MIGHT AS WELL BE OP

Chapter 531: Anthony Vs Raelith-1

Anthony and Raelith instantly vanished from their positions at the sound. They reappeared at each other’s former locations, backs facing one another, their katanas sheathed. Neither flinched. Neither blinked. They simply stood there, like mirrored statues poised to act.

The very moment they reappeared, the hissing sound of two katanas being drawn followed. Then, a heavy clang of metals clashing exploded outward immediately after the hiss, as though both sounds struggled to keep up with their owners, as if even sound itself was slower than them.

Then suddenly, still standing with their backs to each other, they took a step back in perfect harmony. Their movement was fluid, flawless.

As if synchronized by a divine rhythm, the hissing sound of katanas being drawn repeated, almost like a haunting echo, as they vanished once more in the blink of an eye.

Their katanas met at a point in mid-air, just a single spark of friction, then they moved. The heavy clanging of their blades rang out repeatedly, and its intensity surged with each passing second.

They were no longer warming up. They were unleashing everything. Their speed, their skill, their ferocity, it all began to rise with terrifying clarity.

Then in a flash, their silver katanas turned into a blur. Their hands followed suit. Their bodies blurred as well, their forms lost in a storm of movement as they both exploded into a state of full motion.

Fire sparks crackled outward in a mild shower with every collision, scattering across the terrain as they moved and clashed with the momentum of titans.

Speed met speed.

Strength met strength.

Katana met katana.

Slash met slash.

Technique met technique.

Attack met defense.

The world blurred in their eyes as they danced through the battlefield. Their piercing blue eyes locked onto one another with an unrelenting hunger, like predators mirroring each other’s intent. It was as if they were twins, reflections born from the same core.

Yet neither of them slowed down. On the contrary, they intensified their movements, becoming more relentless. The air itself screamed in protest, howling under the pressure of their blinding speed.

Their flickering forms darted across the forest. Sparks from their clashing blades ignited dry leaves, setting parts of the forest ablaze without remorse.

Sound struggled to keep up from the very beginning. It was as if the world’s natural rhythm was begging them to slow their madness.

But with every sonic boom that echoed, the air’s barrier shattered outward in rampaging pulses. Yet by the time the sound reached the trees, the two combatants had already vanished once more.

They now stood atop a hill. Their feet barely touched the earth, like expert tap dancers performing an ethereal routine. Their footwork was ridiculously perfect, almost inhuman.

Their ankle movements matched their wrist movements. Their knee movements synchronized with their elbows. Every part of them moved in coordination.

The air and the entire space around them drowned in one metallic clash after another. But their movements were confident, absolute.

Each believed that the other would block. Each believed the other would parry. Each believed the other would retaliate. Each believed the other would slash in return.

There was no hesitation. No second-guessing.

Mana didn’t exist here.

Aura didn’t exist here.

Intent didn’t exist here.

Elemental energies didn’t exist here.

Nothing supernatural enhanced their forms.

Their muscles moved purely of their own will and training, pure, refined skill.

Yet still, they moved faster than the measurement of sound. Faster than thought, faster than anything mortal could ever comprehend.

Afterimages began to form. Then they disappeared. Then they flickered into existence again, faint glimpses of movement spread across the forest as they clashed over and over again.

Frames of their motion, phantom images, painted the forest with motion blur and phantom echoes.

Then, with a thunderous boom, the hill beneath them reverberated violently, as if it could no longer bear the intensity of their combat. The ground cracked.

Then it crumbled downwards. Stones, boulders, and pebbles tumbled down the slope as gravity reclaimed them.

But it didn’t matter to Anthony and Raelith. Their balance, their footwork, was too perfect. They moved effortlessly across the crumbling terrain, stepping from one falling rock to another.

From one pebble to the next. Structures that shouldn’t be able to bear their weight actually carried them and propelled them forward. Each step defied logic.

The moment the shattered hill fragments were about to hit the ground, their forms vanished in mid-air, as though they were capable of walking on the sky itself. As though the air beneath them was no different than solid earth.

Neither cared about injury. This was a spar born from true katanamanship. Injury was expected. Pain was the price of pursuit.

Besides, a literal Supreme Monarch was watching them, someone capable of moving at speeds both of them could never dream of matching. In that presence, holding back was not an option.

With an ear-piercing scream, the air split apart. Their katanas blazed forward once more, streaking toward each other like opposite poles of a magnet crashing together.

A detonation occurred between them, a loud, warping blast, but neither of them stepped back. The smiles on their faces didn’t fade. Instead, they widened. They stared into each other’s blue eyes with fire and challenge, urging one another to strike again.

Their bodies trembled, not from fatigue, but from the thrill. Every cell danced in exhilaration. Their katanas hummed, not just as weapons, but as partners in this dance of death, as if even the blades relished this moment alongside their wielders.

In a blip, they moved once again. Wind resistance was futile. They tore through it like living lightning. They advanced with the confidence of cobras, silent, swift, and unflinching. Each strike was measured to perfection, as though composed by a maestro conducting a deadly duet.

They battled like phantoms. Every motion was ghostly, yet lethally precise. Their blades flashed through the air as though slashing through fabric, effortless, silent, devastating.

They didn’t pause. They didn’t falter. They didn’t guess.

Every single second mattered.

Every single nanosecond mattered.

Every fraction of time was a decision.

Their smiles turned into full grins as they moved. Their movements flowed as though guided by the hand of destiny itself. Each clash of blades echoed like a saga of ancient rivalries, an eternal score of warriors long overdue for their encounter.

Each attack was not met with retreat, but with another strike, equally swift, equally brutal. Their katanas didn’t just clash, they screamed against one another, screeching like wild beasts unleashed from captivity.

The sheer pressure of their combat turned the very air heavy with unspoken death. The space between them was not a gap, but a void filled only by the flash of steel and raw power. One wrong breath. One ill-timed blink. That’s all it would take for the duel to end in crimson ruin.

Every strike carried the force of a hurricane. Their blows twisted the very fabric of the battlefield, bending trees, shattering rocks, splintering ground.

Yet none of that mattered to them.

What mattered was the katana in their hands.

What mattered was what move the other would make next.

What mattered was what counter they would respond with.

The outside world ceased to exist.

The katana was their world now.

The duel was their existence.

And they would both exist for eternity... for the katana.