Chapter 26
Theo prepared himself not only to launch an attack but also to bear the traces, for every stroke he made in this moment would be etched into the lives of those who could not refuse the script.
Something about the technique did not originate from the sky.
Not from the floor.
Not from the right or left.
Instead, it emerged as a summons from within the opponent's body, like a needle lighting up the pulse map all the way to the heart.
The space bore witness to an invisible horror, for the blade guided by this technique traveled through unseen channels, embedding itself in organs as the starting point of wounds, spreading into a bleeding that cared nothing for distance.
Its reach was not small, but tens of meters, transforming its presence into punishment for anyone standing within the circle of fate—a law that clung to the body even if the spirit tried to escape by leaping to the highest dimension.
Teleportation no longer guaranteed safety, for the technique did not pursue the body's position externally, but mapped the core that gave life to that body—and from there wove wounds that could not be easily healed.
For Theo, the fact that the technique was incomplete added another layer of absurdity.
Half-formed, yet capable of altering the flow of the story—an imperfection that became a weapon, a weakness that ensnared destiny.
Within his chest, a mix of shame as a negligent writer and determination as a guardian aware of the consequences took root—because every time this technique pierced, it was not only muscle that tore but half-finished chapters that became stained.
He felt the weight of responsibility.
Not from a desire for power, but from an addiction to the continuity of the story and the fragility of Ilux's fate, which always depended on what transpired on this stage.
Even though the technique emanated from his body as an extension of another identity he carried, Theo sensed that releasing it was like signing a contract that might never be reprinted.
He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again, accepting that the choice had been made.
'Heh, you could blink a thousand times in a second, Cru, but your speed is starting to waver.
I can feel it—your steps begin to echo in the gaps of time, your pulse leaving shadows in the air.'
Tsraak!
'Golden opportunities must never be wasted.
Now, accept this, Internal Technique Tech—n—'
Oooffh!
'Tck, what is this? Why is my body—'
"...."
'No, not my body.
The space.
The time.
Everything has been forced to halt.'
"...."
'So this is it, Sa, huh? The bastard authority that makes law obey only your will.
Damn! Now I understand why you're never afraid of attacks.
Because you are not fighting within this world—you control it!
You decide what moves, what freezes, what may breathe, and what must remain stone-still.'
"...."
'Damn system, freezing me as if I were only a side character in an unfinished script.Savage!!'
Amid chaos moving faster than reason, Theo felt his body trapped in an invisible crystal, every muscle refusing to move except for the will beating wildly in his chest.
The Internal Severing Technique he had just unleashed immediately lost control under Sa's authority—a sacred law that only the Administrator could wield—stretching before him like an unseen web, freezing space and time within a five-meter radius.
Cru appeared at unpredictable points, hovering between the slivers of reality that Theo understood as the edges of the world.
Thus, even though his speed began to decrease, every step remained intimidating, forcing Theo to realize that whatever he did was no longer within his control.
All he could do was watch, closing his eyes briefly while feeling the strange vibrations in the air that signaled the closeness of his opponent's strike to his skin—and the burning frustration in his chest mixed with the panic of a writer suddenly turned pawn in his own script.
The surrounding space became a frozen liquid, time dripping slower than usual, and every inch of Theo's steps was blocked by invisible forces.
His intent to strike, pierce, and tear became an illusion, trapped within his own body, as if his mind and body existed in two separate realms.
Cru approached.
Every movement was light yet deadly, signaling the authority of Sa operating according to its will, indifferent to whether Theo was ready or not.
This law took no visible form, could not be evaded, and could only be felt through nerve-piercing tension and tremors running through the bones—as if the world and the characters he knew were suddenly sucked into a law so new.
Theo swallowed hard, realizing that although he was a masterful writer and ruler of imagination, here he was only a pawn forced to submit to a greater rule.
Sa was not merely a command, but a manifestation of the power maintaining the balance of Flo Viva Mythology, freezing anyone who challenged the flow.
He felt his heart race.
Not solely from Cru's attacks, but from the awareness that the manuscript he had painstakingly written was now held in hands larger than his own.
And every move he tried to make was a gamble between life, honor, and the continuity of the scenario he had preserved.
Theo froze, his body remaining motionless, his eyes red as he stared at Cru hovering closer.
'BEAST!!
That cursed spear finally pierced through, burning my bones like fire.
But—hah—thank you, Cru.
This pain releases me from your awful Sa.'
Praaak!
Husssh!
'So this is the price of freedom?
A little torn flesh to reclaim control over my own body.
Fair enough, at least in my view.'
Ngiiiing!
'Now it's my turn—One Point, Nine Acupuncture Completed Technique.'
Buuuung!
'Heh, look at that, Cru. Right in the stomach and back.
Didn't expect a perfect system like yours could still bleed.'
Huuuuh!
'Moreover, that's not ordinary blood.
More like metal trying to mimic flesh.
Interesting… very interesting.'
Theo drew a deep breath, trying to calm himself as the heat from the tear in his left shoulder spread down to his bone.
He endured every pang of pain, straightened his body, and without hesitation unleashed the One Point, Nine Acupuncture Completed Technique with the precision of a writer who knew the flow of every movement of his characters.
In a single motion, the sword struck, executing forty-five slashes at once without ever fully leaving its sheath—only slightly lifted—piercing through Cru's previously impenetrable defenses, forcing him to pause momentarily.
Cru's front stomach and back, once appearing as shiny layers of metal camouflaged between existence and nonexistence, were cut and gaping, giving Theo a measure of how much his opponent could withstand such extraordinary attacks.
In the silence that seeped into the air after the clash, faint blue light from Theo's slashes reflected across the area that had once been empty before Cru.
Fine dust swirled, dancing in the beams piercing through the thin mist, emphasizing that although Cru's body existed in a semi-transparent form, the impact of physical strikes and Inti Lu remained real and undeniable.
Theo felt the pulse of adrenaline coursing through every vein, every movement following the rhythm of logic and instinct intertwined, merging a writer's strategy with the reflexes of a newly forged Samurai.
Yet, at the same time, Theo knew this victory was not the end of the battle.
Every mark on Cru was a warning that the Administrator manifestation could alter its own laws, that the space and time around it could shift at any moment, and that every successful strike to its physical form was only a temporary pause against a greater unseen will.
To be continued…