The Extra's Rise-Chapter 174: Divine Swordsman (2)

I abandoned the momentum of Tempest Dance Technique the moment I felt the shift in Lucifer’s stance. If I pushed forward now, I’d be walking straight into his counter. The moment he executed a Grade 6 movement, all the energy I had built up would collapse like a house of cards.

So I switched to God Flash.

The world blurred. A sonic boom echoed behind me as I vanished, reappearing in front of Lucifer at hypersonic speed. The sheer force of my acceleration warped the air, the ground beneath me fracturing from the pressure.

Lucifer’s response was instantaneous. He shifted into the second movement of Myth of the Northern Peak: Northern Gale.

A violent storm of ice and wind erupted around him, laced with raw destruction. A better choice than his first movement, but still not the right one.

Light clashed against frost. My longsword met his, and his wintry mana shattered beneath the brilliance of my attack. The moment my light touched him, I saw the grimace tighten on his face, his verdant eyes flashing with irritation.

Then—

BOOM.

I barely had time to retreat before the explosion of force sent tremors through the arena. I skidded back, my boots digging furrows into the stone, my body thrumming with the sheer impact of the clash.

’What a monster.’

Even with God Flash active, even with me moving faster than the eye could track, Lucifer had managed to stop the worst of it. His Yin-Yang Body had negated much of the damage, keeping him standing.

Still, he had lost the exchange.

Why?

When two martial arts techniques clashed, the victor was determined by three factors: synergy, mastery, and the sheer amount of mana infused into the strike.

Lucifer and I were equal in mastery. The mana infused? Near identical.

That left synergy.

And Northern Gale was the wrong choice against God Flash.

Lucifer had tried to meet speed with sheer destructive force, but that wasn’t how God Flash worked. My technique didn’t simply rely on overwhelming power—it was about flow, momentum, piercing through weakness. His Northern Gale had given me too many openings, too many paths through his defenses.

Lucifer exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders as if testing the damage.

__________________________________________________________________________________

The air around them crackled as swords met once more, light and darkness clashing in a maelstrom of raw, unfiltered power. Arthur pushed forward, each strike of God Flash a relentless surge, faster, stronger, building with each exchange. Lucifer met him blow for blow, his sword flickering between black and white, countering each strike with a precision that would have shattered any lesser opponent. But Arthur wasn’t any lesser opponent.

Lucifer’s stance shifted. A subtle thing, barely noticeable to most, but Arthur recognized it instantly. Lucifer was adjusting. His movements became sharper, more refined, the angles of his counters growing narrower, more exact.

Arthur wasn’t just fighting a powerful opponent—he was fighting an opponent who was learning, adapting with every passing second.

Lucifer’s eyes gleamed, and suddenly, the air froze.

Arthur felt it before he saw it—the unmistakable weight of absolute cold, sinking into his bones. Lucifer’s sword swept forward, coated in an ethereal frost that seemed to devour light itself.

Frozen Zenith.

Lucifer’s third movement. A technique honed to perfection, not just an attack but an answer to overwhelming speed. The icy aura wrapped around his blade, a jagged corona of frost that slowed everything it touched. A perfect counter to God Flash.

Arthur’s blade met it, and for the first time, his momentum faltered.

The sudden shift in temperature sent a jolt through his nerves, forcing his muscles to adjust mid-strike. His movements, which had flowed like an unrelenting tide, now met resistance, like wading through a frozen river.

Lucifer pressed forward, his sword dancing with frost as he took control of the rhythm, shifting from defense to offense. Each swing of his blade left behind ghostly trails of ice, freezing the ground beneath them, turning their battlefield into a domain of crystalline death.

But Arthur wasn’t about to let go of the fight.

With a deep breath, he activated Lucent Harmony even more, the silver sigils on his arms flaring. His mana surged, counteracting the oppressive cold, forcing his limbs to move despite the creeping frost. His sword flickered, and he resumed his assault, undeterred, carving through the ice with sheer willpower.

They clashed again, the battlefield a symphony of shattered frost and burning light. Arthur’s relentless offense continued to push Lucifer back. Even Frozen Zenith, as masterful as it was, could only slow him down, not stop him.

Lucifer’s expression remained impassive, but Arthur noticed the slight furrow in his brow, the measured breaths between exchanges.

Arthur was winning.

He was forcing Lucifer back.

For the first time, Lucifer Windward was on the defensive.

And then, Lucifer’s stance changed.

Arthur felt it before it happened—the shift in pressure, the way Lucifer’s mana coiled tighter, denser. A storm waiting to be unleashed.

Lucifer exhaled, his black-and-white aura intensifying, condensing into something darker, heavier. The atmosphere grew suffocating, the gravity of his presence warping the space around them.

And then—his eyes gleamed with something far more dangerous.

Arthur’s instincts screamed.

Third Stage.

Lucifer Windward was done holding back.

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Each strike that Arthur and Lucifer exchanged sent shockwaves rippling across the arena, the sheer force of their clash distorting the air itself. The ground beneath them cracked under the relentless pressure of their battle, yet only one of them was being pushed back.

Lucifer Windward.

The golden-haired prince of the North, the so-called Child of Prophecy, the undisputed Rank 1 of the first years—was losing.

In the stands, disbelief rippled through the crowd, murmurs swelling into open astonishment.

Leon scratched at his unruly red hair, his golden eyes flickering between the arena and the projection screens above. "Hey, Phantom Reaper," he said, his voice half-joking, half-baffled, "this isn’t some kind of illusion, right? You’re not messing with reality again?"

Valerie’s brows furrowed sharply, irritation sparking in her black eyes. "Of course it’s not, you idiot!" she snapped. "Are you blind or just too dense to accept what’s in front of you?"

"Oi, you can’t call me an idiot when you’re younger than me!" Leon shot back, his voice rising in protest as the two began bickering like old rivals.

Duke Blazespout ignored their antics, his sharp gaze never leaving the battlefield. "Quite the unexpected development," he mused, his voice slow and measured. "Wouldn’t you say, Master Li?"

Li Zenith, the young Master of Mount Hua, did not immediately respond. His eyes were locked onto Arthur’s movements, watching every shift of his stance, every micro-adjustment to his footwork.

"Yes," he finally said, his tone calm, but beneath that, laced with something almost akin to disbelief.

He knew Arthur was strong. He had trained the boy himself, had witnessed his monstrous talent firsthand. But even he hadn’t expected this.

Lucifer Windward was a once-in-a-millennium prodigy. The kind of talent that reshaped history. Even among Radiant-rankers, even among the legends of today, none had reached his level of power at sixteen.

And yet, the gap between Lucifer and Arthur was wider than anyone could have imagined.

Just what was Arthur Nightingale?

The Duke rested his chin against his palm, watching Arthur with an expression that was no longer merely interested—but invested.

Then, something shifted.

The air itself changed.

A tremor passed through the battlefield, invisible yet undeniable. Mana twisted unnaturally, responding to something.

A pressure unlike anything before pressed down on the arena. A presence that sent a ripple of silence through the audience, through the VVIP box, through even the strongest figures watching.

Paul Lucrian inhaled sharply, his usually impassive expression finally betraying something close to anticipation.

"He’s finally about to show it," he murmured.

The others knew it too. Every gaze in the VVIP box locked onto the arena with razor-sharp focus.

Because they were about to witness something rare. Something that defied normal classification.

A true, proper supernatural ability.

A Gift.

Not just one that enhanced reflexes or strengthened spells—no, a Gift that birthed new types of mana itself.

And for the first time in the match, Lucifer Windward smirked.

Because it was time.

To show the world the power that would make him the Second Hero.

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