Timeless Assassin-Chapter 456: No Room To Interfere

(Lewis Hamilton Arena, The Commentator’s Box)

"Oh my Lord! Ladies and Gentlemen, Leo Skyshard has suddenly upped the ante! He’s raining blow after blow on Veyr and the mighty Transcendent warrior has no answers!" Dana exclaimed, voice cracking with disbelief as he grabbed his own headset in shock.

"You’re absolutely right, Dana. Just two minutes ago, Veyr had the upper hand, but something seems to have flipped. Leo’s reading him like an open book," Joe added, shaking his head in awe. "This isn’t just speed or strength. This is calculated brutality."

"What’s going on though? How has there been such a huge shift in momentum? In all my years commentating fights, I’ve never quite seen anything like this and I can’t understand what’s going on?

Do you have any idea Joe?" Dana asked, as Joe simply shrugged his shoulders in response.

"I’m just as clueless as you are, Dana. But whatever Leo Skyshard just unlocked... it’s made him stronger than a Transcendent-tier warrior while still being a Grandmaster.

I don’t think I need to explain just how monumental such a breakthrough might be..." Joe said, unaware that in this very moment, he had just uttered one of the most iconic lines in combat history.

—-------------

(Meanwhile on the Battlefield)

*CLANG*

*SLASH*

*STEP*

*CUT*

Leo moved with an unnerving rhythm, weaving between Veyr’s sluggish defenses with eyes that saw more than simple motion.

After every few clashes, a new glowing red dot flared up on Veyr’s body, and every time it did, Leo attacked it without delay.

*SLASH*

Just like the red line showed him, Leo followed the path it outlined precisely, twisting at his waist, rolling his wrist, bending his elbow in a way that looked too relaxed for combat— yet the moment Veyr went to block the wrong part of his body, Leo straightened sharply and delivered the attack to the exposed area.

*SLASH*

A brutal cut to Veyr’s tricep drew a lot of blood.

*SWIPE*

Another hit to the ribcage left Veyr gasping for air.

*STAB*

A third attack, this time to the collarbone. A perfect thrust, which left the transcendent warrior reeling backwards as his left arm momentarily lost feeling.

*CLANG*

Veyr tried to hold, as he desperately parried a strike to the throat, dodging a dagger aimed at his thigh, and even managing to land a backhanded swipe that forced Leo to retreat half a step.

But it wasn’t enough.

Leo’s eyes remained sharp.

Focused not on Veyr’s blade or footwork, but on the red.

The crimson guide that danced between them like a living script of the fight.

*SLASH*

*CUT*

*JAB*

Every blow that landed created more red dots.

The more damage Veyr took, the more his body began to betray him.

And the more his defense faltered, the clearer the next target became.

As soon, Leo saw another red dot.

This time on the lower abdomen. Near the navel.

A soft spot. A place Veyr had no strength left to cover properly.

Leo stepped in, fainted a high jab to force the arm upward—

And then came the real strike.

*SWOOSH*

*SLASH*

A devastating horizontal cut swept cleanly across Veyr’s gut, his armor offering no resistance as the blade ripped through the soft tissue underneath.

"OOOFFF—!" Veyr gasped, staggering backward, a mess of blood soaking through his midsection as he clutched his stomach with both arms, breath shallow and uneven.

"My god... Leo just sliced him open!" Dana shouted. "That’s it! That’s a clean hit to the core! Veyr’s wide open!"

"He’s not just hurting him, Dana... he’s psychologically humiliating him," Joe said quietly, stunned into a rare pause. "Veyr’s in a world of trouble now.... If he moves too sharply, his innards might spill, this is a huge turning point for this fight."

*Gasp*

*Shock*

*Isolated Cheers*

The crowd was stunned into silence for a heartbeat.

And then—

A thunderous wave of noise exploded through the arena. Cheers. Gasps. Screams. Even cries of disbelief.

"HE GOT HIM!"

"That’s it! That’s a fatal cut!"

"No way! Veyr might really lose this fight."

Some members of the audience said, as they watched on anxiously.

—----------

(Meanwhile, in the VIP stands)

The Fourth Elder gripped the armrests of his chair so tightly that the veins in his forearms bulged through his robes.

His eyes were wide, his jaw slightly slack, as he stared at the blood-soaked figure of Veyr staggering across the battlefield, barely upright, clutching his stomach like a man trying to barely hold himself together.

"No... no no no... this wasn’t how this was supposed to go," he muttered under his breath, his voice too soft to be heard over the roaring crowd, but loud enough for the dread to echo inside his skull.

He shifted in his seat, legs jittering, eyes scanning the crowd as if searching for someone, anyone, who might confirm this was just a nightmare and not the slow-motion implosion of his entire political career.

’How is he losing?! Veyr is a Transcendent. He was supposed to crush Skyshard in under five moves!’

His heart pounded, not for the sake of Veyr probably not becoming Dragon, but for self-preservation.

The entire foundation of his political relevance depended on the outcome of this fight.

And if Veyr lost, he would be done.

’Is this fight rigged? Did someone interfere? Was Leo Skyshard hiding this level of power the whole time? No... no, it doesn’t make sense. This is impossible...’

His eyes darted toward the edge of the battlefield where Soron sat.

The great god watched the action unfold with a calm expression, as the Fourth Elder’s hands twitched with anxiety.

He had a fleeting thought, a desperate whisper from the back of his panicked mind—

’Stop the fight. Jump in. Call foul. Disqualify the brat. Do something. Anything.’

But the moment his eyes returned to Soron... that thought died a quiet death.

He slumped back into his seat, the illusion of control ripped from him like a curtain caught in a storm.

There would be no interference.

Not while Soron was present.

Not unless he wanted to die before he ever touched ground.

And so, all he could do like everyone else in the stadium was watch the inevitable unfold, hands trembling, throat dry, as the boy he had thought of so lightly, now methodically dismantled his champion.

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