Solflare: The Painter's Secret-Chapter 76: The E-Rank’s Defiance

"See what this rat is doing," the white-haired boy said and laughed heavily. He parried Leon’s strike with a dismissive flick of his wrist.

Before Leon could recover, the boy’s free left hand shot out a hammer-blow at the center of Leon’s back.

Thump.

The impact made air gush out of Leon and shoved him, causing him to stumble two steps forward.

Dust mixed with blood scraped under Leon’s boots, but he didn’t fall. He turned a blank expression and a fire-kindling eye at the white-haired and charged again.

The white-haired parried once more, the blue-flamed blade meeting the steel with a shower of sparks.

As the swords locked, Leon’s clenched left fist slammed into the boy’s jaw. Crack.

The boy’s head snapped back. He staggered two steps back as blood trickled down from the corner of his mouth.

He spat a glob onto the ground, while his eyes widened with shock before narrowing into slits of pure rage.

"You little piece of shi – !"

Before the white-haired could finish, the red-haired moved. With a guttural shout, he threw himself into the fight, his longer silver sword becoming a whirlwind of lethal intent.

He swung a high slash aimed for the neck, a low thrust for the legs, a horizontal cut for the waist, and a diagonal chop from the shoulder.

Leon moved like a ghost in the storm of steel. He parried a thrust aimed at his gut; the impact vibrated in his arm.

He ducked under a slash meant to decapitate him, felt the wind ruffle his hair. He sidestepped a lunge; his boot skidded in the churned mud.

Frustration twisted on the red-haired boy’s face. Although he was stronger, his sword was longer and better, yet this E-rank rat slipped through his fingers like smoke.

With a roar, he stanch to a powerful overhead chop, and placed all his weight behind it.

As the sword whistled harmlessly past Leon’s side, he pivoted and drove the sole of his boot into the boy’s exposed chest.

Thud.

A burst of air gushed out of the red-haired boy’s lungs in a pained whoosh.

The impact lifted him off his feet, his sword flying from numb fingers, and he landed hard on his back five feet away, skidding through the dirt like a discarded doll.

At the strange stillness, the swirling dust began to settle. Leon stood panting lightly, his borrowed sword held low.

He switched his grip, wrapped his left arm firmly on the handle, and clenched his right arm into a fist. He moved the right arm near his cheek in a classic boxing guard.

He stared at the two C-ranks now regrouping – the white-haired, wiping blood from his mouth, and the red-haired scrambling to retrieve his sword.

There, a strange, dissonant smile touched Leon’s lips.

From the distant stands, whispers erupted, cutting through the heavy silence.

"Is he the Dusthollow Rat?"

"No... that can’t be possible! Look at his moves!"

"Those two are C-ranks! Solid C-ranks!"

"He took out Azazel, didn’t he?"

"Azazel was one man! This is like fighting two Azazels at once!"

"Just watch... just watch how this ends."

At the center of the field, the very ground beneath Leon’s feet trembled. But his posture didn’t falter.

He stood like a rooted tree, his gaze calmly shifting between the white-haired and the now-standing red-haired.

They moved as one. The white-haired acted first, stomping the ground. A concussive wave of force erupted from the ground directly under Leon.

Following his reflexes, he pivoted on the ball of his foot, letting the shockwave lift him just enough for him to twist in the air and land three feet to the side.

Before he could reset, the red-haired thrust both hands forward. Chunks of rock and compressed soil tore free from the ground and shot towards Leon’s head like cannonballs.

The sword in Leon’s left arm moved and became a silver disc.

Swish-crunch!

He sliced the largest stone clean in half, the two halves whirring past his ears. The dust from the impact bloomed around him.

In the split second of blindness, the white-haired struck. A powerful kick, enhanced by a ripple of kinetic energy, landed squarely in Leon’s chest.

WHUMP.

This time, the impact threw Leon backward, his boots screeching against the ground, and threw up twin plumes of dust and gravel.

He skidded for a while before finally grinding to a halt near the edge of the blood-soaked patch where his teammates had been slayed.

He shook his head, swiped the sweat and grit from his brow with the back of his right wrist, while his chest ached with a bruising pain.

He looked down at the long crack that had appeared down the center of the blade of the short sword.

"Just give up!" the white-haired screamed in a voice that dripped with false pity. "There is no way you’ll win this."

"Kneel," the red-haired boy added, lifting his sword. "Let us make it quick for you."

The white-haired turned a sharp stare at the red-haired. "I promised him an honorable death. Let’s give him the death his stubbornness demands."

Tilting his head slowly, Leon’s eyes flickered to the still forms of the lanky boy and the sharp-faced one.

They lingered on the separated pieces of the broad-shouldered boy – the boy who had, in his final moments, tried to shield him.

"NO!" A dry cry of absolute refusal ripped from Leon’s throat. Then, he moved. He launched himself forward, abandoning the sword and letting it fall from his fingers.

The white-haired and red-haired looked at each other in surprise and laughed.

They met Leon head-on, their weapons flaring madly.

KRA – KOOM!

A thunderclap of concussive force detonated at the point of impact. A blinding whitish-gold light erupted and swallowed all three figures.

The audience recoiled as one, a collective gasp turning into cries of pain as hands flew up to shield faces.

The proctors near the field’s edge took an involuntary step back.

The light died as suddenly as it had come, leaving afterimages dancing across everyone’s vision.

In the center of the scorched and smoking circle, Leon stood still. He took three staggering steps backward, each one heavy and unsteady, like an already dead man.

He clutched his right side, just above his hip, and breathed a shallow breath. His knees trembled, then bucked, hitting the hard ground with a jarring thud.

His eyes squeezed shut as a wave of nauseating pain and soul-deep exhaustion washed over him as he swayed.

A horrified silence fell on the field. Then, a single voice filled with disbelief rose from the stands: "Are... are they dead?"