The Cursed Extra: Bloodline of Sacrifice-Chapter 115: Entrance Exam [15]: Final Showdown

The duel between Caspian Arcwright and Darian Vael.

The two stood facing each other, swords drawn.

Caspian’s grip on Bloodmoon tightened.

Across from him, Darian cracked his knuckles.

"You’re mine,"

Darian was the first to move.

Caspian also move.

A flicker—no, a blur.

His body twisted, his sword vanishing into streaks of purple aura as he launched a rapid combination of precise strikes.

The arc of his blade followed the weak points of human anatomy, each cut calculated to disable movement.

Darian responded with sheer brute force.

His greatsword, a monstrosity of steel, slammed into Caspian’s blade.

Sparks flew, the impact vibrating through Caspian’s arms like an electric shock.

But he adapted.

He flowed around the strength, redirecting momentum rather than meeting it head-on.

Clash. —> Parry.—>Strike. —>Step. —>Pivot. —>Counter.

Darian grunted.

He hadn’t expected Caspian to meet him evenly.

Each of his massive swings was narrowly avoided, each thrust expertly redirected.

"He’s good." Darian admitted to himself. "Fights like a beast with a brain. But—"

Darian took a single misstep.

Caspian, weaving through the storm of blows, saw an opening.

Bloodmoon flashed.

The edge of his sword slashed across Darian’s ribs, drawing first blood.

Darian staggered back, looking down at the crimson stain blooming on his side. Slowly, he dragged his fingers across the wound—then smirked.

"That’s all?"

The ground cracked as Darian exploded forward.

This time, Caspian wasn’t ready.

BAM!

A fist the size of a war hammer slammed into his stomach. The impact sent shockwaves rippling through his entire body.

His vision blurred.

Pain.

Raw, unfiltered pain.

He barely had time to process it before Darian’s other hand seized his arm.

"You’re fast, I’ll give you that," Darian said casually. "But you rely too much on reading your opponent. What happens when you fight someone—"

Caspian struggled, but it was useless. Darian’s grip was unbreakable.

"—who can do the same?"

A split second later, Caspian was lifted like a ragdoll.

And then—

SLAM!

The ground shattered beneath his body.

He felt the impact crawl up his spine, his lungs gasping for air.

His entire body screamed, every nerve set ablaze.

’What… the hell… was that?’

Darian towered over him, eyes glowing with the thrill of battle.

Blood dripped down Caspian’s lips as he tried to move. He couldn’t.

Darian had completely flipped the battle in a single moment.

’No. Move you fucker.’ Caspian thought.

Bloodmoon shivered in his grip, almost mocking him.

"You wanted a real challenge, didn’t you?" Darian asked.

Darian rolled his shoulders.

"Get up, White haired." His voice was almost disappointed. "I thought you were strong."

Caspian exhaled slowly.

Then, he forced himself to rise.

-----

[Lyrius vs Oliver]

On one side stood Oliver Atticus. Prince of Human kingdom.

Opposite him, was Lyrius Ryder. A warrior with no noble bloodline, no grand name behind him—just unrelenting willpower.

He had only one goal.

To defeat Oliver. To surpass him.

To prove that the child left behind by his mother was not worthless.

Lyrius struck first.

A single burst of gravitational force launched him forward like a cannonball.

His movements were sharp.

Oliver did not move.

Then—a blur.

Before Lyrius could register it, Oliver’s sword was already in motion.

A gust of compressed wind exploded outward, and suddenly—

CLANG.

Lyrius’ attack was completely deflected with a single stroke.

His body barely had time to process the impact before Oliver was already countering.

SLASH!

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A deep cut formed across Lyrius’ shoulder. Blood spilled instantly.

Then—

BOOM!

A second later, Oliver’s knee smashed into Lyrius’ ribs with brutal efficiency. The force sent him flying back, crashing into the dirt.

Dust rose as the impact left a small crater where he landed.

Silence.

Oliver exhaled calmly, lowering his blade.

"Too easy."

But Lyrius gritted his teeth through the pain.

’Get up.’

Blood dripped down his lips. His vision swam. His ribs felt like they had been caved in.

"No. Stand up."

His fingers dug into the ground.

"You’re not done yet."

Oliver clicked his tongue, shaking his head.

"Another one of those stubborn idiots who think willpower can make up for skill."

His air affinity swirled around him, the winds responding to his breathing.

"Why are they always like this?"

He had seen it before—warriors who refused to accept the difference between talent and effort.

And yet, the kid was standing back up.

Lyrius wiped the blood from his mouth. His breathing was still heavy. But his eyes…

They weren’t shaken.

Oliver narrowed his gaze. "What the hell is he thinking?"

Then—

Lyrius adjusted his grip on his sword.

And Oliver’s entire body went cold.

Because the stance Lyrius took—

Was identical to his own.

For the first time, Oliver felt his mind pause.

"Wait—"

The way Lyrius held his sword.

The way his body positioned itself.

The way his stance perfectly mimicked Oliver’s own technique from moments ago.

"No. That’s not possible."

Oliver had trained that form for years. It took months of refinement to execute correctly.

And yet—this bastard had just copied it after seeing it once.

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"Who the fuck is this guy?"

Oliver’s eyes narrowed. This wasn’t just imitation.

This was execution.

Lyrius took a deep breath, then moved.

Their blades met once more.

But this time—

Oliver didn’t have the upper hand.

Lyrius’ movements mirrored his own. Every technique, every angle, every motion—exactly as Oliver had performed it.

CLASH. CLANG. SLASH.

Oliver went for a downward strike—Lyrius matched it.

Oliver feinted left—Lyrius feinted right at the exact same moment.

Oliver accelerated his pace—Lyrius matched him, move for move.

Oliver felt his patience crack.

’How the fuck is he doing this?!’

Lyrius wasn’t just copying him—he was growing.

Every second, he was adapting.

Every attack was being refined.

"No. No, no, no—"

Oliver’s grip tightened. He wouldn’t accept this.

He wouldn’t let some nameless bastard stand on his level.

"You want to copy me?"

Oliver’s sword flashed.

"Then try keeping up with this."

The winds screamed.

A hurricane-like burst of air erupted around Oliver, the sheer force of it pushing Lyrius back.

Oliver vanished—and then reappeared, his sword a silver blur cutting through the chaos.

His technique wasn’t just swordsmanship.

It was momentum.

A strike moving faster than the body could react.

Lyrius saw it coming. But his body—

Was too slow.

The impact was devastating.

Oliver’s blade slammed into Lyrius’ chest, sending him rocketing backward.

THUD!

The force of the blow shattered the earth beneath him as he was launched across the battlefield.

Lyrius crashed into the dirt.

His vision flickered. His breath came in ragged gasps.

Pain.

Overwhelming pain.

He tried to move—but his body refused.

Oliver stood over him, his sword resting on his shoulder.

"You fought well," Oliver muttered. "But you’re not there yet."

Lyrius, through sheer stubbornness, tried to lift himself up—

But his body collapsed.

The match was decided.