Percy swung both scythes at Rambert, hoping to trap him within their lethal embrace. The man leapt above the closing stranglehold with relative ease, before trying to land a blow of his own.

But Percy wasn’t deterred so easily. Letting go of his weapons, he used a third scythe to divert the attack. The construct still shattered in the process, unable to survive the full brunt of the Green’s fury. Yet, that was merely the start. Percy doubled down with another slash from a fourth scythe, soon discarding it for a fifth after that also failed.

Like that, the two men fought with everything on the line, hinging everything on their battle’s final act. Whenever Rambert’s fist made contact, Percy’s armour crumbled. Without the hardness runes keeping the pieces stable, the absorption runes alone struggled to fend the powerful attacks off. At the same time, Percy’s bones cracked, his flesh turning to mush beneath the armour, bloodied patches already exposed in several locations.

But he wasn’t without his own victories.

Using the scattered weapons as disposable replacements for his own, he pressed onward with greater confidence, inflicting more injuries on Rambert. The man’s already pale skin had grown even paler, making him resemble a corpse more than a living person by now, his gaunt body animated through sheer grit and unyielding rage.

Though Percy couldn’t care less about his opponent. He even ignored his own pain, or the very real possibility of death looming around the corner. Instead, he allowed himself to fall into a trance, grasping at a new opportunity emerging by the edge of his consciousness.

Swapping his scythes one after the other, he failed to properly wield them all, often resorting to all sorts of awkward grips out of necessity. Sometimes, he held one with his elbow, other times even using his armpits. Suffice to say, the circus act wasn’t particularly effective, unless his goal was to make Rambert laugh.

Still, the feeling of the mana-fuelled constructs pressing against the inside of his joints inevitably jogged some long-buried memories, bringing them to the surface of his mind. These weren’t merely his own. They were experiences he had shared with a friend all those years ago. Naturally, they were from the colosseum back on Huehue, from when Micky demonstrated how he fought.

Doing his best to remember, Percy capitalized on the lingering remnants of muscle memory, trying to reconstruct part of his friend’s style, and to adapt it to his current needs. After all, he couldn’t use it in its original state, as many of his circumstances were different, from his affinity to his physiology, and to the very nature of his weapons.

At first, he made several mistakes. He’d accidentally drop a scythe at an inconvenient moment, or swing it without putting enough force behind the attack. And Rambert made sure to punish him each time, making his situation even more dire.

But Percy wasn’t an amateur, and this wasn’t the first time he’d tried replicating Micky’s style over the years. In fact, his growing connection to his teal constructs only made his job easier. At the same time, his heart beat wildly, just like it had on that fateful day.

Little by little, he improved, making fewer errors, as his weapons’ shafts rolled along his limbs, their edges spinning elegantly in ever-shifting arcs around his body, carving an inviolable zone of death in their passing.

Still, he wasn’t as good as Micky. This was nothing but a cheap imitation. Or at least, that was the case until his Status spoke.

[Congratulations! You have mastered a new spell: Wild Art: Grim Dance – Refined!]

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A refreshing wave of clarity washed over his mind, his blossoming understanding of the fighting style growing ever firmer, as the shadows of his own moves finally emerged before his eyes. Though these worked differently from the projections created by Greater Foresight. Those were formed by reading his opponent’s intentions, predicting their moves. In other words, it was a tool which relied on external stimuli.

As for the Grim Dance, it drew its strength from within, fuelled by Percy’s own thoughts. It was more of a learning aide, showing him how his moves would manifest a second in advance, giving him an opportunity to adjust them – to perfect them – before committing. Working in tandem with his mutation, the new spell finally lifted a heavy load off his tired mind. It allowed him to improve several times faster than before, while giving him the freedom to experiment some more.

Percy swung his scythes again. Seeing Rambert avoid the initial strike, he let go of the weapons, sending them after him. And that was just the start. Not giving his opponent a chance to breathe, Percy grabbed another pair of scythes from his surroundings before chasing after Rambert.

Rambert was taken aback by the sudden shift in momentum. Surviving the relentless barrage was a struggle, as scythes flew all over the place. Some were still held in Percy’s hands, others rolling down his limbs, many spinning towards Rambert from random directions. Countless crescents clawed at him, most of them above ground – though a few stabbed at him from beneath his feet, trying to catch him off guard.

Wielding three, or four, or even more of them at once, Percy used every nook and cranny of his body, and every last drop of his willpower. He turned the very battlefield into a demon’s maw, its many fangs biting hungrily at his opponent.

Rambert did his utmost to evade the attacks. But it was futile. One cut about halfway into his thigh, nearly slicing his leg off. Another headed towards his heart again. Pivoting at the last second, he prevented the worst of it, though the weapon still shaved a slice of skin off, drawing even more blood.

Soon, Rambert’s feet wobbled, as the damage he had endured over the course of the fight finally reached a critical point. Even if the blood loss hadn’t taken its toll, his core was almost empty. Either way, he was screwed.

Flashing Percy a hateful glare, he called upon whatever dregs of mana he could still summon, rushing at him for his final stand. And he instantly paid a price for that. Three more scythes carved deep into his flesh – one into his forearm, two more on his torso. Still, he ignored them, gritting his teeth as he opened his bloodied palm, aiming at a gap in Percy’s armour.

It almost worked too, Rambert’s sudden move being too quick for Percy to evade completely. Shifting his body slightly, he instead forced the Green’s grip to land in a different spot – one still guarded by a loose plate of mana.

Clicking his tongue, Rambert closed his fist at the last second, punching Percy with as much strength as he could muster.

A wet cough escaped Percy’s lips, as he was sent smashing through another tree, the remains of his armour finally falling apart.

“Nice… try…” Percy spat amidst pants, speaking for the first time since the start of the fight.

Rambert’s final move hadn’t been random. Percy knew his opponent had tried to use his bloodline, to save his own life. But he’d be damned if he allowed Rambert to recover.

“Would you look at that… he can actually speak…” Rambert chuckled weakly. “For a moment there… I thought you were mute.”

Neither of them spoke over the next few minutes. Nor did they move. They couldn’t.

Darkness took over the swamp once more, as the shards of Percy’s armour sank into the mud, robbing the place of even their dim light. Silence prevailed too, only occasionally broken by the two men’s soft, ragged breaths. The only evidence of the apocalyptic battle that had taken place mere moments ago, was the scent of charred wood blending with the stench of spoilt eggs.

But it was ok. As bad as Percy’s injuries were, Rambert’s were worse. The man would bleed out long before he did.

‘Micky… how are things on your end?’ he asked through the cord, finally getting a chance to check up on his companions.

Though he never took his gaze off Rambert for even a second. Percy wouldn’t allow himself to relax until the guy was dead.

‘We won.’ the response was prompt, but tired.

A faint smile took root by the corner of Percy’s lips. Their work wasn’t over quite yet, of course. He’d need help standing up, and they’d also have to clean the place up before leaving the Grisly Bog for good.

But the worst of it was over. Despite the shocking force that House Tantalus had chosen to unleash on them, they had prevailed. Together, two Yellows and one Orange had defeated a group of three Greens.

‘Yes, buddy… Yes we did…’

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep