The Sinful Young Master

Chapter 388: Fighting against a Deity

Haryntha moved to position herself between them.

”He was defending his home. The laws of divine right don’t supersede the right to self-defense.”

”Your opinion is irrelevant,” Borehym said coldly.

”Step aside, sister, or I’ll move you aside.”

Haryntha’s aura flared hotter.

”Try it.”

”Does Inadrys know what you are doing? You are standing against me, a lesser deity like you!”

”I am as strong as you are.”

They were about to clash, a battle that would devastate the surrounding landscape, when new presences manifested.

Three figures appeared at the edge of the clearing.

Two arrived together, and the third descended from above with an aura that made even Borehym pause.

The descending figure was Aphyana, and her divine presence was unmistakable. She radiated authority and power that spoke of ancient bloodlines and earned strength.

The other two were a young man and woman.

The man, Myron, was clearly a divruta, half-human and half-deity, his mixed nature evident in the way his aura fluctuated between mortal and divine frequencies. Beside him was Elara, his lover and Jolthar’s cousin.

”Haryntha,” Aphyana said firmly, her voice carrying absolute command.

”What do you think you are doing?”

Haryntha’s expression went from shock to realization. She hesitated, clearly torn between obeying and protecting Jolthar. Aphyana’s appearance meant that Inadrys was involved in this matter and he was aware of the execution of Jolthar by Borehym.

”Now,” Aphyana insisted.

”I will handle this.”

Aphyana’s power held her in place.

”No,” Aphyana said.

”This is between them now.”

”And deities are bound by the divine rule that they shouldn’t kill humans.”

Aphyana smirked. ”Well, it seems like Borehym is prepared to accept the punishment for breaking that rule.”

”He’s drunk!” Haryntha protested.

”Then he’d better sober up quickly,” Aphyana replied, her expression grim but resolute.

Myron and Elara watched with tension.

Borehym’s hand closed around Jolthar’s throat, lifting him off the ground. Wind energy crackled between them, beginning to tear at Jolthar’s flesh and soul simultaneously.

”Any last words, human?” Borehym asked.

”Any plea for mercy before I scatter your essence across the four winds?”

Jolthar’s eyes, which had been unfocused and clouded, suddenly sharpened. Something in the immediate threat, the proximity to death, was burning through the wine’s effects faster than natural metabolism ever could.

His hand moved, catching Borehym’s wrist.

And void energy erupted from his palm.

The wind deity’s eyes widened as his flesh began to dissolve where Jolthar touched him, the void consuming matter and energy alike.

”My last words?” Jolthar said, his voice still rough but gaining strength.

”How about... let go.”

The void energy erupting from Jolthar’s palm forced Borehym to release his grip and leap backward, his wrist smoking where the nothingness had begun consuming his divine flesh. The wind deity’s expression shifted from confident contempt to cautious reassessment.

Jolthar dropped to his feet, swaying slightly but already feeling different. The immediate threat of death had triggered something deep within him—a survival instinct that transcended mere consciousness.

Inside his body, the chaosaura began to stir.

It was an energy he had learned to control only recently, taught to him by masters who understood powers that existed between order and entropy. The chaosaura was volatile, dangerous, consuming—but also purifying in its own violent way.

Jolthar closed his eyes for just a moment, focusing inward. The wine that clouded his mind, that made his limbs heavy and his thoughts slow—he could feel it in his bloodstream. The chaosaura responded to his will, surging through his veins like liquid lightning.

The wine didn’t just metabolize. It was consumed—broken down into base components and expelled in a burst of steam that vented from his skin. His aura exploded outward, and the chaotic energy didn’t just clear his system, it boosted him, amplifying his natural power with its wild, untamed nature.

When Jolthar opened his eyes again, they were clear and sharp. The intoxication was gone, burned away by chaos made manifest.

”Much better,” he said, his voice steady now.

Borehym’s expression darkened. ”Clever. But sobriety won’t save you from a deity’s wrath.”

Jolthar reached to his side, where a sword hung that he hadn’t drawn in the capital—not against the guards, not even against Princess Seraphine. His hand closed around the hilt, and the moment he drew it, the atmosphere changed.

Vorthak.

The chaosaura sword was a masterwork given to him by Ekatarina, the elf who had recognized his potential and deemed him worthy of wielding such a weapon. The blade was dark as midnight, traced with lines that pulsed with chaotic energy. It seemed to vibrate in his hand, eager, almost alive.

Jolthar was a Tier 9 swordsman now—the same rank as Princess Seraphine had been, though he had grown stronger even since their battle. But more than his technical rank, he possessed something that made him far more dangerous: multiple energy types flowing through him simultaneously. Void, chaos, and his own cultivated power all merged into a fighting style that was uniquely devastating.

”I didn’t ask for this fight,” Jolthar said, settling into a combat stance. ”Your daughter attacked my home. I defended it. If you can’t accept that, then come and join her.”

Borehym’s face contorted with rage. ”INSOLENT WORM!”

The wind deity raised his hands, and the air itself became a weapon. ”Tempest Sovereign’s Decree!”

Massive cyclones manifested around Borehym, each one powerful enough to tear buildings apart. They converged on Jolthar from multiple directions, forming a cage of wind blades that shredded everything they touched.

Jolthar’s response was to channel chaosaura into Vorthak. The blade blazed with violet-black energy.

”Chaos Severance—First Form!”

He swung the blade in a circular motion, and the chaotic energy erupted outward in a expanding sphere. The cyclones hit the sphere and simply dissolved, their ordered structure unable to maintain cohesion against the entropy Jolthar wielded.

The ground beneath them cracked and cratered, unable to withstand the pressure of their clashing powers.

”Impossible!” Borehym snarled and grunted. ”You’re mortal! You shouldn’t be able to—”