Chapter 317
ELIMINATED (2)
Jeremy had a flash of green pass through his eyes as he suddenly sprinted toward the confident Reuel with a wrathful expression. He abruptly gripped one of the needles embedded in his flesh and pulled it out.
From that small hole, green fog rapidly began to spread, covering the area. Reuel immediately realised this was poison. Jeremy had used one of his path methods to flood the area in an attempt to poison him to death!
Reuel's expression turned serious as he held his breath. As a novice, he could hold it for more than twenty-five minutes with ease—one had to remember that the longest recorded breath hold on Earth was twenty-nine minutes.
However, even with his breath held, he could feel a tingling sensation across his skin from the potent poison. He couldn't afford to stay for long, or he would be seriously poisoned, or even die.
He spun on his heel and immediately sprinted away from the general direction where Jeremy was.
But he couldn't take three steps before a needle cut through the poison from in front of him at incredible speed, forcing him to pause and lean back simultaneously, his head almost touching the ground as he somehow kept his balance.
From all around him, he heard a voice.
"Hmph. After I spent all that mana on this trump method, there's no way I'm going to let you off easy!"
"jeez... Why are you so upset?...is it cause I called you ugly? It's because I called you ugly isn't it. There is no need to upset, you can't control that you were born this way... with an ugly face I mean."
A frustrated and annoyed shout could be heard as suddenly, from several different positions, needles flew with clear intent to stab straight through Reuel.
Reuel slightly frowned, immediately realizing his plan hadn't worked perfectly. He still couldn't discern where Jeremy was. Without hesitation, he pushed off the ground and flipped backward, the sharp tip of a needle grazing past where his throat had been a split second earlier. While still airborne, he twisted his body mid-rotation, his spear flashing as he swung with precision, batting another needle aside and sending it spinning uselessly into the fog.
He landed lightly, barely bending his knees before another attack forced him to move again. His head tilted just enough as a sharp *whoosh* sliced past his ear, close enough that he felt the disturbance in the air. He stepped forward, then pivoted sharply, allowing another needle to skim past his back, missing by inches.
Reuel felt his body loosening rather than tensing, as if surrendering himself to the rhythm of the chaos around him. The green fog distorted distance and depth, needles appearing only a heartbeat before they struck, yet his feet moved instinctively, never lingering in one place for more than a fraction of a second.
A needle screamed toward his throat—he twisted at the waist, letting it skim past his collarbone close enough to raise goosebumps. Another came low, aimed for his knee; he lifted his leg mid-step, the metal grazing the sole of his boot before burying itself in the dirt behind him.
Two needles crossed paths in front of him. Reuel dropped suddenly, almost sitting into the fog, the weapons slicing through the space where his head had been an instant earlier. Using the momentum, he rolled over one shoulder and sprang back up, his spear flashing as he deflected a third needle with a sharp clang, the impact vibrating up his arms.
Reuel's movements were fluid and controlled, each dodge flowing naturally into the next. He weaved through the green fog with measured steps, bending, twisting, and shifting his weight at the exact moment needed. At times he leaned back just enough for a needle to pass over his chest; other times he turned sideways, reducing his profile so the attacks slipped by harmlessly.
It almost looked deliberate, as if he were guiding the needles rather than merely avoiding them. His timing was immaculate, his flexibility allowing him to move in ways that made the relentless barrage look slow.
Reuel appeared less like someone under attack and more like someone dancing through poison and steel.
"What the actual fuck! You fucking freak! How!! How!!" a frustrated growl could be heard.
Reuel still had the presence of mind to grin, his face was charming and infuriatingly calm even as he narrowly slipped past another needle."Indeed… How… How do you still have so many needles left! This is some ridiculous bullshit author!"
As he twisted in the air, his eyes flicked downward, catching sight of his own skin. Patches along his arm and side had begun to discolor, veins faintly visible beneath a sickly green hue. Small flakes peeled away as if his body itself was shedding under the poison's influence. Time was slipping away from him.
He couldn't stay here.
Left, right, back, forward—every direction was sealed by fog and steel. Down was no better.
So there was only one choice left...
Up.
Reuel gripped his spear tightly. With a powerful motion, he drove it downward and used it as leverage, launching himself skyward in a sudden burst of force. His body rose several meters into the air, the fog tearing away beneath him as he broke free of its suffocating grip.
For a brief moment, the world seemed to slow.
Reuel hung there, suspended above the battlefield as gravity hesitated. Against the backdrop of the poisoned mist, his ascent looked almost elegant—like he was gliding rather than falling, his form outlined cleanly against the open sky.
Then laughter erupted from below.
"Ha ha ha ha ha what an idiot! Now you have just made yourself an easy target! There is no way you can dodge this in mid air, take this you bastard!!!"
The fog beneath him churned violently.
From its very center, needles burst upward in a tight cluster, shooting into the sky like hunting projectiles. They didn't scatter. They didn't hesitate. Every single one curved and adjusted, locking onto a single point above.
Onto him.
Reuel's eyes narrowed as he watched them rise, the distance between steel and flesh shrinking rapidly. With no ground beneath his feet, the air itself felt like it was closing in around him.
The needles screamed through the sky, converging from every angle.
There was no chance to escape… Right?
"Finally found you…" a soft whisper escaped from Reuel's lips as his eyes flashed with dark blue, and what happened next would forever be an image engraved into Jeremy's mind.
In the far future, he would speak of this moment to others with an unshakable sincerity, convinced that no painting, no performance, no miracle he would ever witness could rival what unfolded before him.
With an air of majesty and sacrosanct, Reuel seemed to almost defy his surroundings, and with his spear gripped tightly, he began to… to… Dance. Yes—there was no other word for it.
Midair—where momentum should have betrayed him, where gravity should have claimed him—Reuel twisted his body with impossible precision. His spear became an extension of himself, not used to strike, but to guide, to redirect, to balance. A slight turn of the shaft altered his rotation; a subtle shift of his wrist changed the arc of his fall.
The needles reached him.
And missed.
One passed so close it parted a strand of his hair. Another skimmed his sleeve, tearing fabric but never touching skin. Reuel bent backward at the waist, spine curving just enough for three needles to slice past his chest where his heart had been a breath earlier. He rolled in the air, not hurried, not desperate.
A pivot of his hips sent his body spinning sideways, needles carving empty paths through where he had been. He extended one leg, then the other, using the rotation to thread himself through gaps no human should have been able to see, let alone exploit. His expression never broke—focused, serene, almost reverent.
The poison-stained wind rushed past him as he twisted, flipped, and glided between converging death. Every needle curved, adjusted, hunted—
—and still, they failed.
Reuel's form cut through the air with such elegance that it looked wrong... The spear traced arcs of silver light as he spun around it, sometimes pulling himself closer to it, sometimes pushing away, each motion measured down to fractions of a second.
Needles crossed paths behind him.
Below him.
Beside him.
Never through him.
It was almost uncanny—like the needles themselves refused to mar his visage, as though the world had silently agreed that this moment, and this figure within it, was not meant to be touched.
And Jeremy could only watch—breath caught in his throat—as the image burned itself permanently into his mind.
With the needles past him, Reuel steadied his grip and angled his spear, its blade finally aligned to fulfill the purpose it had been forged for—its will perfectly matched to its master's intent.
And then, with flawless form, Reuel began to fall.
It was like a deity descending to pass judgment upon a mere mortal below. The spear cleaved through the air with terrifying serenity, moving so cleanly that the atmosphere itself seemed unable to resist, simply parting and yielding before its path. There was no sound of strain, no roar of force—only inevitability.
Jeremy, trapped in his stupor, didn't move an inch. His eyes were wide, his mind frozen, utterly consumed by the imperial figure plummeting toward him. He could only stare as death took shape.
Reuel's face was devoid of emotion, empty of rage or triumph—an expression befitting an emperor delivering sentence rather than a man committing violence. Then came a wet, final thuck. The spear pierced cleanly through Jeremy's left eye, driving into brain and skull with horrifying precision. There was no excess momentum, no brutal follow-through—just perfection. Reuel's descent stopped instantly as he crouched atop the shaft, balanced effortlessly upon the pole.
His weight forced Jeremy's body forward, the small wings at the spear's head catching his insides and locking him in place. At the opposite end, the spike punched straight through the earth, anchoring everything as if the world itself had agreed to hold the pose.
With impossible balance, Reuel straightened, standing sideways against Jeremy's slumping form—using both the ground and the broken body beneath him as support as he stood on the spear—leaving Jeremy forced into a grotesque kneel, frozen in the moment judgment was passed.
Reuel leaned in slightly, his eyes scanning Jeremy's mangled face as a faint smirk played across his features. "Hey," he said softly, "look on the bright side… at least you look better than before."
Without another word, he shifted his weight, driving his left leg down with force. The spear followed in perfect synchronization, slicing cleanly through the rest of Jeremy's face with a wet, visceral tear. The bottom half of his visage split apart, flesh and bone parting in a grim, gory display that left nothing to the imagination.
Reuel stepped back, giving his spear a sharp flick of his foot. It spun gracefully into his hands, a weapon dancing with lethal elegance, as Jeremy's form began to fade, his presence slowly disappearing entirely into nothingness.
For a moment, silence reigned. The wind rustled gently through the trees, tousling Reuel's hair, carrying the echoes of the violent encounter. He allowed himself a satisfied nod before breaking the quiet, his voice calm but tinged with dark amusement. "You gotta admit… that was pretty fucking badass! "