Re: In My Bloody Hit Novel

Chapter 455: *Graceful Dance Of Solitude!*

The atmosphere was thick with tension as Dylan and Deamon squared off in the open space, their spiritual energy crackling in the air. The ground beneath them seemed to pulse with anticipation, a testament to the immense power these two warriors wielded.

All, both warriors of Chiron and the remaining senators watched closely.

Dylan’s eyes blazed with determination as he drew his broadsword, the blade shimmering with a radiant light of his stone rank. Deamon mirrored his movements, unsheathing his thinner, elegant sword that glowed with a fierce intensity. They locked gazes, the blood oath they had taken binded not just their fates, but also the fates of those around them.

With a roar, Dylan lunged forward, his spiritual energy surging through his body. His broadsword came down in a powerful arc, aiming for Deamon’s shoulder. After all, this was his friend and brother he had grown up with. the goal was to win the fight, and not kill him.

However, it was clear to Deamon that Dylan had misplaced thoughts.

Deamon deftly sidestepped, the ground where Dylan’s sword struck exploding in a shower of dust and gravel. The force of the impact sent tremors through the earth.

Deamon countered the attack with a swift thrust, his sword slicing through the air with pinpoint precision.

Dylan was fast. He immediately parried the attack, their swords clashing with a resounding clang that echoed through the barren land. Sparks flew from the collision, illuminating their fierce expressions.@@@@

This was the true first strike of their blades.

There was an ancient saying that ’One did not truly know a person until they had battled them’. The striking of swords could definitely reveal secrets, and in this one strike, both men had sensed something.

It was something deep within them that had not been there before.

At this moment, Deamon could not help but ask, "Why do you fight, Dylan? Is Prince Chiron not enough? With him, we, mere orphans at the side of the country may climb to be generals, and bring honor to the Vandorian Kingdom. With all we have been through, why will you fight against such blessing that has lifted us from Grass to Grace!?"

"Because its wrong!" Dylan responded.

"Wrong!?" Deamon chuckled as he attacked again.

They had grown up together, and while Dylan was always the brute, Deamon had the brains. they were a perfect combo, and even now, Dylan could not help but remember all the fights that they had together, beating all those street rats for food, or just the two of them declaring a hang out as they territory to the other kids of the town.

They ate together, slept together, and helped each other out whenever they could. They were not related by blood, but they were indeed true brothers.

However, at the moment, Dylan was realizing Deamon’s true feelings concerning him.

All this while, it would seem like they were undercurrents, problems that the brothers never talked about, and now, those problems acted as the wedge between them.

Deamon took advantage of Dylan’s surprise. Suddenly unleashing a barrage of attacks, his sword moving with blinding speed. Each strike was precise and calculated, aimed at exploiting the smallest openings in Dylan’s defense.

Dylan’s eyes widened in surprise as he struggled to keep up with Deamon’s relentless assault. The elegant sword danced around his broadsword, finding its mark again and again. Deamon’s movements were fluid and controlled, a testament to his intense training and mastery of this sword technique.

Chiron had given them the same gift with the sword Totem, but it would seem as if Deamon was made for it.

As the battle raged on, Dylan realized that Deamon had truly not been idle. Despite his superior spiritual energy, Dylan found himself on the defensive, his confidence waning.

On the other hand. Deamon’s attacks were relentless, each strike pushing him closer to the edge.

In a final, desperate move, Dylan attempted a powerful overhead strike. But Deamon was ready. With a swift, decisive motion, he parried the attack and countered with a spinning somersault. His sword sliced through the air, the force of his spiritual energy propelling him forward.

Dylan barely had time to react as Deamon’s sword connected with his broadsword, and then suddenly shattering it into pieces.

The force of the blow sent Dylan sprawling to the ground, his weapon useless. He looked up to see Deamon standing over him, the tip of his sword pressed against his neck.

Breathing heavily, Deamon’s eyes burned with a fierce determination. "It’s over, Dylan," he said, his voice steady. "You can’t defeat me. Not now."

Dylan lay on the ground, his body bruised and battered. He could feel the cool steel of Deamon’s spiritual sword against his skin. The soldiers around them watched in stunned silence.

To their surprise, Deamon had actually done it. Deamon, the one who had the least chance of wining the fight, had actually won it....