Silence hung heavy. The hunters barely steadied themselves when a dull sonic boom shattered the air. Bang! Throne vanished, the shockwave ripping through fallen leaves. He materialized inches from a hunter clutching a round shield, blade raised high. The strike came clean, brutal, unadorned. No flourish. Just death.
The hunter's shield jerked up on instinct. The force that hit him was monstrous—like a dragon's claw slamming down. His legs, mid-retreat, buckled. He hit the ground hard, dazed, staring up as his shield split clean in two. The blade didn't stop. It arced toward his face.
Pfft—
Bone, muscle, leather—it all gave way. Throne felt the tear in his own arm muscles, the searing reminder that force cuts both ways. His body wasn't built for this. Didn't matter. He spun, scanning the chaos. Hunters closed in from all sides. A short spear blurred toward him. Bloodhounds Step.
The same combat art, a different body. Ten meters vanished in an instant. His twin swords thrust forward. Clang—
The greatshield hunter reacted fast, leaning back, angling his shield up. Sparks erupted as the blades scraped metal.
No time to breathe. Throne saw the man leap, spin, and kick. Senpou Leaping Kicks! Thud!! The brute—nearly two meters tall—shot backward like a kite in a gale. His ankles tore through dirt, carving twin furrows. He stopped, dazed, staring at Throne standing atop his shield, laughing like a madman.
Two hunters rushed in, flanking left and right. Rapier and machete slashed through empty air. Only an afterimage remained. "A, the intel's wrong," the bald hunter growled, struggling to track Throne's movements. "That guy's trouble." His voice was grim. "Strength like that's on par with the mage. Way beyond what we were told."
"I know!" A roared. He hurled a chain-bound short spear, missed twice, then yanked it back. His arms and waist twisted, swinging the weapon in a deadly arc. Whoosh... The chain spun like a windmill of death, clearing everything within ten meters. His mocking grin was gone. "Quick, surround and kill him!"
S didn't need the order. He lunged forward with two others, rapier flashing.
These weren't amateurs. High-ranking knights, their speed blinding. Two hand-crossbow bolts streaked toward Throne. He tilted his head, raised his blade. The bolts froze mid-air, inches from his face. The tips gleamed blue—poison. Gravity Magic?
A's eyes widened. He flicked his wrist, retracting the short spear, just as Throne lifted a foot. "Fall back!" Dragon-Storm Stomp. Boom!!! The ground caved beneath Throne's foot. A ring-shaped shockwave surged outward, dragon's strength fused with storm combat art. The air exploded.
The storm ripped through the clearing. Hunters tumbled, feet losing purchase. The shield-bearer raised his greatshield instantly, but even he couldn't hold ground. Through the chaos, Throne emerged, graceful as a dancer, blade glowing with azure light. Flying Boat Crossing. Ba-style swordsmanship—elegant, deadly.
Brilliant azure blade lights lingered in the air, clashing against shields, blasting hunters back. One man, straining to hold his ground, felt a sudden chill in his legs. He looked down. His legs were gone, severed mid-air. How—? The azure light was mesmerizing, but the invisible blade—the Moonveil—was the true killer.
The shield-bearer collapsed. The two hunters behind him froze, exposed, then scrambled to retreat. "Come back."
Star-frost pulsed purple. A gravitational pull dragged at their movements, slowing them. Simple Gravity Magic. Effective. Throne, the humanoid dragon, closed the distance in a flash.
His wrist twisted. Amplified strength surged through him. No windup needed—he swung the invisible blade. Secret Sword: Vortex Cloud Crossing. He stopped mid-motion, not from fatigue, but because the scene before him defied reason.
The blade cut through air, leaving a trail of pure white sword qi. His companions disintegrated mid-air, bodies crumbling into nothing. Hoo—
The man at the center of the carnage exhaled like thunder. His forearm muscles tore. His knees cracked with every step, yet he advanced, relentless. "You. Still want to stop me?!"
Huff, huff, huff... The hunter darted through the forest, silent and swift, a predator blending into the shadows. No trace of mockery remained on his face. He glanced back at the valley below, his expression easing slightly at the sight of the blood-red figure. Something was off.
If Throne had this kind of power, fleeing Summonwater Village made no sense. With that legendary witch at his side, they could've slaughtered everyone, Oleg included. A's instincts screamed—Throne had forced this strength, likely through some forbidden method.
So he ran. Only a fool would stand and fight. The plan shifted: stall until the High Priest arrived. That power couldn't last. Once the backlash hit, he'd return to finish the job. Logical. But as he tracked Throne's path, his face darkened.
Throne was heading straight for the battlefield where the two demigods clashed. Was he trying to get himself killed?! "A clever fly, using stealth?" Throne followed the valley. Distant rumbles echoed. Blood caked his armor. Sweat plastered his hair to his forehead. His helmet was long gone.
He'd drained the flask of crimson tears he'd taken from the Redmane army, desperate to heal his ravaged body. It barely helped. The Dragon Heart thumped relentlessly in his chest. His vitality plummeted. Only weeks of rest could stop it. But time was a luxury he didn't have.
"Still miles to go. First, this fly." His gaze locked on the mountain pass ahead. Beyond it lay the clash of Malenia and Radahn. "Your Highness, pinpoint the hunter's location." He called out again, low and urgent. Silence.
Ranni seemed lost in deep sleep, but Throne knew better. She was watching. "Your Highness, I can't turn back now. Do you want me to die for nothing?!" His voice sharpened. Finally, a long sigh answered. "Left rear, one hundred meters."
Ranni's emotions churned as she watched her most valued knight march toward death. She couldn't stop him. Instead, she pushed him closer. Throne knew Ranni didn't rely on eyes to see—her mental power was unmatched, the perfect tool to detect the stealthed hunter. "Thanks."
At this moment, he had no time to provide psychological counseling for Ranni, and the Sword Ghost and the Witch didn't need much communication. He simply pulled out his heavy staff and, like a waltz, suddenly turned around, a pale purple magic crest blooming on the staff. Meteorite Shower! The hunter saw the target stop and also hid in the shade of the trees, but magic was surging rapidly overhead.
His pupils constricted, still somewhat incredulous. How did he discover my Beast Stealth? This incantation could hide all his aura and form; logically, it should have been impossible to discover. But with five meteor spheres crashing down on his head, he could only dodge backward. Boom! Boom! Boom! Like pebbles hitting water, a large cloud of dust splashed up in the distance.
The meteorite staff could amplify the power of Gravity Magic, which was very suitable for Throne, who was not yet proficient. "Your Highness, where did he go?" Dust and broken wood could not obscure a demigod's mental power, and there was an answer very quickly. "On the ridge, he wants to circle around to your front!" Throne turned his head abruptly, but he couldn't sense anything.
The opponent possessed a strange incantation that could mask all intuition; no matter how strong the expert, they couldn't find a trace of him. A top-tier predator, but unfortunately, I am a hunter who doesn't even care about his own life! A rushed out of the dust and quickly looked at the valley, but lost track of Throne. He was puzzled for a moment but didn't think too much of it.
Approaching the battle zone of the two demigods, the violent energy had already made breathing difficult. The opponent doing this was clearly trying to take the opportunity to escape; there couldn't possibly be a madman who would actually charge into the middle of two demigods, right? Where? Under this premise, he first looked to the south, which was the direction away from the battlefield.
His eyes turned into beast-like vertical pupils, scanning the forest like thermal imaging, but he only saw insects and animals fleeing for their lives. "He actually didn't run that way?" He couldn't understand it. Before he could think it through, the hair on his body stood on end. Coming for me? But behind me is the decisive battle place of the two demigods! His intuition was screaming alarms.
The hunter abruptly looked to the west; even though the violent energy surging from the combat zone interfered with his vision, he still saw a blurred shadow. He appeared behind him, legs spread, waist crouched, staff pointing obliquely behind him, long blade extended forward, and several forces were stacking up. Gravity Cancellation.
Throne's entire body became incredibly light, but his legs, wreathed in spiral airflow, had already trodden into the ground. Storm Assault! The gale pushed his light body out; the speed was extremely fast, covering dozens of meters in an instant. Just as the hunter bent his legs to dodge, the swordsman opened his legs like a hurdler and stomped his toes on the ground. Bang!!
It was equivalent to driving a lightweight sedan with a tank engine. The already extremely fast speed suddenly increased several times over; his whole person seemed to fly, and in an instant, he almost had the sprinting speed of the Valkyrie. Dragon Stab. A sword technique without any frills, or rather, this speed was the strongest killing move.
The hunter's 'dodge' command had just reached his feet when that sword had already arrived before him. In all the world's swordsmanship, only speed is unbreakable. He only had time to cross his two short spears and press down; before the sparks could bloom, the sword had already pierced his abdomen. The hunter flew up, being pushed while sprinting.
The world blurred past him, a streak of colors and shapes. The sonic boom hit his ears a second too late—a deafening crack that rattled his bones. In the distance, white rings bloomed like ghostly flowers, each marking where the swordsman's foot had struck the ground. So fast. Throne's laughter ripped through the air, wild and unhinged, as he surged forward. His body screamed in protest, every nerve begging him to stop, but he didn't care. Speed was everything now.
Wind clawed at his face, stinging his skin. His short hair whipped back, and the thrill of power coursed through him, electric and intoxicating. He abandoned all caution, all restraint, and unleashed a strike that shattered the limits of Ashina, surpassed even Isshin. For a moment, he touched something beyond human comprehension. Is this what it means to forsake humanity?
The hunter clinging to the blade was paralyzed, his body trembling with shock. No counterattack came—couldn't come. The swordsman took another step, accelerating again. White rings bloomed in rapid succession, and the two figures streaked across the ridge like a pair of comets. Ahead, a vast clearing opened up, scarred and desolate.
Miles away, the demigods had reshaped the land itself. What was once a swamp now lay flattened, a barren wasteland of craters and sword marks. Trees and rocks were obliterated, leaving only the raw evidence of their clash. Throne's eyes swept the battlefield, searching, but neither combatant was in sight.
He tilted his head back, and his jaw slackened. Above, a celestial meteor plunged from the heavens, trailing fire and fury. Its sheer size and momentum were enough to awaken a primal terror in any mortal heart. Throne couldn't fathom the destruction it would unleash upon impact. "Ranni," he said, grinning ear to ear, "my luck's running hot today!"
He laughed again, teeth bared, but didn't slow down. Stopping wasn't an option—he might never regain this momentum. "The end's coming," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. Ranni didn't chastise him for dropping formalities. She was too focused on the madness unfolding before her.
She felt him accelerate again, and her voice cut through the chaos.
"Wait, you're planning to just charge in headfirst like this?!" Charging straight into Radahn's ultimate technique wasn't bravery—it was suicide. Throne's reply came without hesitation: "That's right!"