Knights and Magic Wand
Chapter 499 - 499 235 Yet to Live_2

499: Chapter 235: Yet to Live_2 499: Chapter 235: Yet to Live_2 The overflowing streaks of blood stained the Hand Armor red.

A sword wound carved across Arsen’s left brow, slicing deep into the brow ridge, all the way to his cheek.

It seemed just a little deeper could have blinded his eye.

Arsen raised his gaze, looking at the black-haired knight who, in spite of a heavily wounded body, stubbornly stood his ground.

Had it not been for the opponent’s still-mediocre strength and speed, Arsen would have almost believed he had been battling against a master of Martial Arts.

Such swordsmanship in our time?

Unlike the Spear Warrior who vanished abruptly in the glow of magic, Arsen knew that the young man before him, even with Dawson’s necklace enhancing him, was leagues beneath him in martial prowess.

One could argue that his own abdominal injury was limiting his strength, but the opponent bore serious injuries inflicted by him as well—standing up was already a miracle…

Nevertheless… this young man had still managed to wound him.

Arsen’s mind involuntarily reviewed their exchange, trying to discern where he had erred.

Nowhere—every strike he had delivered aimed to end the youth’s life.

Yet the youth had miraculously exploited gaps that even Arsen himself hadn’t noticed.

The Great Knight glanced briefly at his blade, broken by the Spear Warrior’s strike, and made no complaint about the disadvantage of wielding a damaged weapon.

Based on past experience, he could tear apart this young knight barehanded.

But now, Arsen no longer thought so.

Yanking off the tattered battle cloak from his shoulder, Arsen shifted sideways, braced the blade against his palm, and assumed an offensive posture.

“Remarkable.

After I kill you, I’ll keep the scar you gave me.”

The Dragon Slayer clasped the hilt, his aged features stern and focused, watching intently as the young knight raised his long sword, acknowledging him now as a worthy opponent.

Sensing the opponent’s abrupt shift in aura, Leon tightened his grip on the long sword, his eyes straining to follow the trajectories extending from the Old Knight’s imposing silhouette.

Countless lines, stretching and converging in overwhelming waves.

Leon was stunned to find every inch, every foot, covered by the path of the opponent’s impending strike.

…Beheading, cleaving in half, severed limb, pierced heart…

No retreat, no evasion, no gaps—there wasn’t even the faintest trace of survival.

It felt predestined, like his inevitable death.

…Like fate.

But Leon, in both this life and the last, has never believed in fate.

His dark eyes calmed, leveling his sword blade, maintaining its aim at Arsen amidst the agony consuming his body: “…I will not die… I will live…”

“Then prove it with your sword.” Count Arsen put his opponent’s resolve to the test with action.

A distance of over ten paces was closed in a mere instant under the Great Knight’s footsteps.

The oppressive illusions of imminent demise fractured before Leon’s eyes, exploding into an infinite array of despairing pathways, like a peacock spreading its feathers wide.

The storm whipped the Black-armored Knight’s long hair and crimson cloak.

Ceasing the futile search for escape routes—since no matter the action, death was unavoidable—only one option remained.

Pay the price, win victory!

With calm steps, Leon advanced forward, plunging his long sword into the spiraling trajectory of devastation as if meeting his death head-on…

The deadly clash between knight and knight, their lives at stake, was no earth-shattering collision.

—Blade met blade, metal shattered in the burst of immense force.

The Dragon Slayer’s chipped War Saber cleaved through the black steel armor.

The broken Thorny Sword flew into the sky, then spun downward to embed itself in the ground.

A severed arm fell heavily to the ground.

Blood gushed forth like a fountain from the stump of his left arm.

…..

The Black-armored Knight, fully spent and depleted… finally collapsed.

No miracle, or perhaps the miracle had already been achieved.

In the silence, Arsen flicked the blood off his saber, tensing his muscles as he forcibly pulled out the half-blade embedded in his left neck.

“…Still, just a bit short…”

Holding the bleeding wound on his neck, the Old Earl mused inwardly.

…Such baffling swordsmanship… indeed, he had lost, but alas, this was no arena for dueling martial skills.

Flipping the hilt of his broken blade to invert his grip, he prepared to conclude this life-or-death struggle once and for all…

but his ears twitched at the sound of a fearsome rush of air pressure approaching.

Boom—!

A long-handled Battle Axe struck the ground.

Arsen pivoted just inches away into the forest edge, mid-air hurling his broken blade toward the Black-armored Knight who had yet to endure the finishing blow.

The battle axe, emitting a ghostly light, suddenly flew up from the ground, its edge blocking the attack on the severed-arm Black-armored Knight, deflecting the airborne strike.

A large knight in shining silver armor leaped down from his Flying Pegasus, landing directly from the sky.

Crashing to the ground, hair like a lion’s mane gently swaying behind his mask, Kellan stood, gestured, and the hovering Rune War Axe dropped into his hand.

…Baron Deer Horn, Great Knight Kellan.

Gazing across at an opponent not unfamiliar, Arsen frowned, weaponless and severely injured in his abdomen—there was no way he could battle another Great Knight barehanded in this state.

No wonder the skies had gone silent—without hesitation, the Old Earl slammed his feet on the ground and dove into the dense forest.

Watching the Peacock Knight retreat decisively without a word, Kellan turned to the unconscious Leon lying on the ground.

…Unbelievable.

This youth, still so raw and inexperienced half a year ago, had driven Arsen to such a wretched state—what kind of battle had just unfolded here…

Without a moment’s hesitation, Kellan chose not to pursue his enemy.

Instead, he hefted his Rune War Axe, bent down, and began urgently treating Leon’s wounds, removing his shattered Arm Armor.

Pursuing Arsen might have been an opportune chance to eliminate a formidable foe, but this talented knight would almost certainly perish if left unattended.

Moreover, Kellan refused to trade the young knight’s life in exchange for stealing his triumph.

…After tightening the bandages on his injuries, Kellan felt the ground tremble beneath him.

He turned to look.

A griffon, battered and bruised, limped its way toward them, its anguished cries seeming to echo through the forest in search of a familiar voice.

Looking far ahead, he saw the path the Griffin had forced open led to the corpses of several Scorpion-tailed Lions strewn across the ground.

Dismembered bodies and pools of blood formed a crimson trail, while the mangled human knights were almost impossible to recognize.

He understood that beast belonged to Leon.

Yet the once-proud giant beast now had one wing hanging to the side in a twisted angle, arrows and spears embedded all over its body, wounds and blood staining nearly every inch—and its plight mirrored that of its kin…

Death Claw soon found its way to them.

After a brief verification of the humans’ scent and appearance as non-hostile, it approached its unconscious companion and mournfully lowered its head, crying out in grief.

“Don’t worry, your master isn’t dead yet.” Kellan hoisted Leon’s body, clutching his Rune War Axe as he stood.

But he needed to hurry and get the young man back—otherwise, even a strong warrior like him wouldn’t last long with such grievous wounds.

Glancing at the severed arm lying nearby, Kellan picked it up as well.

He had to find Master Hilgard immediately to freeze it; perhaps the Northern Wizards’ magic could still reattach it.

Kellan only lamented that his timely arrival had still been just a little late.

He hoped those magicians had a solution; losing an arm would be a cruel blow for any warrior.

Kantadar’s Dragon Slayer had incurred grave abdominal injuries—what he had accomplished so far was nothing short of remarkable.

Should he recover from these wounds, who could say what military merits this young man might achieve in another ten or twenty years…