The Strongest Student of the Weakest Academy-Chapter 465: The Heavens Shall Fall (VI)

Three more matches passed.

I watched over them, almost wanting to sleep.

There was nothing special about these duels, since all the students were getting that ass beaten by those from the major factions.

"Rank Five of the Divine Academy... Aestrea Moon."

"Representing the Celestial Dominion... Seran Voss."

I finally stood up, stretching my arms.

"Don’t do anything stupid," Tyrian said.

"Define stupid," Kael said immediately, on my behalf, before I could respond.

Tyrian looked at him.

"For him specifically," Kael added.

I left them to that and made my way down toward the platform entry point.

I wonder if I should hit-kill him directly... probably not, since I don’t want to show much power to the other factions.

The Primordial Court easily knows my power, but the others do not.

Mhm...?

The platform was larger up close than it looked from the third tier. I stepped onto it and instantly felt a strange feeling wash over my body.

Then, I looked across the platform.

Seran Voss was already at his mark.

He was tall.

Broad through the shoulders, the kind of build that suggested his fighting style was a physical-type.

His Celestial Dominion uniform sat on him precisely, silver-white and immaculate, and he wore it with the awareness of someone who understood what it represented.

His hair was a dark auburn, cut close on the sides, and his eyes were a sharp, pale green that had already found me and were practically glaring at me right now.

His divine energy sat at an 8✯ Early True God... higher than my measured Divine Energy, but yeah... I probably can one-shot him.

His mouth curved slightly as I settled into my mark.

"Fifth place," he spoke in a mocking tone.

"I expected someone older."

"Sorry to disappoint."

"I’m not disappointed."

The curve of his mouth deepened slightly.

"I requested this match specifically."

"I heard."

"Six years with no losses. I want you to know that before we start, because I think it’s relevant context for what’s about to happen."

I looked at him.

He’s fucking arrogant... should I slap him across his face directly?

"Cool, cool," I obviously rolled my eyes at him.

Didn’t give a single fuck about this ugly guy.

The official ran through the formal introduction above us, names, ranks, and affiliations delivered to the full arena.

I heard the crowd’s reaction to the rank gap without needing to look up at them.

RINGG!

The signal finally dropped.

Seran moved immediately, and he was fast, genuinely fast, and crossed a third of the platform distance in the opening exchange before his divine energy shaped itself into a forward pressure wave aimed at my center of mass.

FWOOM!

I stepped sideways.

The pressure wave passed through where I’d been standing and hit the boundary field behind me, which absorbed it with a sound like a deep exhale.

Seran stopped his advance and recalibrated.

Swish!

Came again, this time with a feint left before driving the real strike toward my right side, divine energy wrapped around his forearm in a dense layer that gave the strike enough force to matter.

I rolled under it.

Came up two meters to his left.

He pivoted fast and threw a follow-up aimed at my jaw, no divine energy this time, just the raw physical force of someone whose body was built for exactly this kind of exchange.

I leaned back.

It grazed the air in front of my nose.

He landed from the follow-up and looked at me.

The pleasant curve of his mouth had flattened slightly.

"You’re... just dodging."

"I’m getting comfortable," I mockingly rolled my shoulders.

"There’s a word for fighting like that."

"Efficient?"

"Cowardly."

I looked at him.

’There it is. Less than a minute in, and he’s already reaching for it. He expected me to engage directly, and I didn’t, and now the gap he prepared for isn’t producing the result he calculated.’

"Come at me properly! Both swords. I know you carry two."

I drew them.

The Heavenly Swallowing Sword is in my right. Midnight on my left. Both were clearing their sheaths with the same sound they always made.

Seran’s pale green eyes moved across both blades before he directly rushed at me.

FWOOOOSH!

The difference with the swords in hand was immediate and visible to anyone watching.

He committed fully this time, divine energy flooding into both forearms, the pressure he generated with each strike doubling in density, his footwork shifting into something that covered ground faster and left fewer recoverable gaps between exchanges.

CLANG!

His right forearm met Midnight in a block, the force of it pushing my left arm back by a clean inch.

KOOM!

His knee drove toward my ribs on the follow-up, and I turned my hip to take it on the outside of my thigh instead, the impact solid enough to produce a sound.

He used the contact to push off and create distance, landing cleanly, immediately reading my adjusted stance.

’He’s fast. And he adapts quickly. No wonder he remained six years unbeaten...’

’But...’

He came again, a three-strike combination, left right left, each one landing exactly where his footwork said it would land before it arrived.

I blocked the first on the Swallowing Sword.

Redirected the second with Midnight.

Let the third one come.

It hit my right shoulder with the full weight of his committed output behind it.

KOOM!

He felt the contact land, and his eyes sharpened with satisfaction.

I hadn’t moved.

The satisfaction lasted approximately one second.

"...You took that?"

"Mm."

"On purpose?"

"I wanted to know what your committed attack power felt like," I nodded lightly.

"Now I know."

He clenched his teeth at my words, causing me to grin widely.

He drove forward again, faster this time, burning more divine energy into his speed.

I sheathed both swords.

Seran’s rhythm broke for exactly half a step.

"...What are you doing?!"

"Getting more comfortable."

His pale green eyes went through several things in quick succession.

Disbelief... offense... and then fury.

The specific fury of someone who has six years of undefeated record and is currently watching their opponent put away their weapons mid-match like a man setting down cutlery after deciding the meal wasn’t worth finishing.

"You’re not serious...?"

"I’m very serious."

"I am an 8✯ True God—"

"I know."

"—with six years—"

"You mentioned that already."

"PUT YOUR SWORDS BACK."

"Nuh uh."

His divine light authority erupted off his body in a visible flare, the platform surface beneath his feet scorching slightly from the output.

He came.

FWOOOOSH!

His right fist drove toward my face, wrapped in condensed light authority, fast enough that the air ahead of it compressed into a visible ripple.

I tilted my head left.

It passed my ear.

His left followed immediately, a hook aimed at my temple.

I ducked under it.

He grabbed for my collar with his right hand on the recovery.

I let him get the grip, and then...

PAAAAAK!

I slapped him.

Open hand, connecting with his left cheek with a sound that was significantly louder than it had any right to be in a large arena.

The arena went completely silent.

Seran’s head snapped to the right. 𝓯𝙧𝙚𝒆𝙬𝙚𝒃𝙣𝙤𝒗𝓮𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢

He stood there for one full second, fingers still gripping my collar, cheek already going red, processing what had just happened to him in front of several thousand people.

"...Y-you..."

"Your guard drops on the left side when you commit to a right grab," I explained helpfully. "You might want to work on that."

"YOU JUST SLAPPED ME—"

"I did."

"IN FRONT OF EVERYONE—"

"There were witnesses, yes."

"I AM SERAN VOSS—"

"Cool."

BOOOOM!

He released my collar and threw everything he had at my face, divine light erupting off both fists, six years of undefeated fury converting itself into the most committed combination he’d thrown in the entire match.

I moved through it.

Under the first, inside the second, and the third one I let graze my shoulder because getting fully clear of it wasn’t worth the positioning cost.

Then I slapped him again.

PAAAAAK!

Right cheek this time.

"STOP THAT!!!"

"Stop leaving it open."

"I WILL DESTROY YOU!!!!!!"

FWISH!

He came again, faster, angrier, the precision that had made his first exchanges genuinely impressive starting to develop edges as the fury crept into his timing.

CLANG!

He grabbed my wrist.

Got my elbow with his other hand.

Locked the joint with proper technique and torqued hard, the kind of lock that produces compliance or damage and isn’t particularly interested in which one.

’Good. He remembered grappling existed.’

I stepped into the lock instead of away from it, collapsing the angle it needed to function, and got close enough that his height advantage stopped mattering.

My free hand found the side of his face.

PAAAAAAAK!

"GHHHHHK! STOP DOING THAT!!!"

"Let go of my arm."

"I WILL NOT LET GO OF YOUR—"

I slapped him again with my captured hand, bending the wrist enough to free it for the half second the motion required.

PAAAAAK!

"THAT’S NOT PHYSICALLY POSSIBLE—"

"It is."

"YOUR WRIST DOESN’T BEND THAT—"

"Flexibility is important. You should stretch more."

He screamed in pure, complete frustration.