School Transmigration: I, Chosen as the Saint by Dragons at the Start-Chapter 219 --The Final Trap

Laine paid no attention to the boxer; instead, he methodically finished off the five individuals writhing on the ground, one by one.

These five were beyond salvation; ending their lives now was a mercy, a kind act in its finality.

During this moment, the boxer harnessed his formidable strength, and a short sword unexpectedly appeared in his hand.

With a sudden burst of movement, he propelled the short sword towards Laine, emitting a trail of white light.

Among the eight, the boxer’s prowess was unmatched, and now, bolstered by the arcanergy passed to him from the other two, his lethal strike was executed with astonishing speed, the short sword shimmering with a golden radiance.

For the boxer, the revelation of the hidden short sword was a do-or-die moment, leaving no room for retreat or second chances.

Laine, unwavering and undaunted, raised his long sword and struck forward in a flat slash.

Before the two blades even clashed, their sword auras collided, unleashing a thunderous roar, after which Laine remained unmoved.

The boxer’s face, however, was marred by the shock, blood seeping out, as the golden light began to wane.

With another leap forward, now within the reach of Laine’s long sword, the boxer hurled his short sword, resulting in an explosive sound as Laine deflected it away.

Undeterred, the boxer launched a series of heavy punches towards Laine.

Each punch aimed at Laine’s vital points.

Yet, Laine stood his ground, unwavering, parrying each attack with precise movements.

No matter how the boxer altered his assault, Laine was always one step ahead, blocking his attacks effortlessly.

The boxer’s spirit gradually faltered; unless he risked everything, he couldn’t inflict the slightest injury on Laine.

Suddenly, he thought of the two behind him and yelled, "What are you two idiots waiting for? Get moving! With the three of us together, we can surely defeat him."

He himself didn’t believe the words as they left his mouth.

They had started with eight, and now only three remained, the last two having transferred their remaining arcanergy to him.

Victory seemed an insurmountable task.

Indeed, the legs of the remaining two seemed to have been filled with lead, rooted to the spot with cold sweat streaming down their backs.

Distracted for a moment, the boxer saw Laine’s long sword rise in his right hand during the brief pause in his punches.

This is it, I’m done for, he thought.

With all his might, he leapt backward, concentrating his power to shield his head with his hands.

Given the opponent’s strength, he assumed his arms would be severed.

Surviving would be a miracle.

Subconsciously, he closed his eyes.

The next second, he heard the sound of a long sword cleaving through bone and the gush of blood, but felt no pain.

When he opened his eyes, Laine was standing with his back to him, the sorcerer’s right arm lying at his feet.

"You’ve made a mistake about something," Laine said to Stowe, utterly indifferent to the boxer behind him, who had become an inconsequential loser in his eyes.

"What mistake?" Stowe asked through clenched teeth.

"My relationship with Mithril is far from cordial. I’ve been more than fair to him, yet he remains ungrateful, convinced that I’m trying to suppress him."

For a moment, Laine was lost in reminiscence, but he quickly continued, "He’s not one to change easily. Moreover, our family’s creed dictates that once we embark on adventures, we must never reveal our lineage, to avoid exposing our kin."

"I’m sorry, Big Brother Laine," Stowe suddenly burst into tears.

"My attack on you was a moment of madness. Mithril does hold you in high regard. He shared his family matters with me because we are as close as brothers who have been through life and death together. Yet, I ended up betraying his trust... Big Brother Laine, for his sake, please spare me this time."

"Indeed, if you’re like brothers to him, given his nature, it’s very likely he naively disclosed our family affairs to an outsider."

"Yes, exactly that."

"Stand up," Laine said calmly.

"Thank you for sparing my life, Big Brother Laine," Stowe managed to stand up, wincing in pain, his left arm curled.

However, as soon as he steadied himself, Laine struck his left leg with another sword blow.

This time, Stowe couldn’t hold back his screams, instinctively clutching his severed limb, rolling on the ground in agony.

The poison powder hidden in his left hand smeared onto his severed leg, turning the flesh black instantly.

He couldn’t even hear his own screams of torment.

"I suppose Mithril told you his big brother would surely avenge him, right?"

Stowe on the ground was beyond responding, lacking even the strength to roll in pain.

"Pity, though. I am the younger brother; Mithril is the elder. This was the final trap he set with his not-so-bright brain, a trap of desperation that, surprisingly, worked."

Laine turned to address the three stunned individuals behind him: "You may go. Disqualify yourselves. I wish not to add to the casualties unnecessarily."

Without a second thought, the boxer walked off the square, with the other two quickly fleeing as well.

Laine pointed towards Stowe, proclaiming to the audience below, "He hasn’t surrendered; the match isn’t over yet."

There was no mercy for Stowe, who lay on the ground awaiting his fate.

Laine sprinkled top-grade spiritual medicine around Stowe before repeatedly piercing him with his long sword, allowing him to breathe his last only when noon arrived.

Owen watched the scene unfold with a sense of understanding until he spotted the captain of the guard, Sion, passing by the edge of the square.

He tapped Rose on the shoulder and said, "It’s time for you to go sell yourself."

Rose shot Owen a glare before descending the stairs.

Owen had initially planned to deal with the despicable Sion later that evening.

However, spotting Sion during the auditions prompted a change in his plans.

He sent Rose, who indeed had a talent for beguiling others.

Owen watched her transform into a delicate, naive young girl, pretending that she had a brother suffering from an incurable disease and wished to sell herself to raise money.

Sion fell for the act hook, line, and sinker.

His predilection was tormenting women, deriving satisfaction from their misery.

The arrival of a petite, adorable, and seemingly vulnerable girl like Rose could not have been more perfect for him.

He didn’t care how much truth lay in a woman’s words; to him, it was inconsequential.

What could a woman possibly do to deceive him? With his formidable strength, there were few in the city who could pose a threat to him.

Thus, he produced a thick stack of banknotes, beckoning Rose to follow him.

From a distance, Owen noticed bloodstains on the money and realized just how sharp his vision had become.

Rose followed Sion towards the southern part of the city, with Owen discreetly trailing behind, his presence all but erased.

After a series of twists and turns, they arrived at a dilapidated residence.

This house, crumbling and old, was no different from the other decrepit buildings in the south, exuding an aura of decay.

The sole distinction lay in the sizable backyard, cluttered with garbage and emitting waves of foul stench.

Situated on the eastern boundary of the city’s south, adjacent to a sewage ditch, the odorous blend of trash and sewage seemed to complement each other perfectly in Sion’s twisted mind, as he found the stench stimulating, a perverse arousal to his senses.

Carefully unlocking the three bolts on the front door, he let Rose enter the house.

Then, scanning the surroundings – front, back, left, right, and even the roof – to ensure no one was watching, he stepped inside and locked the door behind him.

"Upstairs," he directed Rose, with a hint of anticipation, "We’re going to play some games."

Giggling, Rose ascended to the second floor, entering a room before Sion, only to emerge moments later, eyes wide with an innocent terror.

"What’s wrong?" Sion asked, puzzled.

"There’s someone crazy here," Rose said fearfully, "He’s given his woman away to someone else."

"What are you talking about?"

Sion, now thoroughly confused, hurried towards the room, while Rose stepped aside.

"Where is this person?" Sion glanced inside, his irritation mounting.

"Yes, look carefully," she insisted.

Sion scrutinized the room, finding no sign of anyone.

"Utter nonsense, not a single woman is worth anything!" he exclaimed angrily, swinging a slap towards Rose.

Blood splattered at that moment, but of course, it wasn’t Rose’s.

Ice’s sword aura, fine as silk, precisely severed Sion’s left hand.

Sion stood frozen, not even understanding what had happened.

Rose, on the other hand, was the epitome of calm, stepping back slowly until she was behind Owen.

It was only when Sion’s gaze followed Rose that he noticed Owen’s presence, having not sensed anyone else there before.

"Who are you?" Sion asked mechanically.

"The one with a troubled mind," Owen replied, thrusting his sword again.

The strike didn’t seem fast, yet it wasn’t slow either.

To Sion, it appeared as though Owen was simply holding Ice and rushing towards him, but he found himself utterly unable to move his feet.

Time seemed to slow down, his body unable to keep up with his thoughts.

Sion watched clearly as the tip of Ice pierced his right shoulder, then with a delicate upward flick, his arm was sent flying.

Agonizing pain followed.

"Ah!"

He heard himself scream.

The sword, as it sliced through his arm, released an intensely hot sword aura, cauterizing the wound on his right arm, which ironically slowed the bleeding.

Several seconds passed before his brain registered the severe pain.

Sion, who only ever tormented women, could not withstand such torture and soon collapsed to the ground, unconscious.

"Is he dead?" Rose inquired.

"Of course not," Owen responded.

"I’m very precise with my strikes.

A man like him doesn’t deserve an easy way out."