The Sinful Young Master

Chapter 390: Don’t underestimate Jolthar

Borehym created weapons from condensed wind, blades and spears that could cut through steel like paper. He moved with the grace of someone who had fought for millennia, his techniques refined through countless battles.

But Jolthar matched him. And it was a shocking sight to see him match a deity.

Vorthak met Wind Blade, each collision sending shockwaves that tore up the ground. The clearing was rapidly being transformed into a wasteland.

Borehym raised his hands, creating a massive spear of compressed wind and hurling it with enough force to punch through mountains.

”Void Consumption!” Jolthar countered, drawing on his other energy type. A sphere of absolute nothingness manifested before him, and when the wind spear struck it, the weapon simply ceased to exist.

Borehym’s eyes widened.

The mortal was using multiple energy types, switching between them fluidly, using whichever was most effective for each situation.

That shouldn’t be possible.

The energies should tear him apart from within.

It was the most basic doubt everyone would get who fought with Jolthar and none of them were aware of how he had made them coexist with each other and even mixed them together.

At the edge of the clearing, the observers watched with varying reactions.

Aphyana stood with her arms crossed, her expression complex. This was what she had wanted—what she had orchestrated. She had given Qamadhevi tacit permission to drug Jolthar and had ensured Borehym knew where to find him. Because despite her words about fair combat, she wanted Jolthar dead.

He was too powerful and too unpredictable, and he was becoming an eyesore for them, and it was her father’s wish. If Borehym killed him, it would solve multiple problems without directly implicating her.

Beside her, Myron watched with barely concealed satisfaction. He had history with Jolthar—old enmity from conflicts that had left scars on both their prides. Seeing Jolthar struggle against a deity felt like justice.

”He’s going to die,” Myron said with grim pleasure.

”No mortal can defeat a true deity.”

Elara, Jolthar’s cousin, had a different expression—one of calculating interest. She didn’t want Jolthar dead. She wanted him broken, defeated. Humiliated to the point where she could claim him and make him her slave through magical bindings.

A man of his power under her complete control would be invaluable.

”He’s lasting longer than expected,” Elara observed.

”Perhaps we should intervene before Borehym kills him entirely. A wounded, grateful Jolthar might be more... pliable.”

”You’d try to enslave your own cousin?” Myron asked with dark amusement.

”Family is just another form of resource,” Elara replied with a smile that had no warmth.

But as they watched, something unexpected was happening.

Jolthar wasn’t just surviving; he was adjusting, learning, and growing stronger even in the midst of combat.

Haryntha, who had been held back by Aphyana’s power, suddenly felt that restraint vanish. The goddess had relaxed her control, confident that Borehym would finish the fight soon.

That was her mistake.

She didn’t charge into the battle.

Instead, she disappeared into the forest. She could feel another presence nearby, one that had been watching from the beginning.

In a clearing a quarter-mile away, Haryntha found her.

A woman stood beneath an ancient tree, her form partially obscured by shadow and divine concealment. She was tall and regal, with features that spoke of timeless beauty and terrible power. Her eyes were the deep brown of rich soil, and her presence carried the weight of harvests and seasons, of life’s cyclical nature.

Ivyona, queen of the deities, wife of King Inadrys.

”Haryntha,” Ivyona greeted.

”What have I told you? Why did you reveal your presence?”

”Aphyana orchestrated this,” Haryntha said urgently.

”She wants him dead. Borehym is powerful, and Jolthar is—”

”Handling himself quite well,” Ivyona interrupted calmly.

”Watch.”

She gestured, and the air before them shimmered, showing the battle as if they stood beside it.

*

Back at the clearing, the battle had intensified.

Borehym was no longer holding back. His divine power flowed freely, creating storms that dwarfed anything mortals could imagine.

Multiple tornadoes manifested, each one containing compressed wind blades that could flay flesh from bone. They converged on Jolthar from all sides, an attack that left no room for escape.

Jolthar’s response was to draw on all three of his energy types simultaneously.

He had spent years learning to balance these opposing forces. The void that consumed, the chaos that destroyed structure, and his own refined power that controlled both.

He stabbed Vorthak into the ground, and the energies exploded outward in concentric rings.

Void, the chaosaura, merged into a wave that simply erased everything in its path.

The tornadoes dissolved.

The wind blades shattered.

Even the ground itself was smoothed flat in a perfect circle around him.

Borehym actually stumbled backward, shocked.

”What... what are you?”

”Someone who’s had enough,” Jolthar replied.

He moved then, faster than he had yet moved in the fight. Vorthak became a blur as he executed techniques he had learned from dozens of masters, each one amplified by his multiple energy types.

”Chaos Blade Dance—Hexaforms!”

The attack was impossibly complex, with six different sword techniques executed in rapid succession, each one from a different style, each one enhanced with chaotic energy that made them unpredictable and devastating. The strikes came from impossible angles, bending space itself through the application of chaos to geometry.

Borehym defended desperately, creating barriers of compressed wind, but they shattered under the assault. One blade got through, then another. Small cuts appeared on the wind deity’s arms, his chest, and his face.

He roared with fury and pain, his power spiking.

”ENOUGH!!”

The entire battlefield erupted with wind energy. Trees were uprooted and flung away. The ground itself was scoured clean.

This was the full wrath of a deity unleashed.

”Heavenly Tempest—Divine Execution!”

The attack was meant to be absolute. Wind condensed into an almost solid form, taking the shape of a massive blade that fell from the sky like judgment itself.

Jolthar looked up at the descending death and made a decision.