Genetic Ascension

Chapter 501: Tattoos [Bonus]

Sylasʼ gaze flashed as he quickly took in the surroundings. They were in an open square in the middle of the village; corpses were littered around, and there wasnʼt just more than a dozen meters squared or so to maneuver around.

To his back, there was a large number of Ravenclaws trying to stop his forward charge, and there were a few more stragglers in the village that wanted to do the same.

But honestly... Sylas couldnʼt believe the disorganization. If they hurried to support Ragnar like this, the Grimblades would have an easier time penetrating their defenses as well.

Unless... he was confident in the fact this poison would be able to stop him.

Unfortunately for Ragnar, though, while Sylas had feared this poison the first time they met, it wasnʼt at a level that could harm him at all now.

Not only had he already analyzed the Rune that formed this poison, even if he hadnʼt, his Poison affinity alone would have been enough for him to control the Aether in the surroundings to keep it away from him.

A Silver Grade Poison Affinity wasnʼt something the likes of Ragnar could stand up to.

ʼIs he really so foolish?ʼ

There was enough plausible deniability to go around. A lone person should be easy to deal with, so fair enough. But... by that same token, if Ragnar really thought he was a normal lone person, he wouldnʼt be investing this much manpower into it either.

ʼI see...ʼ Sylas seemed to have finally thought of something. But instead of being shaken, he was only calmer.

A spear appeared before his face, and he took a step back. The blade didnʼt carry a lot of power, but it was fast, sharp, and accurate.

Ragnarʼs dress pants and shirt didnʼt seem to hinder him in the slightest as he moved with a shocking flare to him. Maybe it was just his personality, but Sylas felt like the weapon before him had real life.

Ragnar was exceptionally skilled, and Sylas, who had been expecting to find a quick method of counterattack or a hole to exploit, quickly found that he actually couldnʼt.

ʼIʼve underestimated him.ʼ

Though he had this thought, he remained calm.

The heir candidates for these families had been preparing since their youth. The fact his skill was even close to theirs was a testament to Sylasʼ talent, not their lack of effort.

Sylas parried the body of the spear to the side, and a glint lit in Ragnarʼs eyes. Spikes laced with poison jetted out and cut into Sylasʼ arm, hooking into him.

Ragnar pulled back, ripping Sylasʼ flesh along with his efforts and leaving a bloody gash down his forearm.

Sylas frowned. It had cut into his scales; this wasnʼt just a small parlor trick. This spear was specially designed to be used with poison; of course it would have such hidden traps.

The feeling of a foreign poison pooling into his body was unpleasant, but it was easily suppressed by his superior Ice-Poison.

By the time he had gotten it under control, Ragnarʼs spear was already following up in a flurry. It carried a speed that was clearly a few percentage points faster, and their afterimages made the blade particularly hard to track.

ʼHeʼs taking advantage of my distraction.ʼ

Sylas was constantly waiting for the men around them to take action, but they were biding their time perfectly. In fact, they had set up a nice formation, blocking him in while retreating their line of defense against the Grimblades enough that they could manage both situations. ʼOkay. In that case.ʼ

Sylas pressed a foot down into the ground and slipped his head to his side. He formed a sturdy base, and he no longer dodged; his fists clanged against the rain of spear thrusts.

Every solid collision made it sound as though metal was clashing against metal.

He seemed to have completely forgotten that there were enemies around, and the moment he focused on Ragnar, it was no longer a one-sided attack fest.

Sylas shifted and flowed, his body like a symphony and his tendons like their plucking strings. Every strike he sent brought with it 100% effectiveness, his stats being maximized to their greatest degree.

Ragnar, who had been relaxed until now, felt the change immediately. His spear strikes werenʼt landing as true as before, and his wait for the poison to begin affecting Sylas wasnʼt bearing any fruit.

BANG!

Sylasʼ gaze flickered as a rebounding force came from the side of Ragnarʼs head. He had suddenly summoned his pauldron just now, but an automatic defense triggered just when he was about to catch Ragnar off guard.

ʼThe tattoos. Interesting.ʼ

Just now, there was a forceful circulation of Aether triggered that passed through one of the tattoos on Ragnarʼs body.

Realizing an easy victory wasnʼt in the cards, the rest of General Aleenʼs armor appeared. Or at the very least, the pieces Sylas used the most often.

activated, and Ragnar was pressed to his back foot. The pauldrons hovered around Sylasʼ mirror image, making it look as though there were truly two of him fighting against Ragnar.

The pressure increased.

Sylas weaved in and out, swapping locations and pivoting around his ”clone” freely.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Ragnar stumbled back and then stumbled back again.

His footing was thrown off, and his defenses became sloppy.

Sylasʼ fist slipped through and clashed right against his chest, only for another barrier of defenses to activate.

A pauldron slammed into his back at the same time as Sylas pincered him from both sides. Ragnar found himself being shaken from both sides, but he still stood his ground expertly. Taking advantage of his strong defenses, he took an opportunity to slip out.

His tattoos flared with life and his aura changed. The seriousness on his expression could no longer be hidden as an illusory armor clamped down around him.

A translucent scorpion tail curled from his back, and its carapace coated Ragnar from head to

toe.