"Ahh, another futile attempt." Vikram didn't rush to interrupt. Instead, with each deliberate step forward, the blue aura that wrapped around his body intensified, growing larger, yet strangely focused, its chaotic flames coalescing into sharp points aimed squarely at his head.
The old man's preaching faltered under this shift. The disordered blaze of aura steadied into something more precise, more controlled. The ancient figure lunged toward him, but Vikram remained calm, his Great Sword enveloped in the electric-blue glow of his aura.
The moment the old man stepped into his domain, Vikram moved.
His Great Sword trembled violently, as if straining to break free, and then a crescent of brilliant blue light surged forward. This was no ordinary strike. The difference between this crescent and his previous attacks was staggering. Speed and sharpness combined with such overwhelming force that when the old man tried to parry with his own Great Sword, Vikram's crescent sliced through it effortlessly, cleaving the blade in two and tore through the old man's armor like paper.
A faint roar, like that of a dragon, echoed through the air as blood splattered across the battlefield. The old man crumpled to his knees.
Vikram's gaze flicked to the boss's health bar. Half of it had vanished in a blink.
A satisfied grin crept onto his face. The perfected techniques he'd honed had delivered a blow of astonishing power.
Yet beneath that pride simmered a reluctant truth. Without the intervention of the Game, the mysterious system that governed this brutal arena, he would never have achieved such a devastating strike.
What was the value of all those deaths he'd endured, all that pain and sacrifice, if it only served to feed the Game's mechanics? Could he truly claim the credit?
No. Vikram despised taking credit for what wasn't purely his. Still, he acknowledged the part he played, a small, stubborn fraction of the whole.
In the end, he conceded with a bitter smile. The Game deserved ninety percent of the credit for this breakthrough, and he could claim the remaining ten.
He hated admitting it, but honesty demanded no less.
As these thoughts churned in his mind, the old man completed his transformation, revealing his grotesque, monstrous form with a savage roar.
The creature lunged at him, claws bared.
Vikram's grip tightened around his Great Sword, the blue aura flaring wildly along the blade's edge.
Iron Tyrant Sword Art!
The wind screamed as the Great Sword whipped through the air like a raging tempest. The aura on the blade writhed and snapped, a fierce tempest of power.
The bat-like beast was pummeled mercilessly. Its claws faltered, battered like brittle twigs under relentless strikes.
Vikram's eyes glinted cold steel. His entire form was a remorseless instrument of death.
A faint silhouette of a dragon seemed to lash out from his sword, its fierce energy suppressing the beast further.
The creature thrust its shoulder forward, an opening. Like a coiling serpent, the Great Sword struck true.
But the monster only sneered, cruel and defiant.
It pressed down hard on the Great Sword, attempting to crush Vikram with claw and jaws alike.
Vikram's grin widened.
In an instant, his hand slipped off the sword, closing the distance with terrifying speed until he stood chest-to-chest with the beast.
Then, he struck a devastating uppercut.
Those who believed [Knights] were weak in close combat compared to [Barbarians] had never felt the force of a Knight's fist.
Vikram's arms, shrouded in sharp, cutting aura, connected with bone and sinew. He felt the creature's strong bones resist the impact, but his aura flowed through the resistance, tearing into flesh and spirit alike.
The sharpness of his aura carved havoc into the creature's head.
But Vikram knew better than to expect victory so easily.
This monster had the vitality of three elephants, and its corrupted energy twisted around its wounds, stubbornly resisting his attacks.
There was no room for mercy, not here, not now.
Vikram tightened his fists and prepared to press his assault relentlessly.
He would not give this abomination a moment's respite.
Vikram swung his leg in a wide arc and slammed it hard onto the beast's left leg. The impact felt like kicking an ancient, gnarled tree, solid and unyielding. But he had infused it with his Aura, and the force wreaked havoc nonetheless. The creature faltered, its leg buckling as it dropped to a knee.
Using the beast's right leg as a stool, Vikram kicked off and propelled himself upward.
With a vice-like grip, he seized the bald head of the creature and slammed his knee into it. Before the creature could react, Vikram raised his elbow, glowing with a menacing blue light, and crashed it down onto its skull.
The monster hit the ground with a heavy thud, but Vikram's instincts screamed danger. Something was stirring in the air, something far from benign.
The moment the creature crashed down, Vikram's Great Sword slipped free from its bark-like skin and clattered onto the ground beside the beast. Swiftly, Vikram snatched it up and backed away, creating distance between them.
His throat tightened as a dark, bloody aura bloomed around the creature.
Out of the corner of his eye, Vikram spotted the health bar hovering above the beast's form, only twenty-five percent remained. And that was despite the series of critical hits Vikram had landed. The creature's vitality was unlike anything he had ever seen.
Then doubt crept in. Was his Aura playing tricks on his vision? Because while the health bar was dropping rapidly, the creature's physical form seemed to grow more threatening by the second.
The draining stopped abruptly at five percent.
The beast rose to its feet, letting loose an ear-piercing scream that rattled Vikram's very bones. It swung a massive paw and sent Vikram crashing into the ground.
Slowly, Vikram pushed himself up.
"Would you freaking stop screaming for a second? My ears have been hurting for a while now."
He chuckled at his own lame joke, and the creature responded with another guttural roar.
Suddenly, a black blur rocketed toward him like a comet. Vikram's face darkened. The aura blazing around him condensed fiercely, wrapping him in a protective shell. His sword shifted instinctively, adopting a defensive posture—tight and unyielding like a turtle's shell.
Turtle Form Technique.
CLANG. CLANG. CLANG.
The blows rained down like a battering ram. Vikram coughed up blood and cursed himself for losing focus. He was being pushed back, battered relentlessly. Yet he endured, unbroken.
The Turtle Breath was more than just a breathing technique. It was a means to contract the entire body, preparing it to defend with unwavering strength. When Vikram had first comprehended Great Sword Defense, he found himself tiring quickly. After several deaths, he devised this breathing method to minimize the physical strain when holding a purely defensive stance.
For nearly ten minutes, Vikram absorbed the relentless assault. When the strikes finally began to weaken, he threw caution to the wind.
He swung his sword in a ruthless horizontal arc.
A brilliant blue crescent burst forth, slicing through the air.
For the first time, Vikram saw the creature's true face.
It was crying.
Its exposed organs were cleaved apart, the heart that had beat with unnatural vigor now silent.
The beast sank to its knees, sobbing as it stared at its broken hands.
And in that moment, it offered Vikram the final clue he had been searching for the last piece to complete the puzzle of the letter.