Suguru Geto raised his staff to parry.
The blood arrows exploded against Playful Cloud, splattering his robes with crimson, but he didn’t care.
Pivoting on his heel, he closed the gap once more, swinging the metal staff down toward Arata Hoshino.
Arata ducked the strike, and with a casual wave of his hand, the churning tide of blood behind him split into several torrents, flanking Geto from multiple directions.
The blood solidified instantly in mid-air, forming crescent blades as thin as cicada wings that sliced through the air toward Geto’s back.
Geto paused, spinning Playful Cloud in a wide arc.
The metal sections accurately knocked away two of the blood scythes, but the third managed to tear through his vestments, leaving a shallow gash on his arm.
“Interesting.” Geto glanced at the blood on his shoulder, his voice tinged with surprise.
“I remember your technique is Copying, not the inheritance of Blood Manipulation.
To use the Kamo clan’s technique to this extent in such a short time…
Satoru really did pick up a good student.”
Arata didn’t answer.
His eyes were bloodshot, staring at Geto with a gaze that looked ready to devour him alive.
“But this level of play isn’t enough!” Geto waved his hand, and several curses lunged from the shadows, roaring as they pounced on Arata.
Arata raised his hand, and the blood transformed into circular flying blades that shredded the foremost curses into pieces.
But in that exact moment, Geto’s figure vanished.
A split second later, he appeared behind Arata.
Playful Cloud swung down with lethal force, but Arata’s body suddenly disappeared.
In his place was a blood bead the size of a ping-pong ball.
“Nani!” Geto exclaimed.
The next second, the blood bead exploded, transforming into a needle that shot toward his head.
Geto reacted with lightning speed, jerking his head to the side.
The blood needle grazed his cheek, leaving a thin trail of red.
In that brief opening, Arata had already circled behind him.
Holding a katana created via Construction, Arata slashed down at Geto’s back.
“Crap!” Realizing he was in trouble, Geto turned to block, but Arata’s blade had already bitten into his chest.
Geto’s movements froze.
He looked down at the gash running diagonally from his right shoulder to his chest.
Blood seeped from beneath the torn fabric, staining the white undergarments of his Buddhist robes a shocking red.
“Huff…
huff…” Arata panted heavily, his sword-hand trembling.
The blow Geto had landed on his shoulder earlier had cleared his head, which meant he could now acutely feel the crushing burden of Flowing Red Scale.
In his vision, Geto was starting to blur into double images.
“Cough.”
Geto coughed up a bit of blood, but there was no anger on his face.
Instead, a strange smile appeared.
“Subarashii! Visit g.com for the full chapter.
You’re the first of Satoru’s students to push me this far.”
Arata didn’t respond.
He took a deep breath, gripped the hilt, and charged again.
Geto sidestepped, sweeping Playful Cloud in a wide horizontal strike.
Arata raised the katana to block, but the moment the weapons collided, the constructed blade shattered into fragments.
Arata immediately waved his hand, commanding the surrounding blood to condense into arrows that fired at Geto from every angle.
“You’ve copied so many techniques, yet you show no signs of rejection,” Geto remarked while parrying, his voice carrying a sense of warped admiration.
“What a shame you’re not a curse.”
As he spoke, Geto saw Arata press his palms together—the omen of Piercing Blood.
But Geto only gave a cruel smile.
Knocking aside the remaining arrows, he swung Playful Cloud directly at Arata’s forearms.
Just as the staff was about to connect, Arata vanished again, leaving Playful Cloud to smash into a cursed-energy-infused pebble.
“Did you think the same trick would work twice?”
Geto’s voice dropped as he swung the hand holding Playful Cloud directly behind him.
Arata’s pupils shrank.
The staff swept across, slamming directly into the arm he had just used to gather blood for the technique.
A sickening *crack* echoed through the plaza.
Arata’s right arm bent at a grotesque angle, bone fragments piercing through the skin as blood dripped down.
Despite the trauma, Arata remained standing, even trying to counter with his remaining left hand.
Geto swung again, hitting Arata’s side.
Agony surged like a tidal wave.
Arata gritted his teeth, refusing to let out a sound, but his body staggered backward uncontrollably.
“Still standing after that much damage?” Geto flicked the blood off Playful Cloud, his voice holding genuine praise.
“A broken arm, and likely significant internal bleeding.
You’ve got a stiff spine, kid.”
He paused, his lips curling into a meaningful smirk.
“However, having a stiff spine and being able to survive are two different things.”
With those words, Geto charged head-on.
Arata’s pupils contracted as he tried to dodge, but his broken body couldn’t keep up with his reflexes.
Geto’s cursed-energy-reinforced fist slammed into his chest.
Before Arata could even react, Geto took him to the ground and followed up with another brutal punch to the sternum.
*Bam!*
Cracks radiated out from beneath him like a web.
“Those two were for me,” Geto said, standing over him and looking down.
“Those punches this morning actually hurt quite a bit.”
Arata’s fingers clawed into the loose gravel, his knuckles white.
He tried to push himself up with his one good arm, but a sharp, stabbing pain in his back made him freeze.
Geto raised his foot and stepped on Arata’s chest, slowly applying pressure.
“Do you know the biggest difference between you and Satoru?” Geto’s voice drifted down.
“Satoru is a natural-born powerhouse.
From the moment he was born, he stood at the apex of all sorcerers.
But you?
You’re desperately trying to become strong, but you can never escape the limits of being human.”
“You know,” Geto added, increasing the pressure until Arata’s ribcage groaned under the weight, “I actually quite admired you.
Your technique is special, and your willpower is far beyond the norm.
I even invited you to join us, to be my ‘family’.”
Geto leaned down, whispering into Arata’s ear like a demon.
“What a pity.
You chose the wrong side.”
Geto lifted his foot, then stomped down with everything he had.
*Cough-ack!*
Arata’s body arched in a spasm as he sprayed a mouthful of blood across the cold stone tiles.
The bones in his chest let out a muffled crunch—there was no telling how many had just snapped.
“That kick was for what you said earlier,” Geto said, looking down at him.
“My ‘righteousness’ isn’t for a brat like you to judge.”
Arata’s lips moved, as if trying to whisper something.
Geto leaned in closer.
“What was that?”
“I said…”
Arata used the last of his strength to raise his left hand, flipping Geto a trembling middle finger.
“F*ck you.”
Geto’s expression froze for a moment, and then, he laughed.
It wasn’t a laugh of anger, but one of genuine appreciation—the way one might look at a piece of art that is destined to be destroyed by one’s own hand.
“Interesting.” Geto raised Playful Cloud, this time aiming it directly at Arata’s head.
“Then you can take those final words to your grave.”
Geto swung the staff down with crushing force.
In that instant, a soul-shattering roar erupted from behind him.
“RIKA!!!”