting into her second strike—a low sweep aimed at his side, designed to follow the deflection and leave no room for recovery. Yet, once again, his blade intercepted hers, his movements smooth and calculated. The force of his parry sent her blade off course, and she felt the mana around her waver.

Her frustration mounted as she launched into the third strike, an overhead slash with all the power of her wind-infused blade behind it. This was the strike meant to overwhelm, to end. But as her blade descended, Lucavion stepped lightly to the side, his estoc tilting just enough to redirect her strike into empty air. The crowd gasped again, their cheers now mixed with disbelief.

'Impossible,' Lira thought, her heart pounding in her chest. 'He's deflecting them as if he knew each move in advance!'

But she wasn't done. The true brilliance of Blossoming Tempest Steps lay not in the visible strikes, but in the hidden one—a final blow formed by the wind mana lingering around her blade, unleashed as a sudden burst when the third strike landed or was deflected. It was an attack that struck from an unpredictable angle, a blow few could see coming, let alone counter.

The wind coalesced around her, the mana spiraling outward like an invisible blade aimed directly at Lucavion's exposed flank. Victory was a breath away.

And then, to her utter shock, the wind dissipated. The hidden strike dispersed before it could reach him, unraveling as if it had been snuffed out by an unseen force. Lucavion remained standing, untouched, his stance as calm as it had been at the start.

Lira's breath caught, her blade trembling slightly in her grasp. The crowd erupted into chaos, their voices a mixture of awe and confusion. How had he done it? How had this nobody, this unaffiliated worm, deflected her strikes and nullified her hidden technique?

Lucavion tilted his head, his smirk still firmly in place. "That was... dramatic," he said, his tone laced with mockery. "I hope that wasn't your best, Silent Thunder. Because if it was..." He raised his estoc slightly, the tip gleaming faintly with his own mana. "This is going to be disappointing."

Lira gritted her teeth, her grip tightening on her blade. Her frustration boiled beneath her skin, but she forced herself to remain composed. She wouldn't let him rattle her. She couldn't.

'Fine,' she thought, her resolve hardening. 'If the first strike doesn't work, I'll cut him down with the next.'

But deep within her, doubt began to creep, whispering questions she wasn't yet ready to face.

Chapter 264: You are a parasite (2)

The fight continued, and Lira poured every ounce of her power into the battle. Her frustration mounted with each failed attempt, but she refused to yield. The air around her buzzed with mana, her aura radiating with the unmistakable strength of a 4-star Awakened warrior. Her strikes were no longer just movements; they carried the weight of her rank, her tempered body, and her cultivated Intent, a force unique to those who had ascended to her level.

Lucavion, however, stood unmoved. His estoc shimmered faintly with mana, the most basic enhancement any 2-star warrior could manage. His movements were efficient, controlled, and maddeningly calm. He didn't retaliate often; instead, he focused on deflecting her every blow, sidestepping her power with a precision that was nothing short of humiliating.

Lira gritted her teeth and pressed on, unleashing her full arsenal of techniques. Each one carried the refined elegance of the Cloud Heavens Sect, honed over years of practice. And yet, none of them so much as grazed her opponent.

Falling Gale Blade

Lira's blade descended in a series of fluid, spiraling slashes, each strike amplified by wind mana. The technique was designed to disorient and overwhelm opponents with its speed and unpredictability. Yet Lucavion moved between the strikes as if he could see the wind itself, his estoc batting her blade aside with ease.

"Your wind has no bite," he remarked. "Just a breeze pretending to be a storm."

Rising Feather Step

Lira launched herself into the air, her blade gleaming as she executed a series of aerial strikes. Her footwork was immaculate, each movement perfectly balanced to land with devastating precision. Lucavion sidestepped her descent effortlessly, his blade meeting hers with a casual flick.

"Graceful," he said, his tone almost admiring. "But all for show."

Stormcall Arc

She channeled her mana into her blade, creating a wide arc of condensed energy that roared through the air toward him. The sheer force of the technique sent a gust through the arena, and the crowd gasped as the arc closed in on Lucavion. He deflected it with a single, sharp movement, the energy dissipating harmlessly.

"Impressive in size," he commented, "but empty in purpose."

Dancing Tempest Waltz

Lira's strikes became a blur of movement, her blade dancing around her as she closed the distance with unparalleled speed. It was a technique meant to create openings through relentless pressure. Yet, Lucavion matched her pace, his estoc always where it needed to be, meeting her blade and disrupting her flow.

"A dance without rhythm," he mused. "You're chasing the steps without feeling the music."

Heaven's Edge Fang

She unleashed a piercing thrust imbued with her Intent, the force behind it sharp enough to shatter lesser defenses. The crowd gasped as the sheer pressure of the strike cracked the arena floor beneath her. But Lucavion tilted his body ever so slightly, her blade missing by a hair's breadth. His estoc snapped upward, redirecting her momentum harmlessly.

"A predator's fang, dull and misaligned," he said. "A pity."

Veil of Whirling Petals

Her final technique summoned a storm of wind blades, dozens of shimmering edges surrounding her as she launched them toward him in a cascading assault. The arena filled with the sound of slicing air as the crowd held its breath. Lucavion moved through the storm as if the blades weren't even there, each step precise, his estoc dispersing every strike aimed at him.

"Beautiful," he said, his voice cutting through the chaos like a blade. "But meaningless without purpose."

By the end of her sixth technique, Lira's breath came in short gasps, sweat dampening her brow. She glared at him, her frustration and disbelief etched into her features. Her strikes had been relentless, each one carrying the weight of her rank and the pride of her sect, and yet, he remained unscathed.

Lucavion, on the other hand, stood as calm as ever, his breathing steady, his stance relaxed. His estoc, coated with only a faint layer of mana, looked almost fragile compared to her glowing blade. And yet, he had deflected everything she'd thrown at him with an ease that made her feel like a novice.

"You've tried so hard," he said, his voice carrying just enough mockery to sting. "But there's no refinement in anything you've done."

Her blade trembled in her grip as his words cut deeper than any wound could.

"You don't understand the essence of your techniques," he continued, his smirk softening into something almost pitying. "You wield them as if learning the motions was enough. But techniques are more than that. They require understanding, precision, purpose. You lack all of it."

Lira's vision blurred with anger, her chest tightening as the weight of his words settled over her. She raised her blade again, but Lucavion simply shook his head, stepping back and lowering his estoc slightly.

"This isn't a fight," he said, his voice low and calm. "It's a demonstration of everything you've failed to grasp."

The crowd fell silent, their eyes fixed on the arena as Lucavion's words echoed through the space. And for the first time in the tournament, the Silent Thunder stood frozen, her confidence shaken to its core.

Lira's chest heaved as she stood motionless, her blade trembling slightly in her grip. The weight of the crowd's stares bore down on her. Her gaze flicked around the arena, taking in the expressions of those watching her. Some spectators wore narrowed eyes filled with suspicion, others whispered among themselves, their lips moving too quickly for her to decipher. A wave of unease washed over her, tightening her throat.

'Why are they looking at me like this?' she thought, her grip tightening on her sword. 'How did this happen? I'm supposed to be the victor, the one they admire, not... this.'

Her gaze snapped back to Lucavion, who stood before her, calm and composed as if he hadn't just humiliated her in front of thousands. His smirk widened as her eyes locked onto his, her fury barely contained. He tilted his head, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade.

"What?" he asked with mock innocence. "Are you waiting for the poison to act or not?"

Lira's eyes widened, the sharp intake of her breath betraying her shock. For a fleeting moment, panic crossed her face, her carefully constructed composure cracking. 'How does he know?' she thought, her mind racing. That was exactly what she had been thinking. She had counted on the poison to weaken him further, to give her the upper hand if the fight dragged on. But how could he possibly know that?

Lucavion's smirk deepened, his gaze gleaming with a quiet, cutting triumph. "Did you think I didn't know?" he said, his tone light but carrying an edge that made her blood run cold. "After all, isn't this exactly what the Cloud Heavens Sect excels at?"

Lira's heart sank, her grip on her sword faltering for a split second. She didn't respond, but the slight tremor in her hand betrayed her growing unease. The crowd murmured louder now, their whispers an oppressive cacophony in her ears.

Lucavion took a step closer, his estoc still resting at his side, his movements deliberate and unthreatening. Yet every word that followed felt like a strike to her core.

"Poisoning people, drugging them, and then taking advantage of them," he said, his voice dripping with mockery. "Especially men, isn't that right?"

The crowd gasped audibly, the weight of his accusation hanging heavy in the air. Lira's face burned, her anger boiling over, but beneath it was a flicker of fear. She opened her mouth to retort, to deny, to strike back with words as sharp as her blade, but nothing came out.

The memory of her mother's instructions, the image of her sect's carefully maintained reputation, flashed through her mind. She couldn't let this escalate. She couldn't let his words define her, define the sect. And yet, she had no idea how to regain control of the narrative spiraling away from her.

Lucavion tilted his head slightly, his smirk softening into something cruelly pitying. "What's wrong, Silent Thunder? Cat got your tongue?" His voice dropped, his next words meant for her ears alone. "Or are you too busy wondering when the poison will actually do its job?"

Her blade trembled in her grasp, the weight of his gaze, his words, and the crowd's suspicion pressing down on her like a storm she couldn't escape. Lira knew she had to act, but for the first time in her life, she didn't know how.

Lucavion's smirk widened, his confidence radiating like a blade poised to strike. He lowered his estoc slightly, tilting his head as if studying her—a predator toying with prey. His voice was calm, but the words that followed cut through the growing tension like a knife.

"If that's what you're waiting for," he said, his tone light but sharp enough to sting, "then you shouldn't waste your time. It won't come."

Lira's breath hitched, her eyes narrowing. "What are you talking about?" she demanded, though the faint tremor in her voice betrayed her growing unease.

"You're waiting for it to take effect, aren't you? Hate to disappoint you, Silent Thunder, but it's gone. I got rid of it already."

Her eyes widened, and for a split second, panic flashed across her face. 'Impossible,' she thought, her grip on her blade tightening. 'He can't have known. He can't have removed it...'

The crowd murmured louder now, a mixture of gasps and whispers rippling through the arena. Lira's chest tightened as she felt their judgmental eyes on her, their faith in her wavering with every word Lucavion spoke. Her sect's reputation, her own pride—both were being shredded before her very eyes.

Lucavion stepped forward, closing the distance between them. His smirk never wavered, his gaze piercing as he lowered his blade even further, a deliberate gesture of disdain. He gestured toward her with a faint flick of his wrist, as though inviting her to strike.

"Come," he said, his voice dropping low enough to be heard by her alone, though the venom in it was unmistakable. "For the first time in your life, come and get something on your own. Try, Lira Vaelan. Try to take something without parasiting off someone else."

Her fury ignited, a blazing fire that burned away her composure. His words struck at the very core of what she prided herself on, cutting through the layers of control and poise she had so carefully cultivated. Her knuckles whitened around her blade, her entire body tensing as her mana surged in response.

"You think you know me?" she spat, her voice trembling with suppressed rage. "You think you understand what I've fought for? You're nothing—a worm crawling in the dirt, and I'll crush you like one."

But Lucavion didn't flinch. His smirk deepened, his eyes gleaming with an infuriating calm that only stoked her anger further. "Then do it," he said simply, his voice a cold, taunting whisper. "Come and prove it."

Chapter 265: You are a parasite (3)

"Come and prove it."

Lira tightened her grip on her blade, her knuckles whitening as her breathing quickened. Lucavion's taunting words echoed in her mind, and for the first time in her life, they struck something deeper than rage—they struck fear. A fear she couldn't place, one she couldn't control. She had always been the strongest in her sect, her "talent" eclipsing those around her. But now, that very foundation felt like it was crumbling beneath her feet.

She forced her thoughts back to her training, to the countless lessons drilled into her by her mother and the elders of the sect. The Cloud Heavens Sect had molded her into what she was—a warrior of unparalleled rank among her peers, the prodigy who climbed higher than anyone else in half the time. While others struggled for every step forward, she ascended effortlessly, her body devouring mana at a rate no one else could match.

'Two stars when others were one,' she reminded herself, the memory a desperate attempt to ground her. 'Four-star by the time they reached three.'

Her blade began to glow, the wind mana around it intensifying as she focused. She wasn't done yet. There were still techniques she had yet to unleash, techniques she had held back because they were unnecessary. She had never needed to push herself before—not in her sect, where she was untouchable, and not outside it, where the sect's influence kept challengers at bay.

But Lucavion was different. He was a wall she had never encountered before, an unshakable force that refused to bow to her strength or the prestige of her sect. And as she stared into his maddeningly calm expression, she felt it for the first time—the weight of true resistance.

'The world isn't what I thought it was,' she realized, a cold shiver running down her spine. The thought unsettled her, and she hated it. She hated him for making her feel it. But more than anything, she hated the way it stirred something deep inside her—an unfamiliar drive to overcome.

Her mana flared around her, the air rippling as she summoned everything she had. This time, there would be no holding back.

"Fine," she muttered through gritted teeth. "You want to see what I can do? Then I'll show you."

Her blade moved faster, sharper, each strike carrying more precision than the last. She remembered her mother's voice, the lessons ingrained into her from childhood. Discipline, poise, strength. Each movement was a reflection of those teachings, a culmination of the training she had never truly needed until now. She cycled through the arts of her sect, the names of the techniques flooding her mind as she poured her mana into each one.

Tempest Fang. Spiraling Wind's Edge. Gale Dance Form. Heavenly Sky Rend.

One after another, the techniques flowed from her, each more powerful than the last. The arena seemed to shake with the force of her strikes, her blade carving through the air with deadly intent. The wind around her roared, howling like a storm as she pushed herself further than ever before.

But no matter how much she poured into her attacks, Lucavion remained untouchable. His estoc moved with infuriating efficiency, deflecting her strikes with the barest effort. He didn't counterattack, didn't press forward. He simply stood there, an immovable wall, forcing her to come at him again and again.

"You're stronger than this," she spat, her voice rising in frustration. "Stop holding back and fight me!"

Lucavion's smirk never wavered. "Oh, I am fighting," he said, his tone maddeningly calm. "This is me fighting. Efficient, isn't it?"

Her blade clashed against his again, the impact sending a jolt through her arms. She gritted her teeth and kept pushing, the wind around her blade growing sharper, fiercer. But deep down, she knew—knew that it wasn't enough.

For the first time in her life, she felt the weight of her own inadequacy. She had always been the strongest, the one who stood above everyone else without effort. She had indulged in that strength, spent her days as she pleased, never needing to push herself further. But now, she was facing someone who wasn't bound by the same limits, someone who didn't fold under her strength or her sect's shadow.

And for the first time, she pushed. Truly pushed. Not because it was easy, but because she had to.

Her strikes grew desperate, her mana surging wildly as she drove herself to the brink. The crowd was roaring, but she barely heard them, her focus narrowing to the man before her. Lucavion, with his infuriating calm, his maddening smirk, his unshakable defense.

'Just once,' she thought, her breath ragged. 'Just once, I'll break through. I'll make him falter.'

"Just once." Lira's breath hitched as Lucavion's voice reached her ears, cutting through her frenzied thoughts with uncanny precision. "Just once," he repeated once again, his tone calm yet chillingly deliberate. "This is what you think, isn't it?"

Her heart skipped a beat. It wasn't the words that froze her—it was the intent woven into them. An intent so sharp, so cutting, it felt like an invisible blade pressing against her throat. It wasn't mana, it wasn't technique, and yet it radiated a power she couldn't ignore.

Her eyes snapped up, locking onto his, and her blood turned cold.

Lucavion was staring directly into her, his pupils impossibly dark, as if they were voids that could swallow light itself. Within the darkness burned faint gray flames, small yet unyielding, their flickering glow carrying a weight that made her knees tremble. His smirk was gone, replaced by an expression so devoid of warmth, so utterly alien, that it sent chills coursing down her spine.

For the first time in her life, Lira Vaelan felt fear—not the fleeting fear of losing a match, but something deeper, more primal.

"This desperation…" His voice echoed, reverberating in her ears like a haunting melody. She couldn't look away, couldn't move. Her body felt paralyzed under the weight of his gaze. "Do you know who else had it?"

The air around her seemed to thicken, the noise of the crowd fading into the background. She opened her mouth to speak, to deny, but no sound came out. The weight of his words pressed down on her chest, suffocating.

Lucavion's expression darkened, and his voice took on an eerie, echoing quality, as though it came from everywhere at once. "It's the children you've been using."

********

What is the thing that you hate the most in the world?

Everyone has that something.

Their experiences shape it.

For me, there are some answers to this question, but in this case, there is one important one.

What do I hate the most?

It is the happening of children being ripped away from their opportunities.

My grip on my estoc tightened. The thought burned in my chest, a slow, seething rage that I rarely let surface. But now, as I stood face-to-face with someone who represented everything I despised, I let it simmer.

I hate it. I hate it more than anything.

Children are born into this world with infinite possibilities. They're blank slates, full of potential, their futures unwritten. And yet, there are those who take that from them—who steal the very essence of what makes them human. The Cloud Heavens Sect… they don't just trample on the efforts of others. They touch something far more sacred.

They steal from children.

'It's not enough for them to prey on the weak, to manipulate and corrupt their way to the top. No, they have to go further. They have to cross that line.'

The Cloud Heavens Sect is one of the most prominent sects in the world. Not because of their discipline, not because of their talent, but because they dared to embrace one of the vilest taboos.

They take children—orphans, abandoned, forgotten—and strip them of their potential. They siphon their mana, their vitality, their futures, and leave them as hollowed-out shells. Not even their names are left intact. Just broken remnants, shadows of who they could have been.

And they call it liberation.

My chest tightened as the memories of the novel flickered through my mind, the countless instances where the sect's atrocities had been revealed. Their "training programs," their so-called "sanctuaries" for abandoned youth—it was all a facade, a web of lies spun to justify their heinous practices.

The Cloud Heavens Sect's secret was one of the ugliest truths I'd ever come across in the novel, something that made my blood boil every time it was mentioned.

Each human possesses their own unique mana signature, shaped by their essence, experiences, and lineage. Yet, there are patterns—subtle consistencies in mana tied to familial bonds, bloodlines, and even gender. Families often share similar types of mana, and the same holds true for the division between sexes.

Female Awakened, by their nature, tend to generate a cold-blue mana, a calming energy often described in old texts as Yin. Male Awakened, in contrast, emanate hot-orange mana, fiery and aggressive, the essence of Yang. Together, these energies form a natural balance, a harmony that mirrors the broader truths of the world.

The Cloud Heavens Sect exploited this balance in the most despicable way imaginable.

Living Furnaces.