Chapter 28: Strangers

Chapter 28: Chapter 28: Strangers

Jeremy shoved the tangled mess of calculations into the deepest corner of his mind, his slender fingers lightly gliding across the magic ID card’s virtual screen. The opponent’s personal data lines quickly appeared under the cold light:

Zenith Faculty: Class 016.

Natal Holy Artifact: Nightmare Scimitar.

Mark: ... Spirit Covenant number 09.

The tail of Jeremy’s eyebrow twitched upward, the steady tapping rhythm of his fingertips on the railing suddenly freezing in mid-air.

According to the meager ancient texts stored on the Sylvanor continent, Spirit Covenant number 09 symbolized the absolute blessing of the God of Destruction. Even in the most golden era of magical history, the number of powerhouses qualified to touch the top ten of these ultimate Marks could only be counted on one hand. The vast St. Aetherwing Academy, over thousands of years, had probably not seen more than a few.

What was the meaning of this?

The Covenant rank not only shaped personal magic potential but also thoroughly amplified the power of that Mark’s exclusive skills. Just how terrifying was the destructive power possessed by the natal skill of Spirit Covenant number 09?

In all the memories from the novel and the continent’s archives he had devoured, there was absolutely not a single line of text recorded.

The unknown was truly the blade pressed against one’s throat. Having just stepped into the freshman tournament round, to immediately clash with someone possessing a peak Spirit Covenant, if not called bad luck, it was truly misfortune to the bone.

Jeremy’s gaze slid down to the final notification line on the odds board.

A rare stroke of luck: Raphael had probably also just finished assimilating his power after enrolling; his current realm was exactly identical to Jeremy’s - Novice five stars.

But in a situation where magic power was evenly matched, the one holding the superior Covenant would naturally crush the opponent in terms of elemental advantage. This gamble... was indeed tougher to chew than expected.

Winning would yield not an extra half-penny of reward, but once he lost, that jellyfish-headed instructor Griffin would definitely use this excuse to peel off another layer of skin, doubling the intensity of the hellish training tonight. Having endured over a month of torture in the secret realm, Jeremy understood all too well that guy’s perverted and vindictive nature.

However... amidst the murderous train of thought, a sharp sensation of being recognized suddenly struck the back of his neck.

Jeremy leaned his back against the marble wall in the second-floor waiting area, his fingertips rhythmically tapping on the cold metal railing again. His sharp amber phoenix eyes swept over the boiling sea of people below the grandstand, but completely failed to catch any abnormal magic power fluctuations.

Just a hallucination?

When the allocation matrix ended, the atmosphere in St. Aetherwing’s central arena was immediately pushed to the peak of fanaticism. The voice of the instructor in charge, amplified through magic, roared across the stone arches:

"The freshman combat round officially begins! Contestants are required to enter the arena according to your assigned sequence numbers!"

Jeremy withdrew his gaze, smoothing out the sharp black cloak lapel of the Anima faculty, and casually took long, straight strides into the tunnel leading out to the battlefield.

The exact moment his arrogant back disappeared behind the curve of the waiting area, at another end of the grandstand, a young man with snow-white hair, surrounded by a crowd, also slowly withdrew his gaze. He parted the way through the worshipping cheers, taking steps toward the central arena ring.

The marble combat floor shook.

On the arena’s giant electronic board, the information of the two contestants had just been displayed when it immediately ignited an explosion of sound. The presence of Spirit Covenant number 09 turned arena ring number 4, where Jeremy set foot, into the most dazzling focal point of the entire hall.

"Holy Covenant number 09! Holy crap! It’s been years since a monster of this level appeared!"

"What the hell is there to fight about like this? A brat bearing the rock-bottom Spirit Covenant number 305 being placed in the same ring with a Holy Covenant is truly karma!"

"Doesn’t Jeremy usually rely on his Duke title to be arrogant and domineering? Let’s see if he can still show his face and be arrogant today."

"But look, he actually climbed to Novice five stars? Having just enrolled for a month, did he use forbidden drugs or life-draining forbidden arts to level up?"

"Forbidden arts are unlikely. After all, he is the only son of the Valmont Duke mansion. Ever since his talented older brother went missing on the way to find medicine to save him years ago, even though the Lord Duke and Madam are cold on the surface, the mansion’s resources are all poured onto him as compensation. Without a lack of high-grade spiritual medicine piled on him, he just used wealth to crush the limits!"

"Exactly, it’s all just an empty barrel making loud noise! Just wait and see him get crushed to pieces by Raphael on the ring later!"

"I bet fifty gold coins, if that piece of trash lasts more than five minutes, I’ll swallow my own fireball raw!"

Waves of venomous, malicious mockery assaulted his hearing. However, to someone who had climbed up from the mire of survival like Jeremy, these trivial provocations were no different from stray dogs barking wildly by the roadside, lacking the power to make his heartbeat waver even half a beat.

The referee’s voice, amplified by magic power, cut through the chaotic noise: "The two contestants, please perform the pre-match salute!"

Jeremy placed one hand on his left chest, bowing slightly to execute the empire’s standard swordsman etiquette. On the opposite side, Raphael also performed a similar return gesture.

The moment they dropped their hands, an incredibly soft sentence brushed through the narrow air: "... Long time no see."

The deep, warm tone carried an ambiguous gentleness completely different from the distant phrasing in the letters of the past.

Jeremy straightened his back, his cold phoenix eyes assessing the young man standing ten paces away from him.

The current Raphael had completely shed the sickly naivety in the original owner’s memory - the child from years ago who used to cry while standing on his tiptoes to compare heights, stubbornly arguing that he wasn’t short, had now developed into a true man.

The tall figure of one meter eighty-seven towering in the middle of the arena radiated an oppressive magnetism. The delicately tailored white silk shirt tightly hugged his broad chest and masculine, firm waist, casually draped over by the deep blue cloak uniform symbolizing the Zenith faculty.

The sleeves rolled up revealed wrists with distinct, powerful joints. Wearing the academy uniform, this person was enveloped in a holy, untouchable aristocratic aura.

His facial features became sharper with time, exactly like the most perfect sculpture of a deity: snow-white hair drooping over a high forehead, fair skin, combined with cold, clear silver pupils exactly like the snow gathered on highland peaks.

If Lucius D’Arsy was a cunning fox fond of wearing the colorful patterns of a peacock to disguise his ruthlessness, then the man in front of him brought a silent, towering pressure exactly like the solitary moon hanging at the peak of the night sky.

Those silver-white eyes locked tightly onto Jeremy, the deep gaze not shifting half a millimeter.

Jeremy had once judged that Raphael proactively severing contact with the original owner was out of disgust for someone bearing a bottom-tier Spirit Covenant, wanting to cleanly cut ties. But the moment he faced those eyes containing focus, suppression, and thousands of surging emotions deep within, he immediately denied his initial deduction.

Unfortunately, he was the pragmatic Jeremy of the present, not the shattered soul that had once been infatuated with past affection.

Regardless of what secrets or obsessions lay hidden deep within those silver-snow eyes, from the second he stepped onto this arena ring, there was only one relationship between them: life-and-death opponents.

The combat arena was never a place to reminisce about the past.

As the procedural formalities ended, the referee’s voice rang out decisively like an execution order:

"The match has no time limit! Whoever is knocked out of the red boundary line, or completely loses the ability to resist, will immediately be judged the loser - Match, begin!"

The final syllable had just dropped when the figure of the deep-blue-clad young man standing at the edge of the arena instantly blurred. A streak of silver-blue blade light flashed past; Raphael’s body completely merged into the air, turning invisible without leaving a single ripple of magic power.

Jeremy stood motionless, his legs slightly spread to create an absolute stance of balance on the marble surface.

Just as the grandstand was about to spew out mocking words, thinking he was frozen by murderous intent, exactly three seconds later, a freezing, pitch-black aura of death erupted, tearing through the space around Jeremy.

The natal Holy Artifact transformed under the Maboroshi ability - a giant death scythe immediately materialized in his strong hands.

The long scythe blade bore an ice-purple-tinged silver color, its sharp curvature exactly like a crescent moon on the fifteenth night, the metal surface engraved with rose patterns steeped in cold frost. The straight, long staff body was as freezing as millennium ice crystal, the pommel inlaid with a deep purple blood ruby, constantly radiating a chilling murderous intent.

A weapon carrying both a ruthless masculine beauty and a savage, eerie nature.

The exact moment the scythe condensed, the muscles on Jeremy’s firm arm suddenly tensed hard. Borrowing force to pivot on his heel, his entire body like a hunting leopard forcefully swung the scythe, slashing at a cunning angle toward the empty space behind his back.

Clang!

An ear-splitting sound of metal clashing exploded. Two opposing streams of magic power frantically crushed against each other, shooting out countless dazzling sparks tearing apart the invisible camouflage layer.

Raphael was forced to reveal himself right behind Jeremy’s back. The silver-blue Nightmare Scimitar in the opponent’s hand was crossed, firmly blocking the scythe’s slash brimming with death aura. The snow-white eyelashes drooped slightly at a distance of only half a knee apart; the corner of the man’s lips curled into a faint smile, his deep, low voice brushing past Jeremy’s earlobe:

"... Good reflexes. The current Jeremy is truly very formidable."

"You are not bad either." Jeremy replied coldly, his eyes flashing with arrogance. His wrist joint abruptly bent; channeling full-body magic power into the spine of the blade, he used an extremely powerful shockwave force to repel the opponent backward by three paces.

The original owner was alienated from his family; his only connection with this childhood friend had also been severed for many years, relying only on a few written words on paper to maintain its existence. Speaking pragmatically, their understanding of each other was almost a blank sheet of paper.

He completely didn’t need to fear that his ruthless, pragmatic combat style of an otherworldly soul would be seen through by the opponent.

However, facing a monster possessing Spirit Covenant number 09, prolonging the battle would only lead to a path of exhaustion.

Fighting fast and winning fast was the superior strategy!