Chapter 39
The sky above churned like an angry sea.
Dark clouds spiraled, drawn to the epicenter where Peter stood, his hand raised as if conducting a symphony of destruction.
Lightning, thick as ancient tree trunks, crackled within the swirling vortex, gathering into a single, focused pillar of pure heavenly wrath.
The air tasted of ozone and burned earth, and the very pressure of the gathering storm made the ground tremble.
"Heaven's Judgment."
Peter's voice was a low thunderclap, devoid of mercy.
His eyes, glowing with the same electric fury as the sky, were locked on Lucas.
This was no longer a test of skill; it was an execution.
The spell was a signature of the Lightning Hidden City, a technique reserved for erasing threats that could not be allowed to persist.
Lucas stood his ground, the wind tearing at his clothes and silver hair.
His mana eyes blazed, not with fear, but with intense, analytical focus.
He watched the flow of mana in the atmosphere, saw the chaotic dance of elemental energy being forcibly shaped into a weapon of pure annihilation.
'A direct channeling of atmospheric lightning, amplified by the caster's core. The impact zone is concentrated, but the energy backlash will be massive. Dodging is impossible. Defense must be absolute, and it must redirect or dissipate the energy, not merely absorb it.'
He sheathed his katana in a swift, smooth motion.
For this, a blade was useless.
He needed a shield.
He brought his hands together before his chest, fingers interlacing in a complex seal.
It was gained from the Giant Mana Eye's, as it was not just to see mana, but to command its very structure.
He began to chant, his voice calm and resonant, cutting through the pre-storm roar.
"Mana, hear my decree. Flow not as chaos, but as order. Bend not to foreign will, but to my domain. From the void of potential, I draw the unbreakable law."
The mana around him didn't just gather; it stillened.
The wild energy radiating from Peter's spell, the frantic atmospheric mana, even the residual power from their previous clashes—all began to slow, to harmonize, drawn into the sphere of Lucas's influence.
"Let the raging river find the still pond. Let the shattered light find the perfect prism. Let all force that enters be divided, dispersed, and dissolved into the calm from which it came."
A sphere of deep, serene cyan light expanded from Lucas, not with explosive force, but with inevitable certainty.
It grew to encompass a ten-meter radius around him.
The light within was not bright; it was profound, like looking into a placid, bottomless ocean.
"Mana Spell: Aegis."
The pillar of heaven's judgment descended.
KRAKOOM!
The sound was beyond deafening; it was the world cracking.
A blinding column of white-hot plasma slammed into the cyan dome.
And… it rippled.
The Aegis did not resist with brute force.
The catastrophic energy was caught, pulled apart along a million minute pathways, and disseminated throughout the entire structure of the spell.
The raging river of lightning was fed into a labyrinth of calm canals, its fury systematically broken down into harmless motes of light that shimmered and died within the cyan field.
The ground for fifty meters outside the Aegis was instantly vaporized, melted into glowing glass.
The shockwave leveled what remained of the forest's edge.
But inside the dome, there was only a soft, humming silence and the faint scent of ozone.
Lucas stood unmoved, his arms now outstretched, maintaining the spell.
His mana core drained at a terrifying rate.
He had done it.
He had defended against a 7-Star Elite's ultimate technique.
Outside the dome, Peter stared, his face a mask of stunned disbelief.
The afterimage of the lightning still burned in his vision.
"Impossible… No mere 5-Star, no ordinary mana cultivator should be able to…"His body trembled.
No one in the Star Ranking should have been able to defend against that spell.
Only Moon Class or Saint Class cultivators could do so.
There were a few rare Star Ranks who had achieved it before, but even they paid a heavy price.
Yet Lucas—aside from his mana depletion—seemed fine.
Peter, on the other hand, was shaking not from fear, but from complete mana depletion and spiritual shock.
Heaven's Judgment had cost him everything.
He was a shell, running on fumes and sheer will.
The cyan dome dissipated like mist.
Lucas stood amidst a crater of glowing glass, the only solid ground left.
He took a step forward, then another, his boots clicking on the vitrified earth.
His own reserves were critically low, but he had saved just enough.
Peter tried to raise a hand, to summon one last spark.
Nothing came.
He coughed, a dry, ragged sound. "What… what was that?" he managed to gasp.
Lucas didn't answer.
He had no words for this man.
Peter was a defector, a slaver, a rapist, and a tool of the shadows.
He was also a worthy opponent who had pushed Lucas to his absolute limit.
For that, he deserved an end worthy of the battle.
Lucas stopped twenty paces from Peter.
He raised his right hand, index and middle fingers extended, pointing at Peter.
His remaining mana, instead of flowing through his body, was pulled inward, compressed into the very core of his being.
His Mana Eyes glowed so brightly they became twin blue suns, casting stark shadows across the devastated landscape.
He did not chant.
The spell was also new coming from the giant Mana Eye, It was the answer, the counter-strike.
If the Aegis was the ultimate defense—the calm that disperses chaos—then this would be the ultimate offense—the single point that contains infinite potential.
The air grew deathly still.
All sound was sucked away.
The last flickers of lightning in the clouds died.
The only light came from Lucas's eyes and the faint, gathering luminescence at his fingertips.
Then, from Lucas's fingertips, a thin, perfectly straight beam of profound blue energy lanced out. It was no wider than a needle.
It made no sound.
It traveled not like lightning, but like a thought—instantaneously.
"Mana Spell: World-Severing Line."
The beam passing directly through Peter's heart.
He froze.
There was no explosion, no dramatic wound.
He simply looked down, confusion in his eyes.
Then, a hair-thin line of cyan light appeared across his chest. It began to spread, not as a cut, but as an erasure.
Along the path of the beam, space, matter, and energy—Peter's body, his clothing, the very air—were being conceptually severed from existence, dissolved into pure, neutral mana.
It was silent, clean, and utterly final.
Peter had time for one last, quiet exhalation—not a sigh, but a release.
Then, from the line of light outwards, his form unraveled into a shower of shimmering azure particles that drifted away on the nonexistent wind, leaving nothing behind.
Not even ash.
The beam vanished.
Lucas's hand dropped to his side.
The light in his eyes faded to a dull glow, then went out completely.
A wave of overwhelming exhaustion, deeper than any he had ever known, crashed over him.
His legs buckled, and he collapsed to his knees on the glassy ground, his breath coming in ragged, painful gasps.
Every cell in his body ached.
His mana core was a desolate, scorched emptiness.
But he had won.
The cost had been immense.
He had been pushed to the absolute brink, forced to use two supreme spells on the spot.
But he had also solidified his foundation.
The peak of the Iron Stage and the Second Pathway were no longer goals—they were thresholds he had just stepped over in the heat of battle.
He could feel the new stability within him, a rock-solid platform from which to reach for the Silver Stage and the Third Pathway.
A flicker of movement at the edge of the crater.
Blake emerged from the treeline, his face pale, his own exhaustion evident.
He surveyed the apocalyptic scene—the glass crater, the vaporized forest, the complete absence of Peter—and his eyes widened.
He walked carefully over the fused ground and stopped beside Lucas.
"You… you killed him?" Blake asked, his voice hushed. "A 7-Star?"
Lucas managed a weak, bloody smile. "yeah."
He looked up at the clearing sky, where the unnatural storm was already dispersing. "Did the civilians get away?"
"All safe. Scattered and headed for the nearest town with enough coin to disappear," Blake confirmed.
He offered a hand. "Can you stand? We need to leave. That… light show… will have drawn attention from some kilometers away."
Lucas took his hand, and with Blake's help, staggered to his feet.
He swayed, but remained upright. "The mission…" he muttered.
"Is as good as done," Blake finished.
"We have the location of the main base and the boss is dead. We have eliminated this branch and its leadership. We have the name of the traitor in Natalie's household from the Mayor's advisor. And we have the heads—or in this case, the absence—of those directly responsible. Lady Natalie will have her justice, and we have fifty million Auron."
Lucas nodded, the movement making his vision swim. "Then, let's go and see lady Natalie before going home."