Solo Cultivating in Superhero Academy
Chapter 86: Sand Shield

Chapter 86: Sand Shield

Elius’s hand gripped Soilandor’s ragged bandaged throat again, lifting the ancient mummy like he weighed no more than an empty cloak.

His hair, long and golden, shimmered like a banner of war under the fractured dome sky of the Superhero Academy’s battlefield.

Each breath came heavier than the last, his body drenched in sweat, limbs screaming in overuse, but his eyes—they burned, two coals buried in a sea of fatigue.

Then the System chimed.

[Alert: Enemy Threat Level = Four times higher than the host. ]

[Warning: Combat Fatigue Reached 74% - Host body integrity weakening]

[Qi Circulation Disrupted - Core Overload in 3... 2...]

Elius ignored it.

SLAM.

The bones of the earth rattled. Soilandor’s body cracked the ground like a meteor made of dried flesh and ancient curses.

But it wasn’t just the enemy that trembled.

It was Elius now—shoulders heaving, his own muscles begging for mercy, joints snapping and popping like aged wood under pressure.

He couldn’t ignore it anymore. He could feel his body breaking.

Not yet. Just a little more. Just one more.

His lungs felt like iron bags filled with coal. His veins felt too tight. His skin prickled as if every inch was screaming from within.

His internal organs seemed to shift inside him like someone had rearranged them by slamming him into a wall.

The toll of fighting something four whole cultivation ranks higher—it wasn’t just theoretical.

He could feel it in his bones, in his soul.

Still, he refused to stop.

SLAM.

He didn’t even know how many times he had done it now.

Ten? Fifteen? Twenty? His fingers were raw, his knuckles coated with something halfway between blood and sand. And Soilandor... he wasn’t laughing anymore.

The ancient mummy’s eyes were wide and burning with that angry brown glow, but his body hung loose, crumpled, twitching as if he too was beginning to believe that death was not only possible—it was near.

Suddenly—

[New System Notification]

[Quest Progression: Defeat the Earth-Walker Soilandor 99%]

[Just One More Slam Will End Him.]

A growl rose in Elius’s throat, half war cry, half dying breath. He could barely feel his own arm anymore. Even moving it felt like trying to lift a collapsing star with a mortal spine.

And yet...

He raised Soilandor again.

The mummy’s body, ragged and limp, flopped in the air like a sack of ancient bones.

This was it.

Just. One. More. Slam.

But then—something flickered across his vision. A red streak on the corner of his sight. Another system alert. Not white, not golden. This one was crimson.

[WARNING: ENEMY HAS ACTIVATED HIDDEN ARTIFACT - "THE BURIED BLADE OF SAN’JHUR"]

[If Slam Executed Now - Host May Trigger Catastrophic Retaliation]

"Shit."

He had already committed to the motion.

Too late.

His body was already in full swing.

BANG—

Except...

BOOOOOOOOM!!!

It didn’t hit.

Instead, a shockwave erupted from Soilandor’s body like an ancient tomb being forcefully unearthed by divine wrath.

Elius was thrown—no, launched.

Dust exploded outward in every direction like a collapsing mountain.

Rock, sand, pebbles, and vaporized soil turned the world into a howling blur of chaos.

Elius hit the ground, tumbled, then slammed into a large boulder like a doll tossed by a god.

He groaned, tasting blood and gravel.

His ears rang with nothing but a shrill, endless screech. His vision pulsed red and black and white. Every nerve in his body vibrated like a gong struck by a titan.

And still, despite it all, he stood.

He forced his body to obey, even as every fiber screamed betrayal. He wiped the blood from his nose, his jaw crooked from impact, probably dislocated. He snapped it back with a twitch and grit his teeth.

He had to be ready.

Anything could come out of that dust cloud.

His mind sharpened, breaking through the haze. He widened his stance. His sword, which had been floating behind him all along, hummed and returned to his hand, its blade shimmering with cultivated intent.

But nothing came.

No sound.

No motion.

Only the omnipresent fog of dirt and silence.

The battlefield was quiet—too quiet.

No screams. No footsteps. No monstrous laughter. Just the dry hiss of dust swirling in the stale air.

Elius crouched low, scanning every angle.

His predatory senses activated.

Not a footprint. Not a shift of movement.

Not even a spiritual signature.

Nothing.

Just this void.

This choking, heavy silence.

Seconds ticked.

Then minutes.

Still, nothing.

It was unnatural.

The silence didn’t feel like stealth.

It felt like the calm before something.

Elius rotated his sword. His Qi twisted inside him like a boiling sea, unstable but obedient. He clenched his jaw, exhaled slowly, tuned out his pain.

Still—nothing.

Until—

SWOOOOOOSH!

A sudden, clean gust of wind howled through the dust.

It wasn’t violent, but precise. Intentional.

As if the world had decided to reveal itself again.

The dust parted like curtains before a stage. The battlefield returned, bit by bit. Broken stones. Scorch marks. Debris everywhere.

And then—

From the side, a figure walked forward through the haze. Tall, slim, face bruised and grinning—Monkaar.

His blue jacket fluttered from the lingering wind, his energy signature pulsing with familiar rhythm.

He raised one hand, fingers spread, and gave Elius a cheeky salute.

Elius exhaled, relieved for the first time in what felt like hours.

He returned the gesture with a tired but firm thumbs up.

Still gripping his sword, Elius turned back toward the battlefield.

His eyes narrowed.

The dust had cleared.

Now, he could finally see—

Where the mummy had landed.

Elius stepped forward, his feet crunching on charred gravel and dried earth.

His sword floated behind him like a loyal ghost, twinkling in the sun, its edges stained with sand-dust and qi residue.

His breath was ragged, each inhale dragging like a jagged rock down his throat. But his eyes were still locked forward, sharp as blades themselves.

There it was.

The body.

Half-buried in the crater was Soilandor—cracked, blackened, his bandaged flesh torn like unraveling parchment, unmoving.

Elius squinted. "Huh?" he muttered, tilting his head. "What are... those?"

From the edge of the crater, strange pillars of sand were rising—no, not just rising. Wriggling.

Like worms. Like roots, or veins, or some kind of grotesque natural organ sprouting from the ground.

They twisted and curled around Soilandor’s shattered form like arms cradling their master in worship.

Their movements were almost hypnotic—swaying, pulsing, undulating with unnatural rhythm.

And then—

A sound. Low. Dry. Rumbling.

Laughter.

It started faint, like a whisper echoing inside an ancient tomb.

Then it grew louder.

And louder.

Until it became a bone-shivering cackle that shook the wind itself.

"Hhaaa—Hahahahaha—HHHHHAAAAHHH!!!" Soilandor’s voice boomed, distorted with centuries of decay and arrogance.

The sand erupted around him, bursting outward like geysers of crumbling dirt.

The ground vibrated, as if the very soil was rejoicing. And through it all, Soilandor laughed. Not in madness. Not in amusement.

But in supreme confidence.

He stood.

Slowly. Gradually. His broken limbs snapping back into place.

Wrappings reweaving like living bandages, swirling around him.

The ruined parts of his body seemed to fill back up with solid, hardened sand—forming armor, muscle, and malevolent power.

"FOOLS!" Soilandor shouted, voice echoing like thunder through the war-torn field. "Did you truly think—you actually believed—you could defeat me? ME?"

Elius gritted his teeth, muscles tense.

Soilandor’s arms rose, and behind him, a colossal sandstorm swirled into being. Spirals of bronze and dust.

Symbols glowing faintly in the sand particles. Ancient, sacred, alien.

"I AM THE WALKER OF EARTH!" Soilandor declared, his voice now everywhere—in the air, the wind, the ground beneath their feet. "THE BLESSED OF THE EARTH PANTHEON! CHOSEN AVATAR OF THE SUBTERRANEAN GODS! I WHO WAS BORN IN A WORLD DEEPER THAN DEATH ITSELF!"

Elius narrowed his eyes, remaining silent.

"I WAS FORGED UNDER TWENTY LAYERS OF MOLTEN PRESSURE! SANCTIFIED BY THE BREATH OF THE DESERT MOTHER! BATHED IN THE ESSENCE OF THE PRIMORDIAL BEDROCK!"

Soilandor’s body now glowed with brown-orange light, his eyes like two miniature suns of sand.

"I AM THE UNENDING STORM OF SOIL! THE ETERNAL GUARDIAN OF EARTH’S WOMB! MY SKIN IS THE ARMOR OF MOUNTAINS, MY BLOOD THE FLOW OF MAGMA, MY BONES STRONGER THAN GOD-FORGED STEEL!"

He raised his arm.

The earth beneath them rose, forming jagged spikes and sand shields that orbited him like moons.

"You think this—THIS—" he gestured to his previous injuries, "was enough to slay me?! It was a MERE SCRATCH! A MINOR FRACTURE! YOU HAVE SEEN NOTHING, INSIGNIFICANT WORMS!"

Elius still said nothing. He merely tilted his head again.

Soilandor’s voice softened, but gained a terrifying finality.

"Now... I shall show you. Once my sand armor completes its reformation... I shall obliterate your bones, feast on your marrow, and grind your souls into dust. The Earth shall swallow your names. History will not remember your screams—only your failure."