The Trump Card of Hiiragi Aoba

“The match begins.”

The referee’s raised arm came slashing down with a sharp whistle.

The specially reinforced alloy tiles beneath Marcus’s feet instantly split with spiderweb cracks. His hulking frame, over two meters tall, shot forward with a shriek that tore through the air. Wrapped in a heavy blast of wind, his right fist drove straight toward Qingbai Tong’s vulnerable throat.

His fist, trailing a foul gust, was already less than half a foot from Qingbai Tong’s face. Yet Qingbai Tong remained standing with both hands hanging loosely at his sides.

The air churned around Marcus’s fist with a dull roar. Every muscle in his body had swollen to its limit, but the fist that could shatter alloy stopped dead less than an inch from the tip of Qingbai Tong’s nose.

It was as though his punch had slammed into an invisible barrier, all its momentum evaporating into nothing.

The vicious light in Marcus’s eyes froze. He could feel his fist, his arm, and every muscle in his entire body straining with furious force. Veins writhed beneath his skin like earth dragons, yet he could not advance even a fraction.

A low growl was forced from his throat. “What did you do?”

Qingbai Tong did not even raise his eyelids. With the ribs of his folding fan, he leisurely brushed away a speck of nonexistent dust from the shoulder of his hunting robe.

“See? This is the difference between savagery and art.” He finally spoke, his voice affectedly gentle. “Power is worthless if it cannot be controlled.”

Before the words had even faded, Marcus realized that his body was sliding backward against his will. His feet dragged across the hard floor, leaving two shrill scratches behind.

He was like a puppet being pulled by invisible strings, every movement stiff and sluggish.

“Damn strings!” Marcus roared. At last, he sensed them: countless threads, as fine as hair yet unbelievably resilient, wound around his limbs and body. They extended from the surface of Qingbai Tong’s opened fan, paper fibers so thin they were almost indistinguishable from the air.

“I don’t need my shikigami to deal with you.” Qingbai Tong chuckled, his wrist shifting slightly as his old habit of underestimating his opponents gained the upper hand.

Marcus’s massive body was immediately hoisted into the air by the paper threads. His feet left the ground, leaving him flailing helplessly in a ridiculous pose.

“Bastard!” Humiliation turned Marcus’s eyes scarlet. Fiery red patterns lit up beneath his skin.

“What an utterly graceless struggle.” Qingbai Tong’s tone remained unchanged, but the threads binding Marcus suddenly tightened.

Crack!

A muffled sound that set the teeth on edge rang out. The protective aura around Marcus’s body was forcibly crushed, and the explosion of displaced air snapped the paper threads apart.

He crashed heavily to the ground, smashing the alloy tiles into fragments, then launched himself at Qingbai Tong once more.

“This time, let’s see how you stop me!”

“Foolish.”

Qingbai Tong folded his fan and lightly tapped its ribs against his palm.

The shadow beneath his feet began to writhe. One after another, ink-black shadows peeled away from the ground, rapidly taking shape as several black-armored warriors wielding long spears. They silently formed a wall in front of him.

Shadow warriors.

Marcus’s fist slammed into one of them in the chest. The force that could split mountains and shatter stone sank into the warrior as though it had struck cotton. Its body caved inward, only to spring back into shape in an instant, while the long spear in its hands silently thrust toward his heart, radiating a chilling aura.

Marcus twisted aside and narrowly dodged it, but more shadow warriors were already closing in from every direction. Their attacks made no sound, yet every strike was lethal, forcing him to keep darting and weaving through the cramped space. The ferocity he had shown earlier was nowhere to be seen.

“In general, onmyoji never put themselves in danger.” In the Huaxia rest area, Su Yuehe had opened her eyes at some point. Watching the figure in the arena move with effortless ease, she said softly to Chen Guan, “They’re commanders, more often than not.”

Chen Guan did not answer. His gaze remained fixed on the folding fan in Qingbai Tong’s hand.

He knew Qingbai Tong still had not used his ultimate move.

Chen Guan was rather curious to see what the top student’s trump card would be.

[This Japer’s having way too much fun acting tough. He hasn’t even moved from his spot this whole time.]

[So this is what happens when a mage fights a melee bruiser? Poor Marcus is being toyed with like a monkey.]

[Don’t forget the Nine Dragons’ Power. (lol)]

At that moment, Marcus let out a roar that shook the heavens. He stopped dodging and allowed several spears to pierce his body. The spearheads sank only an inch or so before being clamped tightly between his iron-hard muscles.

“Got you!”

Marcus bared his teeth in a savage grin. The red patterns across his body blazed at full intensity, and a destructive storm erupted around him.

The shadow warriors that had been harrying him without respite, along with the spears in their hands, were torn apart into their most basic form and vanished into the air.

“It’s over, you pansy!” Marcus spread his arms wide. Two miniature spheres of light gathered in his palms, and without a word, he blasted them toward Qingbai Tong.

This time, he had learned his lesson. The attack covered every possible route Qingbai Tong might use to evade.

Faced with an attack powerful enough to melt half the arena, the gentle smile on Qingbai Tong’s face finally faded somewhat.

He held the folding fan horizontally before his chest and raised two fingers together like a sword. He lightly drew them across the surface of the fan.

The moment Qingbai Tong’s fingers passed over the fan, the two spheres of light, each capable of melting steel, froze in midair.

The procession of a hundred ghosts depicted across the fan came alive. Ink-black lines twisted free, transforming into two green-faced, fanged demons. They instantly opened their enormous mouths and swallowed the spheres of light whole.

The demons let out a satisfied belch. Their bodies dissolved in midair, turning back into ink that flowed into the fan. Everything looked as though it had never happened.

“My pets have always had excellent appetites.”

Qingbai Tong’s voice remained gentle, but the amusement had vanished from his eyes.

Marcus breathed heavily. Watching his all-out attack dissolve as though it were nothing more than a joke sent the fire in his chest roaring until his eyes burned red.

He knew that he could not defeat this man by conventional means.

A low growl rumbled in his throat as he pulled out a metal syringe.

Without the slightest hesitation, Marcus drove the needle into his neck and emptied the entire syringe of golden liquid.

His skin instantly flushed red. Golden patterns spread wildly from his neck, while the veins beneath his bulging muscles rose like dragons and serpents, outlining nine ferocious dragon totems across his body.

Scalding steam rose from his skin. The alloy tiles beneath his feet could no longer withstand the pressure. They cracked inch by inch and began to collapse.

“Now, let’s have some fun, pansy!”

Marcus’s voice was filled with rage, every word accompanied by a blast of searing white vapor.

This time, he did not charge. Instead, he brought both fists together before his chest, preparing to collide with Qingbai Tong head-on like a great falling star.

Boom!

A golden shock wave visible to the naked eye erupted from him and spread outward in a savage ring. Its force was so great that the protective barrier around the edge of the arena rippled violently.

Qingbai Tong’s eyes narrowed. The shadow warriors beneath his feet reassembled before him into a gigantic ink-black shield.

The shock wave slammed into it. The shadow shield held for less than a second before shattering with a sharp crack, dissolving into a storm of scattered ink droplets.