MIGHT AS WELL BE OP

Chapter 932: Style

Klaus immediately got to work. With a sharp snap of his fingers, he created a new, separate plane from nothingness itself. This time, however, he reinforced it far more heavily, strengthening every law and foundation within it as he recognized that Anthony and Lucian were truly of a different calibre of humans, literal monsters wearing human forms. The moment he finished constructing the new plane, he snapped his fingers once more, teleporting Anthony and Lucian into the freshly forged battlefield.

Anthony and Lucian did not resist. They already knew it was Klaus who was moving them. The instant they appeared within the new plane, their feet kissing the hardened earth, they shot forward like bullets fired from opposing cannons, colliding into one another as though they were nemeses who could not tolerate the existence of the other. One had to be erased. Peace could never reign between them, only violence, endlessly, eternally.

A huge smile spread across Anthony’s face. He had to admit it, no one had ever given him this much pressure in a battle for the sword and blade. Never before had his spirit been pushed so violently, so restlessly. Lucian Darkheart was a man who truly embodied the katana. Even Warlord Raelith paled in comparison when it came to pure katanamanship. As for Spectre, he was no different from a candle, while Lucian stood like the sun, blazing and absolute.

And Anthony was loving every single moment of it.

He had thought he had already seen the pinnacle of natural sword talent in his father, Raelith, and in Spectre, but Lucian proved him wrong without mercy. How could Anthony, a lover of the sword, a man who lived and breathed the blade, not be happy in this moment? How could he not be intoxicated by this clash, drunk on the madness of steel and intent? The only way to cherish such a moment was to push it further, to raise the tempo of their shared insanity. Whether Lucian could survive and adapt to the coming storm was something Anthony would soon find out.

Besides, Lucian was the one drawing out this side of him. If consequences followed, then Lucian would have to take responsibility for that, wouldn’t he?

With a wide grin that mirrored his father’s all too closely, Anthony’s speed and strength surged. Whatever limits he had brushed against earlier vanished completely as he raised the tempo just as he had promised himself. His katana buzzed in his hand, humming as though it, too, was reveling in the chaos, eager to sing through flesh and steel alike.

Anthony struck.

His katana came from the left, moving like a rapier rather than a traditional katana, sharp and piercing, direct and lethal. Lucian was momentarily caught off guard by the sudden increase in tempo, but his reaction and adaptation were immediate, instantaneous, almost unnatural. He was not surprised by the rising intensity of their battle. He had expected this much from Null Anthony. He had expected this from the protagonist. He had expected this from the one who was loved by ???.

Lucian’s own katana snapped into motion as he moved to parry, but Anthony’s blade changed trajectory mid-strike. His wrist flickered in a blur, the katana shifting its target from Lucian’s ribs to his spleen in a fraction of a second. Yet Lucian’s response was just as swift. His blade altered its path as if he had already read Anthony’s sword route, intercepting the attack with uncanny precision.

A thunderous, ear-splitting clang erupted as their weapons collided yet again. At this point, their blades had begun to change color, shifting from polished silver to a burning crimson due to the immense friction and heat generated by their continuous, endless clashes. Sparks exploded into the air with every impact, but none of that mattered in this moment. The world had narrowed to nothing but steel, will, and instinct.

Anthony followed up without pause. His movements flowed like an unending river, his attacks tearing forward like a endlless rain of bullets.

Left. Right. Right. Left. Above. Below. Side. Above. Above.

Angles no longer mattered. As long as a direction existed, his sword existed there too. His hand became a blur, filling the air as though thousands of identical hands moved in unison. Anthony had transformed into a sword demon, a madman devoted wholly to the katana, body and soul consumed by the blade.

Yet even amid this ferocity, a fierce expectation burned within his eyes. Expectations of Lucian. Expectations that Lucian would block every strike. Expectations that Lucian would parry them all. Expectations that Lucian would emerge unscathed. Expectations that Lucian would...

Lucian betrayed none of them.

He met Anthony’s onslaught with insulting ease. Lucian’s form split into countless blurs and afterimages as he intercepted every attack head-on. He did not dodge. He did not retreat. He clashed blade against blade, meeting every strike without taking a single step backward. In that moment, Lucian was like an unbreakable mountain, unfallen, unshaken. He was no different from a man who had devoted countless eons solely to mastering the defensive techniques of the katana.

Anthony’s eyes shone brilliantly at the sight. His mind was mesmerized by the scene unfolding before him, and he could not help but whisper a single word within his thoughts.

Beautiful.

Anthony’s heart thudded heavily in his chest, as though he had discovered a brother, a fellow madman, a terrorist of the katana. Someone who understood the blade not as a weapon, but as an extension of existence itself.

Yet there was one thing that puzzled him.

Lucian’s talent was ridiculous.

Anthony had seen Lucian fight with Aaaninja three years ago during the Starborn Tournament. Back then, Lucian’s katanamanship was impressive, but it was nowhere near what it was now. The difference between the Lucian of then and the Lucian standing before him now was so vast that they could not even be compared.

And yet, Anthony did not care.

What mattered was Lucian’s talent with the katana, nothing more, nothing less. With happiness coursing through his veins, Anthony unleashed another torrent of attacks, daring Lucian to respond, daring him to press forward. He wanted to see the limits of Lucian’s current path. He wanted to understand what Lucian believed the katana truly was. And the only way to uncover that truth was through the blade itself.

Anthony’s style shifted once more as he sensed Lucian adapting to his previous rhythm. His earlier movements had been graceful and serene, fluid and refined. But now that Lucian had fully caught up, Anthony abandoned that elegance entirely. He turned savage. His movements became feral, barbaric, as though he had surrendered his mind and body completely to instinct alone.

And with that surrender, the madness of their katana language continued, steel screaming against steel in absolute delirium, two monsters carving their truths into the battlefield with every clash of their blades.