Rivers of the Night

Chapter 835: Mine

Theron’s blade suddenly became all the more furious. As though he had finally decided that he was truly enraged, he unleashed it all. Or maybe it was just that he had spent far too long in the calm, far too long forgetting what it meant to be angry, to be embroiled in blood that went beyond just the mere sake of survival, but touched instead on a visceral sort of disgusting, selfish, tainted, rotting, festering underbelly of the martial world.

And that image that reflected back at him of what the world was and what it truly meant to be a cultivator infuriated him.

Why couldn’t he just sit by the window and watch the rain pelt against it? Why couldn’t he just enjoy the girl sleeping in his lap, or calmly watch the sun rise at dawn, or listen to the wind blow through the leaves of the canopies that protected him from the skies above?

Why did he have to push her away?

Why did he have to close his eyes to the sun to watch the light of blades instead?

Why did he have to rage with his own gusts, force the trees to sway with his own might, bend their ancient trunks with his own power, instead of calmly observing them?

Every thought made his blade faster, it made his Water Mana boil.

He could hardly see the streaks of Kenton’s blade anymore; he couldn’t feel the rampaging silk strands that weighed as heavy as mountains and struck down with the piercing might of heavenly bolts.

His body moved on instinct, his blades following the churning of his heart and the festering of his blood.

Chi. Chi. Chi.

A quick succession of three shallow wounds appeared on Theron’s body, each one causing a streak of blood to freeze over in the air.

Kenton had become focused himself, his gaze fixed with a dreary sort of grim air. Solemnity tightened around him, the snaking silk slapping down in unison.

Nine roars echoed in the skies, Theron’s Profound Truth pouring out of him.

The might of a lion trembled in the very air itself, the heads of the Kings forming and matching the descent of the nine silky tails with an upward snap of their jaws.

BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.

A rain of molten water fell from above and Kenton took a strong step back, his wrist flexing and his sword dancing. He left afterimages in his wake, his blade soaring across the skies as he seemed to meet every droplet at the same exact instant despite having just a single blade.

His body froze at each contact point, the chill in the air growing so profound that even in his furious state, Theron’s lips couldn’t help but go blue.

And then all several dozen of the frozen afterimages burst at once, a flurry of attacks shredding apart Theron’s might.

Theron crossed his arms over his body, slashing out in unison. But his actions stopped halfway, his arms freezing over entirely.

With a step, Kenton had closed in the rest of the distance, more afterimages being left in his wake. Every single one of them froze in increments of just a few inches, and then, just as the thrust was about to rip right through Theron, they all collapsed into a single, potent attack.

Space and time warped and whined. Theron could feel the gravity of the blade itself. Even his Water Mana wanted to bend away from it, no amount of Mana Control seemingly capable of overwhelming the feeling at all.

Powerful.

Kenton was truly a powerful cultivator.

But that was the problem, now wasn’t it?

It wasn’t just that the martial world was so broken. It was that those responsible for making it so broken all benefitted from it.

How could you say that they were wrong when their blades had mass enough to protect their families, their interests, their deepest and darkest desires?

What reason did they have to change? What cause could they possibly have to take a step back and feel for themselves how wrong they were?

Veins popped along Theron’s forehead as the blade ripped right through his guard, tearing into his chest where his heart should have been and out the back.

An eruption of might pierced through with such strength the land of ice behind him was split in two, a valley that grew wider and wider extending from behind Theron’s feet.

A mouthful of blood came from Theron’s mouth, but it instantly froze over, forming a crimson glacier molded to the bottom of his jaw and lip.

And yet, he still chuckled.

This world truly sucked.

How many things could he possibly have the perfect scheme against? Ameridia was countless times more powerful than Kenton, but he had dealt with her. But just after he finished with one problem, another came. And surely, after this one, another one would come. And then another one.

His intelligence could only take him so far.

Against a Soul Mancer, master of treasures, and one with a soul even more powerful than his own, did he even dare to take out the Dagger Call Platform?

Yet, despite all of this, the light in Theron’s eyes hadn’t faded. If anything, they were burning more and more furiously to the point that the depths of his irises seemed like two masses of raging violet ire.

“I really… can’t stand… people like you.”

Theron coughed again, but this time the blood didn’t even make it out of his mouth, freezing instead in his throat.

And then Kenton spoke the first words Theron had heard from him since this battle began.

“Your Undefeatable Spirit is mine.”

Theron had no idea what he was talking about. But he didn’t care. Instead, he only said something else.

“I can’t decide what’s worse… the fact you attacked me for no reason… or the fact you actually think you’ve won.”

Theron’s hair danced in the air.

All around him, his frozen blood, attached to his body in wild arcs and broken contemporary statuesque forms, shuddered.

Chi.

They vibrated and shot forward.

Theron found a grip on Kenton’s blade, and the latter let go far too late.