Ex rank talent Awakening: 100\% Dodge rate-Chapter 318: BATTLING DOUBLE DIGITS III

"Crazy bastard," Number 17 muttered under his breath, a shiver of unease creeping into his voice despite his efforts to suppress it. "That’s some insane firepower you’ve got there."

"Your turn," Greg stated simply, pivoting calmly to face him, his golden eyes locking on with predatory focus.

Gripping Heaven Defier firmly in his hands, Greg swung the sword in a powerful arc, unleashing a razor-sharp ray of sword energy that sliced through the air toward Number 17.

Number 17, relying on his agile, nimble feet, attempted to dodge the incoming strike, twisting his body in a desperate evasion maneuver.

But like Number 18 before him, he quickly discovered the utter futility of his efforts, the energy adjusting its path as if guided by fate itself.

The attack struck his chest cleanly, carving a deep, searing wound that drew a spray of dark blood, the pain lancing through him like fire.

"Argh! Bastard!" Number 17 growled coldly, clutching at the gash with one hand. "Why the hell can’t I dodge your attacks?"

"You should be more worried about clinging to your pathetic life," Greg advised calmly, his voice devoid of pity as he surged forward with swift, purposeful strides toward Number 17.

With only a meager remnant of mana remaining, he couldn’t invoke the dragon’s tongue anymore, but truthfully, he saw no necessity for it against opponents lacking absolute concepts.

Number 17, bracing himself for the clash, unleashed another ferocious torrent of claw strike energy, the golden blasts hurtling toward Greg in a chaotic barrage.

But Greg didn’t even bother to deliberately evade this time, striding onward with unwavering confidence, knowing deep down that the attacks would never connect.

Number 17 stared in bewildered confusion, his eyes widening as he realized his onslaught had inexplicably missed its mark entirely, dissipating harmlessly into the ether.

Greg closed the distance in an instant, arriving directly before Number 17, and thrust Heaven Defier forward in a precise stab aimed straight at his chest.

Number 17, acutely aware that dodging was impossible, clamped his powerful hands together in a desperate bid, catching the blade between his palms just before it could pierce his flesh.

"Damn," Number 17 uttered weakly, his gaze lifting to meet Greg’s impassive face, only to fixate on the ominous sight of Greg’s mouth opening wide.

In that frozen instant, he knew without a doubt that it was game over, the end rushing toward him like an inevitable tide.

Greg unleashed a devastating dragon’s breath, the roaring flames erupting point-blank and swallowing Number 17 whole in a vortex of searing heat and unrelenting destruction.

Number 16 observed the savage brutality of Greg’s actions, a deep frown etching across his masked features, his posture rigid as he stood motionless in the dust-choked courtyard.

He remained utterly still, his mind racing as he carefully weighed his dwindling chances of emerging victorious from this unexpected confrontation.

Considering the situation with thoughtful deliberation, he came to the grim realization that his odds of winning were far from certain, the scales tipping heavily against him in this unforgiving arena.

First and foremost, Greg proved to be an adversary he couldn’t overpower with any real assurance, his movements too precise, his power too overwhelming, like an unstoppable force of nature.

And then there was Elizabeth, standing poised and vigilant nearby, her icy presence a clear signal that she was ready to lend her formidable support at a moment’s notice, her slender sword still humming faintly with residual frost.

With the unfavorable odds stacking up relentlessly against him, Number 16 made the calculated decision to retreat for the time being, prioritizing survival over a futile stand in the shadow of the looming castle walls.

"And where do you think you’re going?" Greg inquired coldly, his golden eyes piercing through Number 16’s intentions as easily as a blade through silk, reading the subtle shifts in his stance with effortless insight.

"I will return," Number 16 vowed, his voice laced with venomous promise, "and when I do, expect your death to be slow and agonizing."

As he spoke, a swirling pool of shadows began to materialize beneath his feet, bubbling and expanding like a dark portal eager to swallow him whole and spirit him away to safety.

"Actually," Greg countered smoothly, his tone unyielding and devoid of mercy, "you’re not going anywhere."

Harnessing his superior dominion over the essence of darkness, a control far stronger and more refined than Number 16’s, Greg seized command of the very shadows his foe manipulated, twisting them against their master and sealing off the escape route with an invisible barrier of impenetrable night.

A pronounced frown deepened on Number 16’s face, his masked expression contorting with frustration as he sensed the immediate repercussions of Greg’s interference, the shadows now rebelling against his will like treacherous allies turned foe.

"You are a very annoying foe," Number 16 admitted grudgingly, his words dripping with reluctant acknowledgment, the air between them thickening with mutual disdain under the gray, oppressive sky.

With his planned retreat thwarted and no viable path to evasion left, Number 16 had no alternative but to engage Greg in direct combat, steeling himself for the inevitable clash.

Calming his frayed nerves with a deep, steadying breath that did little to quell the rising tension in his muscles, Number 16 summoned a massive flood of shadowy water, the dark liquid surging forth in a raging torrent that swept across the entire courtyard, engulfing the area including the precise spot where Greg stood firm.

"You could have lived a while longer if you’d just allowed me to leave," Number 16 declared coldly, his resolve hardening as he committed fully to the assault, determined to go all out and conclude the battle with swift, decisive force before complications mounted further.

"How ironic," Greg retorted mockingly, his face maintaining an unruffled mask of calmness that belied the storm of power brewing within him, his long hair swaying gently in the stirred winds.

"To me, you’re the weakest among the group," he continued, his words sharp and cutting like a honed edge. "And yet, you’re the highest ranked, quite the underwhelming revelation."

"Abyssal wave," Greg uttered calmly afterward, his voice steady and commanding, invoking the technique with effortless poise as dark energies coalesced around him in response.