Journey to Become the Zenith

The Smile of a Battle Maniac

Victor looked half-dead.

Anyone watching the battle from the outside would have assumed that he should no longer be capable of standing, much less continuing to fight.

His black shirt was torn in several places, and his golden jacket had lost its neat appearance. Bruises covered his body, while several shallow cuts marked his hands. His breathing was heavier than before, and his movements had become increasingly difficult to follow even for those who were watching closely.

Yet appearances were deceiving.

Victor had not suffered any serious injuries.

Most of the damage was superficial. His body ached from being struck repeatedly, but none of Fean’s attacks had managed to inflict critical damage.

That alone was remarkable.

Fean had been granted the power of the seed of the Universal Emperor. Whatever that strange existence was, it had transformed Fean into something far stronger than Victor’s current self.

There was no denying the difference.

Fean was stronger.

Faster.

More overwhelming.

But that was all.

Victor slowly wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth and watched Fean approach again.

His golden eyes remained sharp.

’He’s strong.’

There was no reason to deny it.

If strength alone decided the outcome of this battle, Victor would have already lost.

But strength wasn’t everything.

That was something Victor had learned long ago.

Fean was powerful, but his attacks were crude.

There was no subtlety behind them.

No elaborate technique.

No feint.

No change in rhythm designed to deceive his opponent.

Every attack came directly toward Victor.

A punch.

A kick.

Another punch.

Every movement was brutally straightforward.

Fean was like a beast that had been given overwhelming physical strength but had forgotten how to use anything beyond it.

Normally, such an opponent would have been easy for Victor to deal with.

Unfortunately, Fean’s physical ability was on an entirely different level.

Even knowing exactly where the attacks were coming from didn’t mean Victor could easily evade them.

The difference in speed was simply too great.

Victor’s body shifted.

A fist passed beside his face.

He leaned backward.

Another strike swept across his chest.

He twisted his body at the last instant.

A third attack came from below.

Victor stepped aside.

The movement looked simple, but his muscles were already working at their limit.

He couldn’t afford a single mistake.

One clean hit from Fean could potentially change the entire battle.

Victor understood that very clearly.

Yet despite that, he had managed to avoid every truly devastating blow.

The injuries he carried were proof of how narrow the margin had become.

His arms were bruised.

His shoulders were sore.

His hands carried several small cuts.

But nothing had reached a point where he couldn’t continue.

Fean suddenly appeared in front of him again.

Victor’s pupils contracted.

The man’s fist shot toward his face.

Victor shifted his head.

The fist passed by his cheek.

The wind generated by the attack brushed against his skin.

Victor immediately moved backward.

Fean didn’t stop.

He chased after him.

Another punch.

Victor blocked it.

The impact pushed him several steps backward.

Before his feet had fully stabilized, Fean attacked again.

Victor twisted away.

A kick tore through the space where his stomach had been a moment earlier.

The stone floor beneath them cracked from the force.

Victor’s expression remained calm.

His eyes, however, were becoming brighter.

He was studying.

Every attack.

Every movement.

Every change in Fean’s posture.

Even if Fean lacked technique, his overwhelming strength meant that Victor had almost no room for error.

So Victor had to find that one opening.

Just one.

The problem was that Fean wasn’t giving him any time.

The barrage continued without pause.

There was no moment to breathe.

No moment to relax.

No moment to gather enough strength for a proper counterattack.

Fean’s fists came one after another, each one carrying enough force to shatter stone.

Victor continued moving.

His feet slid across the ground.

His body bent and twisted.

Sometimes he avoided the attacks by only a few inches.

Other times the strikes grazed his clothes and left another shallow mark.

The cave echoed with the sounds of impacts.

Boom!

Crack!

Boom!

Dust drifted from the ceiling.

Small fragments of stone fell around them.

Evelyne could barely follow the battle.

Her sword remained in her hand, but she had stopped moving forward.

She knew that rushing in would only make things worse.

Victor had already ordered Diana not to interfere.

And Diana, despite the concern burning in her eyes, understood the same thing.

This was Victor’s battle.

Still, watching him being pushed back again and again made her fingers tighten around the shaft of her scythe.

”Master...”

Evelyne’s voice was barely audible.

Victor heard her.

But he didn’t look back.

He couldn’t.

His attention was completely focused on Fean.

One distraction could cost him his life.

Fean launched another attack.

Victor ducked.

A fist passed above his head.

Victor immediately moved to the side.

Another fist followed.

He narrowly avoided it.

Then a knee.

Victor stepped backward.

Another punch.

He blocked it.

The impact sent pain through his arms.

Victor gritted his teeth.

His body was being pushed to its limits.

Yet his eyes were still shining.

The situation was unfavorable in every possible way.

His opponent was stronger.

His opponent was faster.

His opponent possessed an unknown power Victor couldn’t fully understand.

And worst of all, Victor couldn’t find an opportunity to counterattack.

Every advantage seemed to belong to Fean.

Yet Victor’s expression didn’t become desperate.

It didn’t become frustrated.

Instead—

His lips slowly curved upward.

Joy.

Pure and unmistakable joy.

Diana noticed it first.

Her red eyes widened slightly.

’He’s smiling?’

She knew that expression.

Victor wasn’t enjoying being injured.

He was enjoying the battle itself.

There was something almost nostalgic in his eyes.

The tension of death.

The knowledge that one mistake could end everything.

The concentration required to search through an impossible situation for a single chance at victory.

And the stubbornness needed to continue moving forward even when victory seemed almost impossible.