MIGHT AS WELL BE OP

Chapter 535: Artistic

Raelith’s mind was swirling in a storm of questions; he couldn’t believe his eyes at this moment. He had looked forward to this spar for so long. It was something he had been anticipating, something he had prepared for mentally and physically.

He had never once believed Anthony could match him. Yes, Anthony was a genius, more talented than him even. That much he admitted. But that was then. This was now. And now, he, Raelith, was stronger.

He had risen through battles, honed his blade, and emerged as one of the strongest. Yet, as he watched Anthony meet him head-on with such terrifying ease, without faltering a single step, he felt a tinge of disbelief crawl up his spine.

Anthony’s katana techniques were the epitome of what mastery should look like, as though he himself was a katana incarnate.

Raelith had held a katana long before he even awakened a class. He never once doubted, even as a young boy, that the katana was meant for him.

While his friends and others simply trained their bodies, waiting for their class awakenings to determine what weapon or path best suited them, Raelith had done the exact opposite. He had chosen before being chosen.

From the age of seven, Raelith had swung his katana every single day in practice, never once missing a day. If he missed a day, it was only because he had been on the battlefield, locked in combat against demons or enemies.

And even then, he would still end up swinging his katana, just not in training but in real, lethal battle.

Even when he and his teammates in the military were stationed at various fronts, Raelith still carved out time, sometimes as little as a few minutes, to swing his katana. Even if it was only once, he had to make that swing. It was ritual. It was purpose. It was survival.

That had always been his way. That had always been his motto. And to this very day, it hadn’t changed. Even as a Warlord, one of the most powerful existences in the military, Raelith never abandoned that daily routine.

No day ever passed without him stepping onto the training ground, drenched in sweat, his katana slicing through the air with relentless motion.

He had climbed from the very bottom, from an orphan on the streets, to the very top, to this current position, with nothing but a katana in hand. He had dominated during his time.

He stood untouched amongst his peers, rising like a lone blade pointed at the heavens. And all this without having a single master to guide him.

From an orphan to a Warlord, with nothing but his katana. No special bloodline. No legendary physique. No secret master hidden in a space ring. No system guiding his growth. No cheat code. No fate-twisting power backing him. Just pure, unfiltered obsession for the katana. Obsession for the art.

That was just how talented he was.

He had sparred with every swordsman he could find and deemed worthy. And in all of them, he had come out on top. Yet despite this, he wasn’t delusional. He never once thought himself to be the best blade wielder on the entire Blue Planet.

Neither did he believe he was the most talented. He was strong, yes, but he knew his place. After all, monsters like the Sword Saint existed. And that man had stood above everyone else with a blade that could split the heavens.

And now, that same Sword Saint, who had ascended to the rank of Supreme Monarch, had birthed another monster, one who now stood in front of him, grinning. Anthony. The same look of love, the same unwavering devotion to the katana, could be seen clearly in the young man’s eyes.

Their blue eyes, which seemed to mirror each other, reflected that truth in silence.

Although Raelith could feel himself gradually getting overwhelmed, he knew the katana was an eternal art. If his opponent threatened to eclipse him, then he would simply devour everything his opponent had to offer and, in turn, eclipse the very eclipse. He would outdo it.

With that thought, his blue eyes gleamed. He started adapting, slowly, gently, but surely. His movement suddenly sharpened, his perception heightened as his gaze seemed ready to pierce through the depth of Anthony’s form.

His attacks grew frantic, more precise, more lethal. What was once already perfect seemed to evolve further, closing every tiny flaw, every subtle hole.

He was improving in real-time. His heart thundered like war drums within his chest. His body cheered, veins pulsing with wild rhythm as it felt the awakening, the breakthrough. For the first time in over a decade, he was making visible improvements again.

But just because he was this talented didn’t mean he could absorb everything Anthony had to offer.

Anthony stood in a league of his own.

Each time Raelith adapted and improved, Anthony instantly took it up a notch, countering him with overwhelming katana mastery, relentless and sharp, no matter what real-time adjustments Raelith made. It was suffocating.

Raelith may be a genius, but Anthony’s personal talent was limitless in every sense of the word.

And since Raelith had chosen to devour all Anthony had to offer, Anthony decided to do the same.

Anthony’s body shifted. His pattern changed. His steps realigned. His flow moved into something else entirely. Attacks began blazing out like rapid-fire machine gun shots, fluid, precise, unrelenting.

And then, without missing a beat, Anthony mimicked Raelith’s katana style. The very same style Raelith had developed over a lifetime.

’This... it’s my style...’ Raelith’s mind faltered.

’Ho... How is this possible?’ his thoughts buzzed in disbelief. But his body reacted without pause, instinct honed by years of discipline. He continued to move, continued to fight.

He had been improving under Anthony’s onslaught, but Anthony had now halted that momentum by switching to Raelith’s own style.

But this was his style.

He knew the inside and the outside of it. He moved to counter with flawless expertise as their swords clashed once more, the collision like roaring behemoths colliding with explosive force.

Tremors erupted beneath their feet as the ground cracked and split. Trenches tore through everything in their path, leveling trees, shattering stone, and disintegrating the terrain with ruthless abandon.

’Im... p... o... ssible,’ Raelith thought, his worldview collapsing right before his eyes, in the very middle of his own spar.

His counters couldn’t keep up. Anthony was using his style against him, but better. Faster. Sharper. As if every swing from Anthony was something new, something enhanced, yet paradoxically familiar.

’He... improved my own style. How can such a monster exist?’ Raelith screamed in his thoughts as he barely managed to parry another blow aimed directly at his sternum.

He kept up in speed. He kept up in strength. But he fell behind in technique. He fell behind in the katana style he had spent his entire life perfecting.

Anthony had seen the flaws in Raelith’s style the moment he understood it. And with his limitless talent combined with battle experience that defied logic, Anthony had perfected it on the spot. Just like that. Effortlessly. He had rendered everything Raelith knew, everything he had become, almost obsolete.

Anthony now stood above the style.

’This is the real way of the katana. It’s simply... artistic...’ Raelith thought, numb, as he watched the art he had devoted his life to become something even more beautiful... something beyond.

Anthony’s katana snapped toward Raelith’s neck with blitzing speed. The blade screamed through the air, and Raelith couldn’t parry or block this time.

He took a step backward.

Just one.

The katana passed just inches away from where his neck had been.

Anthony instantly stopped his movement. Raelith also paused.

The katana spar had ended.

Raelith had broken the rule, he had dodged instead of parrying or blocking. And just like that, the silence returned.