SWNOVELXO Chapter 338: Fighting XV
Silence returned, but it no longer felt empty.
Instead, it felt… respectful.
[Rank 26 Champion Defeated: Varthos the Echoless Warden]
[Shell Reverb Mastery: 99.9%]
[You have unlocked: Origin Return – Final Echo Form (Locked at 100%)]
[Level: 606 → 608]
Leon dropped to one knee, panting. His fists shook, but his eyes were steady.
Roselia and Milim appeared from the upper walkway, expressions unreadable.
Naval just stared. "He fought with nothing… and won with everything."
Leon looked at his hands.
"No rhythm? I'll be the rhythm."
Leon didn't have time to recover—not really. The moment Varthos vanished into the after-realm, the arena morphed again. Stone reshaped itself into spiraling pillars that stabbed upward like cathedral spires. The ground grew pale, marbled with silver veins. The arena had transformed into something almost divine.
The crowd above had returned, hushed in awe.
"This arena…" Roselia whispered. "It feels… holy."
A radiant gong sounded.
From above, wings descended.
Not of feather or flame—but of blade and will.
Hovering just above the platform, descending with grace and menace, came a tall figure clad in glistening silver armor. Each shoulder bore a folded wing made of ten interlocked swords—each humming with a different frequency of battle aura.
The figure's face was concealed beneath a porcelain mask with a single eye etched in gold.
"Rank 25 Champion: Vel-Rael, Seraph of Ten Blades."
A single voice echoed across the arena, not from the announcer—but from the Seraph itself.
"Ascender. You have walked the echoes of pain and power. But only one who can withstand divinity's edge may cross the midway threshold."
Ten blades unfolded—hovering behind the Seraph like a fan of floating death.
Leon narrowed his eyes. He rolled his shoulders, golden crackles skimming off his skin.
"I've seen gods fall. I don't bow to blades."
The battle began instantly.
No countdown. No warning.
Just motion—blinding motion.
Vel-Rael launched forward, blades orbiting like a planetary storm. One thrust, two slashes, three spins—all in perfect synchronicity. Leon dodged narrowly, feeling each blade sing past his neck.
He activated Shell Reverb: Absolute Return, trying to predict the tempo.
It failed.
"Each blade is on a different tempo!" Leon realized.
One moved to a war rhythm. Another to a heartbeat. One seemed to mirror his own footfalls.
Leon ducked, rolled, pivoted—and for every step, a blade answered him.
"Shell Reverb: Echo Fragment – Counterstep."
He split his motion echoes into scattered footwork, forcing the blades to lose sync for half a second.
In that window—he struck.
Fist to chest.
The Seraph staggered.
Phase Two: Judgment Spiral
Vel-Rael rose, eye flashing.
All ten blades converged above his head and formed a halo of rotating swords.
Then they descended, not one at a time—but as a spiral, a vortex of slicing fate.
Leon crossed his arms, layering his defenses:
Body Force: Overgrit Skin
Aether Blood: Auto-Coagulate Surge
Gold Magic: Luster Shield
Shell Pulse: Origin Drift
The storm hit.
The arena was consumed in a typhoon of silver fury.
Blood sprayed. His overgrit tore. His left shoulder dislocated. Luster Shield cracked.
He dropped to one knee, coughing up blood.
[HP 17%]
Leon's lips curled back into a grin, blood staining his teeth.
"You want divinity?" he growled.
His staff snapped into his palm.
The arena dimmed—and then flared brighter than before as Leon unleashed his full core fusion:
Destruction Core
Aether Blood Core
Gold Magic Core
Shell Pulse Echo
All synced to one heartbeat.
His own.
The staff struck the ground—and ten spears of condensed Destruction Mana roared into the sky, slamming into the Seraph's blades and shattering three of them instantly.
Leon followed through—his staff a blur.
The Seraph raised its remaining blades to parry.
But now Leon wasn't attacking.
He was conducting.
"Shell Pulse: Origin Echo – Karmic Loop."
He let Vel-Rael's attacks hit him—but reversed the kinetic trail mid-blow, sending the power back, layered with Destruction and Aether feedback.
A blade snapped. Then another.
The Seraph stumbled.
Leon leapt.
"You fought with ten blades."
"But I fight with ten lives worth of pain."
Final strike: a staff spin, charged with Abyssal Mana, threaded with Gold, and crowned by the full return of every strike Leon had endured since entering the Obsidian Arena.
He landed it squarely on Vel-Rael's core.
Silence.
The halo shattered.
The Seraph dropped to one knee, blades vanishing one by one.
"You have passed... the judgment of the halfway mark," the Seraph whispered.
Then, fading into ash and light:
"Go. Your trial continues beyond mortals."
Aftermath
[Rank 25 Champion Defeated: Vel-Rael, the Seraph of Ten Blades]
[Level: 608 → 610]
Leon exhaled slowly, falling to one knee, staff digging into the obsidian.
The platform was scorched. The sky above, silent.
Milim looked ready to jump down and carry him back.
Roselia didn't speak.
Roman saluted quietly.
Naval murmured, "He's not even done."
Leon chuckled darkly, wiping blood from his eye.
"Next... Twenty-four more."
"And then, I find out what waits at the top."
The arena shifted again—but this time, the transformation was not one of stone or fury.
It was silence.
White parchment unfurled beneath Leon's feet. The walls became endless shelves of scrolls, tomes, and crystalline tablets. The scent of aged ink and memory filled the air. The arena floor was lined with countless runes, arranged in patterns that shifted with every footstep. It was not a battlefield—it was a library sanctum of the ancients.
Above, ink-black crows circled.
A figure stood at the far end.
Tall, robed in parchment-colored silk etched with moving script, its face concealed by a mask resembling a blank sheet of paper.
In its hand: no weapon.
Only a pen.
A single, feathered quill that pulsed with ink-black mana.
"Rank 24: Archivist Vaer'Zhul, Keeper of the Pale Archives."
Leon narrowed his gaze.
No blade. No muscle.
And yet the pressure... was immense.
"Prepare," came a whisper—more written than spoken. "You face the echo of every warrior's forgotten truth."
Vaer'Zhul waved the quill once.
Instantly, spectral pages shot outward, encircling Leon. Each page held a memory—his memory. Battles. Fears. Mistakes. Wounds.
Then—
They attacked.
The pages became constructs. Shadows of his past selves—versions of Leon at Tier V, Tier VI, Tier VII. Dozens of echoes charged him in synchrony.
"Shell Pulse: Karmic Loop — Defensive Layer."
Leon's aura flared as he spun, blocking and redirecting attacks, but each echo fought as he once had. They anticipated him.
He was being forced to fight his entire journey, mistake by mistake.
Blood spattered.
He destroyed five echoes—but eight more surged in.
"Destruction Core — Lash Wave!"
A red arc of ruin tore through the arena, shredding spectral pasts into ash. But it was a delay—Vaer'Zhul had barely moved.
He dipped his quill again.