Chapter 1124: Fourth Prince (2)

Chapter 1124: Chapter 904: Fourth Prince (2)

The time limit on the Safe House Key had long expired, and the two of them hadn’t had the safety net of the safe house for days. Now, after causing such a commotion in the Ancient Vine Region, they wouldn’t have anywhere to hide if the gray fog descended. The most urgent task was to find a key.

Duke unfolded the parchment map, sketching a few lines on it in the dim light against the stone wall.

Vera stood beside him, her breathing had settled. This seed resonated strongly with the Thorn Domain within her. She would deal with it carefully once they found a safe place.

Duke rotated the map, pointing at a marked spot, saying, “This way, there’s a passage we’ve previously explored but haven’t completed. There might be something at the end.”

They didn’t delay and continued to delve deeper along the labyrinth passage.

The deeper they went, the denser the patterns on the stone walls became, and the narrower the passage grew.

As they turned into a relatively broad stone corridor, Duke’s perception suddenly detected a chaotic energy fluctuation. Not far ahead, at least a dozen different auras of varying intensities intertwined, most notably two Demigod-level fluctuations fiercely colliding.

He immediately pulled Vera back, both of them hunched low, moving toward the direction of the fluctuations against the stone wall.

Soon, they reached a wide stone platform flanked by two high walls.

At the center of the stone platform stood a treasure chest, made entirely of black rock, quietly. The chest’s surface was wrapped with dark golden ancient patterns, similar to those on the Safe House Key.

A Demigod-level demon lay around the treasure chest, its body covered in thick dark green scale armor, with a flat head, short limbs, and a tail tip like adorned with a few copper scales. It was anxiously clawing at the ground with its front claws.

Its eyes were small and pale yellow, constantly surveying its surroundings.

Outside the stone platform, several distinct factions had formed. On one side stood Rodrick, his dark red short robe still tightly fastened, waist carrying two short blades, followed by a tall and thin Demigod-level guard whose face was concealed by a hood.

On the opposite side stood Jonathan Polk, wearing a deep blue Empire Knight uniform and armed with a rapier, standing straight. He was the Fourth Prince of the Seville Empire, a Demigod-level Knight.

Behind him stood two Demigod-level guards dressed in Knight’s Heavy Armor, one of whom had visibly blood on his shoulder, having just engaged in combat.

Besides these two factions, there were a few scattered participants, sparse around the periphery, none daring to approach the treasure chest first.

Rodrick and Jonathan clearly had their eyes on the treasure chest.

Duke hid in the shadows, using the aura of the World Tree to tightly envelop him and Vera.

He could feel that the two Demigod-level powerhouses had already clashed once, with lingering energy auras from their collision still in the air.

At this moment, Rodrick moved.

He and the guard behind him simultaneously advanced toward the treasure chest, as Jonathan also drew his sword at the same time.

The two Demigod-level auras pressed down on the treasure chest almost simultaneously, causing the stone platform floor to sink slightly.

The Demigod-level demon looked left, then right; a hint of hesitation reminiscent of a human crossed its pale yellow eyes.

The next moment, it suddenly turned and kicked off the ground with its four short thick legs, its tail flicking a copper-colored shadow, as it bolted deep into the stone corridor without looking back.

The demon actually fled, aware that facing two Demigod-level powerhouses and two sets of guards simultaneously was a losing battle, opting to escape first.

Duke and Vera remained hidden, neither moving.

The treasure chest was still there, while Rodrick and Jonathan’s attention had shifted from the demon to each other.

Rodrick moved first, his pace incredibly swift, like a beast suddenly lunging from the dark.

The two short blades at his waist made an exceedingly short arc in his hands, one held properly, the other in reverse grip, the left blade slashing horizontally, the right blade stabbing straight, carrying a direct and ruthless air honed from the arena and battlefield.

He didn’t waste a single word, nor did he prepare his aura, directly aiming at Jonathan’s heart and throat simultaneously, the wind pressure from his attack disturbing the patterns on the stone wall to flicker uncertainly.

Jonathan didn’t retreat, drawing his rapier in response to Rodrick’s attack, the blade very narrow, making almost no sound when unsheathed, just a faint silver line in the air.

He stepped forward, the rapier tip like a snake tongue touching below the hilt of Rodrick’s short blade held properly.

That thrust was frighteningly precise, hitting the spot where the blade was least able to leverage during its turn.

Rodrick’s short blade was shifted half an inch by this strike; the deadly blow aimed at Jonathan’s heart barely grazed past his rib side.

Rodrick’s lips curled slightly; he seemed to have anticipated this, using the deviation to swing the reversed blade up towards Jonathan’s sword-holding wrist.

This strike was insidious and swift, at a tricky angle—the kind of unconventional maneuver that guerrilla fighters excelled at.

Jonathan’s wrist turned, drawing a semicircle within a tiny range as the rapier slid off Rodrick’s blade edge, deflecting the upward motion’s force to the side.

Sparks erupted into the air between them, their rapid exchange of short blades and rapier clashing no fewer than a hundred times, each so precise it left one breathless.

Their speed increased, others could only see silver-blue and dark red residual shadows continuously colliding, separating, and colliding again in the center of the stone platform.

Rodrick’s strikes were fierce and direct, like a beast unwilling to let go, one strike after another pressing towards Jonathan’s vitals.

Jonathan, in contrast, was like a tower standing firm in a storm, his sword form never faltering, every strike precisely positioning itself at the crest of Rodrick’s offensive, turning even the most ferocious continuous assaults into futile wear.

Neither withdrew; the Knight’s Sword and short blades collided repeatedly, flying sparks leaving fine lines scorched into the stone platform floor.

The corner of Rodrick’s dark red robe had been sliced away by the sword wind, while Jonathan’s deep blue cloak now bore a long split.

They fought with the most ferocious and perilous methods, like two martial artists vying with blades and swords for space, repeatedly contesting every ounce of advantage within each other’s attack range.

Bystanders could tell both were engaged in a battle of martial arts skills, each possessing a prideful determination.

Moments later, Rodrick suddenly changed tactics.

He bent forward, as if falling into Jonathan’s embrace, both short blades swirling at a low angle like scissors, simultaneously slicing toward Jonathan’s knees.

This was exceedingly dangerous—if it connected solidly, an entire leg could be severed.

Jonathan’s brow didn’t crease; he didn’t retreat, instead raising his knee directly.

At that instant, the Knight’s Will turned tangible, his leg armor surface glowing with faint golden patterns, giving the sensation of sudden increased weight.

Rodrick’s short blades twisted against the glowing pattern, as if against the base of an iron tower, both blades simultaneously bounced back, blood seeping from his palm’s base.

He seemed to collide with an invisible wall, chest tight, feet stumbling, instead retreating several steps.

Jonathan seized the opportunity to press forward with his sword, the rapier descending like torrential rain on Rodrick.

The sword’s light was dense, continuous, as if dozens of blades were simultaneously striking from different directions.

Rodrick rolled and dodged amidst the sword light, blood lines blossoming from his shoulder and waist side, yet he pushed forward, seemingly indifferent to a few more cuts on his body.

Dark red flesh energy surged from the wounds, enveloping his short blades, instantly extending the blade edge by several inches.

He grinned, snarling back with fierce bloodlust, short blade slashing diagonally at Jonathan’s neck.

There was an intense, feral force in that strike, like a stray dog intent on tearing a chunk from its opponent even in its death throes.

For the first time, Jonathan’s eyes showed a clear acknowledgment.

He pulled back his sword, sweeping it upwards, the rapier tracing a rapid cross before him, sword light and blade edge fiercely colliding.

A muffled explosion echoed across the stone platform’s center, rubble rolling away from beneath their feet, the entire stone corridor shuddering.

The onlookers were forced to step back another two steps by the impact, dust swirling as the figures of the two combatants broke apart.

Jonathan stood on the left side, sword held aloft, his cloak mostly cut away, a shallow blade mark marring his chest armor.

Rodrick stood on the right side, bloodied, yet with an increasingly wild grin.

His guards remained silent behind, not daring to advance without orders.