Rise Of The Lesser-Blood

Raymond stopped a few paces away, a cruel, absolute finality settling over his sharp features.

He raised his right sthep-stiletto, aligning the polished tip perfectly with Thomas’s exposed throat. To the thousands of spectators watching from the vaulted benches, the match was completely over.

High above, on the elevated noble platform, Julian didn’t turn away. He stood perfectly rigid, his knuckles subtly tightening against the stone railing as his striking ebony eyes bored down through the settling dust. He had watched the relentless, systematic destruction of the farm boy, but his sharp instincts refused to believe a power that shattered Marcus’s volcanic defenses would fade this easily.

”Lesser,” Julian murmured under his breath, his cold, elegant voice carrying a dangerous, hidden demand that seemed to echo through the sudden hush of the stadium. ”Show me what you are made of.”

As if answering the noble’s unspoken decree, a deep, chilling tremor vibrated through the core of Thomas’s soul.

Behind his eyelids, the final, blinding flash of text erupted.

[ PROGRESS BAR: 100% ]

* Status: Structural Threat Parameters Fully Digested.

* Protocol: Absolute Evolutionary Rewiring Complete.

[ DETECTING CELLULAR RECONSTRUCTION ]

* Epidermal Density: Altered via Chitinous Core Synthesis (+80% Piercing/Slicing Immunity).

* Meridian Layout: Permanent Secondary Neural Loops Deployed (Absolute Paralyzation Immunity).

[ EVOLUTION COMPLETE: HOST BODY HAS TRANSCENDED ENEMY CAPABILITIES ]

The excruciating, burning heat of the lacerations didn’t just fade—it converted into a raw, heavy flood of absolute, permanent strength. Thomas’s fingers dug into the black sand. The deep, weeping wounds across his forearms and chest stopped bleeding instantly, the edges of the severed flesh knitting back together at a visible, terrifying speed. The tough, pale skin rebuilt itself into a dense, calloused layer that felt completely solid, packed with reinforced muscle fibers designed to shrug off razor-sharp steel.

”Die,” Raymond hissed.

With a blinding, near-invisible burst of velocity, the assassin lunged forward, driving his blood-red mana-coated stiletto straight down toward Thomas’s throat.

Thomas didn’t dodge. He didn’t blink. He simply reached up with his completely healed, heavy right hand and swiped it through the air like a vice.

CLANG!

A sharp, metallic echo rang out across the Crimson Arena. Raymond froze mid-motion, his narrow, predatory eyes widening into circles of absolute, unadulterated shock. Thomas had caught the razor-sharp blade of the stiletto with his bare, unprotected palm. The blood-red assassin mana hissed violently against his skin, but it couldn’t carve a single line. The blade was completely stopped, locked tightly in a grip that felt as immovable as an iron mountain.

Raymond tried to wrench his weapon free, his breath catching in his throat as he poured his raw mana into his arms. ”What... what kind of monster are you?!”

Thomas slowly pushed himself up from the black sand, his stature still unrefined, but his presence now carrying a heavy, suffocating weight that caused the air in Sector 1 to turn freezing cold. He looked up, and behind his spectacles, his hidden right eye flared with blinding intensity.

Eye of Khepri, unseal flow, Thomas commanded mentally.

The chaotic movement of the stadium slowed to a crawling crawl. Through his crimson vision, Thomas stopped looking at the assassin’s silver hair and furious face. Instead, the Eye of Khepri illuminated the exact bottleneck in Raymond’s technique. Because the noble boy was panicking, desperately forcing his mana to pull his trapped dagger free, the energy channels along his right elbow and shoulder were completely overloaded, creating a bright, glowing node of fatal instability.

Thomas didn’t say a single word. He maintained his cold, expressionless mask as he wound his left fist back, his newly adapted, heavy bone density anchoring his feet flawlessly into the sand.