Overlord held the bone spear in his hand with confidence, exuding a menacing aura that forced Ronnel to retreat. His smug expression seemed carved into his skeletal face.
Ronnel's demeanor, however, remained composed, though a subtle change flickered across his face as he observed the weapon.
Then, with a loud boom, another clash reverberated between them. Ronnel stepped back, his gaze fixed on Overlord—or rather, on the formidable bone spear he wielded. His voice was steady, tinged with genuine admiration.
"That's a fine weapon," Ronnel said. "A truly remarkable spear."
His expression held no trace of deceit—his eyes glimmered with a mixture of respect and curiosity.
Kach!
The sword in Ronnel's hand, having endured countless blows against the dense, nen-infused spear, began to fracture.
It started as a single crack. Then, like a ripple through glass, the fissures spread across its surface, growing more pronounced with each second.
Finally—
Snap!
With a crisp, echoing sound, the sword shattered, its fragments scattering across the battlefield.
At that moment, both signature weapons of the Subai style had been obliterated, destined to become relics of history in the world of Hunters.
(T/N: It is about the two weapons he received from the Heaven arena)
Overlord regarded the shattered weapon with indifference but furrowed his nonexistent brows at Ronnel's unexpected reaction.
Admiration? Appreciation? It was nothing like the fear or despair he had anticipated.
What's this? Do you think flattery will earn you mercy? Pathetic.
Overlord sneered, gripping his spear tightly. He prepared to exploit Ronnel's now-weaponless state, launching a decisive strike—
But then, an overwhelming surge of aura exploded from Ronnel's body, momentarily halting Overlord's advance.
In that fleeting moment of hesitation, Ronnel darted back with a speed that belied his battered state. In the blink of an eye, he had widened the distance between them.
"Planning to fight to the death with some kind of restriction or vow?" Overlord muttered, his expression turning cautious.
He eyed Ronnel warily but soon smirked, his tone dripping with disdain.
"Your physical condition is abysmal. If this were the beginning of our fight, I might have found it troublesome. But now? Even if you risk your life with some restriction or vow, the power you'd gain wouldn't amount to much. At best, it would delay the inevitable."
Overlord stood his ground, confidence radiating from his form. He watched with amusement, waiting to see what desperate measures Ronnel might take.
Ronnel glanced down at his bloodstained body, his strength nearly depleted from their relentless battle. Yet, instead of despair, a faint smirk tugged at his lips.
"It's the first time I've been this beaten up," he muttered, his voice tinged with a mix of humor and self-deprecation.
But in his words, there was no defeat, no fear of impending death. Instead, his tone carried an air of detached amusement—as if the situation was more interesting than dire.
After all, this was just one of his doubles. Even if it were destroyed, his true self would remain unharmed.
This thought steadied Ronnel's resolve. Despite the pain and exhaustion, his mind raced, analyzing the battle. He reflected on the creatures of the Dark Continent and their savage fighting style.
They didn't follow rules or forms like traditional martial artists. Their combat resembled pure, unrefined survival instincts—methods honed through countless death matches.
While effective against unprepared foes, such techniques faltered against seasoned fighters trained in refined disciplines.
Ronnel, a proud practitioner of Shingen-ryu, had trained extensively under his master and learned from various other schools, including the Subai style. His experience on the streets of Meteor City had further honed his instincts.
Yet, the gap in raw strength and aura between him and Overlord was undeniable.
If we were evenly matched in power, I'd have a 70% chance of winning, Ronnel thought. But life isn't fair—and complaining won't change that.
He glanced at the fragments of his shattered weapon and sighed softly. It was a shame he couldn't draw more from this fight—a true duel to the death offered unparalleled insight.
Still, Ronnel bore no resentment. He understood the disparity in their strength. Overlord, a creature from the Dark Continent, likely had centuries of practice under his belt. His strength was the culmination of survival and evolution over generations.
In contrast, Ronnel was barely twenty years old. The gap was natural.
"Three to five years," Ronnel murmured under his breath. "That's all I need to surpass him. Even faster if I push myself."
But for now, he accepted the reality of his loss.
Victory in this battle wouldn't be about landing the final blow. Survival was the ultimate goal—and in that regard, Ronnel was already invincible.
Still, a part of him yearned for a moment of triumph, however small. Raising his head, he brushed blood-matted hair from his face and locked eyes with Overlord.
A sly grin spread across his lips.
"Tell me," Ronnel called out, his voice calm but tinged with mischief, "do you know Miniature Rose and Momentary Epiphyllum?"
(T/N: Miniature Rose is a canonical object, there is a user here: Isaac Netero was able to hide one inside his own body. When the bomb explodes, the fallout cloud takes the peculiar appearance of a blooming rose, which earned it its name. But Momentary Epiphyllum is the author's imagination.)
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