The Golem Mage

Chapter 908: The Most Durable Gordons 3.

Note: It has just occurred to me that I’ve been mistakenly referring to Albert Blaze as Asher Blaze. I sincerely apologize for the confusion—they are not the same person. Asher Blaze is the one who fought in the first round and wields a variant flame with a blue hue.

I haven’t yet assigned specific attributes to his flames, but that may change in the future. Albert, on the other hand, is not only higher in hierarchy than Asher but is also the one participating as the third participant for the Royal Mage Academy.

—

Seeing Brandon, who had maintained a calm and modest demeanor suddenly acting so smug, seemed to ignite all the restrained anger Albert had been bottling up, he had been eager to face Brandon—not just for himself, but because of Alec.

Since the inter-academy competition, the younger generation of the Blaze Clan had been constantly ridiculed and belittled wherever they went, and they placed the blame squarely on Alec’s shoulders, because to them he was the symbol of their humiliation.

Even within their own clan, some of the elders often sighed in frustration, lamenting the fact that none of their promising youths had been able to halt Alec’s rise in the inter academy competition, the shame was amplified by the fact that Alec had passed through the Royal Mage Academy team, which had two highly regarded members of the Blaze Clan.

That only deepened the clan’s collective disgrace.

At social gatherings, even when words weren’t spoken directly to them , both Albert and Asher often heard whispers behind their backs, mocking how they couldn’t outperform a bastard from their own bloodline.

Some even went as far as to say that the ancient Blaze Clan was losing its edge in raising strong successors, in the past, such disrespect would have been met with outrage, but this time, the clan members knew that the criticism always led to something else, an undeniable truth they could win against.

They couldn’t even argue back., as doing so would only make them look more pathetic and give others even more reason to mock them, and whenever they did push back in heated debates, the final blow was always the same, as the others would say if only they have fought with Alec using such energy maybe they would have been able to get a draw against him.

Which ended up forcing them into silence. Normally, they wouldn’t hesitate to lash out at anyone who spoke to them that way, but now, with all eyes on them, pulling such a stunt after losing an argument would no longer be overlooked.

Even if the city guards decided to turn a blind eye to them fighting, they’d still have to face the clan’s judgment, things weren’t as favourable for them anymore, it felt as though everyone was just waiting for them to slip up.

So when Albert got the chance to face a Gordons, he saw it as a form of redemption, hoping to vent his frustration by beating Brandon senselessly, however Brandon’s infuriatingly calm smile only added fuel to his rage.

“You’re a dead man,” Albert muttered, as a sonic boom echoed from his step and flames erupted behind him, and in a blink of an eye, he was beside Brandon, wielding twin swords aimed with deadly precision, each slash targeting a vital spot.

Time seemed to slow for Albert as his blades pierced forward, but just as it seemed the fight would tilt in his favour, something disrupted his tempo, his momentum halted abruptly as a sinking sensation tugged at his legs.

Frowning, he quickly realized he had stepped into a cleverly hidden quicksand trap.

“You’re slow,” Brandon’s voice came calmly.

While Albert was still processing his predicament, he’d made a critical error, he had entered Brandon’s attacking range himself, gotten stuck by the quick sand, and allowed his focus to waver.

In a battle like this, even a second’s distraction was unforgivable, and he had blanked out for more than that.

And when he finally processed the words that were said to him, what echoed in his ears was that he was too slow, hearing that from Brandon—the same Brandon who had practically been strolling around the battle ring—nearly made Albert cough blood from sheer frustration. But he didn’t even get the chance, because when he looked up, all he saw was Brandon’s massive great sword descending straight toward his chest.

“Shit,” Albert muttered—right before the blade struck him.

With a devastating swing, Brandon launched him into the air using nothing but brute force and the weight of his great sword.

The impact echoed like a bat hitting a baseball, a perfect arc in motion. Brandon’s stance, his angle, even the follow-through, it was raw power refined by sheer technique and amplified by his spirit equipment set augmentation.

Albert, who had still been trapped by the quicksand beneath him couldn’t dodge, and was helpless as his body soared skyward, his insides rattled and breath knocked from his lungs.

But Brandon wasn’t finished.

As Albert ascended, a twisting sandstorm erupted below, accelerating Brandon upward, as he overtook Albert in a blur of speed.

From below, Albert caught sight of Brandon rising above him, with the great sword gripped in one hand as though it weighed nothing.

‘How is someone with that build swinging such a massive blade like it’s weightless?’ Albert thought in disbelief.

But his concern quickly shifted to dread, because the wind around him grew violent, the air itself vibrating as Brandon channelled an immense amount of Qi into the great sword.

[Blade Style – First Form – Blade Hurricane]

With both hands now gripping the hilt, Brandon swung downward in a single decisive arc, the Qi gathered within the blade erupted, bursting forth in a blinding flash of blue sword light that cleaved through the air.

It was so intense that even spectators on the ground watching could only squint their eyes to see properly.

Albert was slammed downward, as his descent tripled in speed than his ascent, as he was going down in what seemed would result in an unstoppable crash toward the arena ring below.

He hadn’t even had the chance to execute any of his special moves, he’d been ruthlessly overwhelmed by pure brute force and a simple trap, that was the last thought on his mind before everything went black.

His body slammed into the battle ring with a heavy crash, unconscious before he even hit the ground.

His skin was riddled with fine, sword-like cuts, and a faint trace of lingering sword energy still clung to him.

Fortunately, none of the injuries were fatal, thanks to his spirit equipment set and the fact that Brandon had intentionally held back from using a truly lethal strike.