Round Six: Fierce Battle

The sword wind spun like a wheel; the black blade, along with its white serrated edges on the outside, moved like a crocodile’s massive jaws around 47, forcing him to defend carefully and even giving up some offensive opportunities to avoid further injury. It had to be said that compared to the relentless attacks on his wrists by the Divine Knight, the fighting style invented by the Blood Axe seemed lacking in refinement and ingenuity.

The sword blades crossed, swirling like two venomous snakes under the control of skill honed through rigorous training and precise reactions forged in battle, both fighters constantly shifting positions. In this almost artistic duel, 47 even found a sense of pleasure akin to that of a bloody fight—the tactic of striking back after being hit might seem simple, but it was rather crude.

He realized another dimension to combat—perhaps he should consider a fighting style more akin to that of a living being, rather than constantly hyping himself up like a galactic warship.

Milia launched a sudden slash. 47 stepped forward, lowered his shoulders, and slid his sword blade along hers to disrupt her force, sparking intensely as a harsh metallic screech echoed. He had just learned this from his opponent; Milia had used it multiple times to counter his strength, capable of breaking through any demon’s defenses, though her technique was even more sophisticated.

Then 47 turned, swung his wrist from below upward, raising his greatsword high to strike at Milia’s back of the neck. She turned to block the heavy iron blade, and with a loud crash, it was a pure contest of strength. 47 was gradually grasping the trick—having strength and a body unafraid of attacks, coupled with practical training, made skill just a matter of time.

Next, 47 suddenly pulled back with force, the small blade on his sword entangling Milia’s blade. After pulling and tugging, he thrust forward abruptly. Like soldiers of ancient times using battering rams, 47 charged forward with fierce momentum—his blade inches away from hers. Milia clung desperately to his greatsword, her feet digging deep trenches into the sand as she tried to counter the overwhelming force. If it had been half a day earlier, she might have succeeded, but now the Iron Demon wouldn’t give her such a chance. Her hands finally went limp, as if drained of strength, and she was swept into the air, tracing a long flight path.

Milia flipped in the air and landed heavily on the ground, clutching her weapon tightly—thankfully, it hadn’t slipped from her grasp.

“Huh?” 47 was surprised, seemingly unexpecting his opponent to remain unharmed even under such conditions. On the other hand, he still hadn’t had enough fun, so he asked with a smile, “Has the stimulant your god gave you worn off?”

“Shut up! Filthy blasphemer!” Milia snapped angrily, standing up again as her glow reignited. “With this humble body, I call upon the glorious fire to drive out evil—today, only one of us will leave here!”

“Impressive spirit. Then do you have any message for that guy of yours? Or you’d better write it down—I really can’t keep track of your pretentious words. Or shall I summarize it for you?”

“Shut up!” Milia rushed forward like an arrow, but a massive gust of sand blocked her path.
Si Shi Qi swung his giant sword, carving a deep groove in the sand, lifting all the sand from the groove into the air. Then he threw his serrated sword—black iron flying like a diving falcon straight at Milia’s head, even piercing through the sand curtain he had created himself.
Suddenly, Milia’s pupils reflected the black blade, like a heavy, sharp guillotine threatening her life—no one could remain calm.
She stopped abruptly, forcing herself to stay calm before the black serrations reached her. Time seemed to freeze for her. Using every ounce of her strength, she tried to stop that deadly falcon from piercing her body, acting purely on instinct. It barely missed her, its serrations biting into her left shoulder plate, as if dismissing her entirely.
Even so, it terrified her. The wind pressure tore not only at her sacred, smooth armor.
It missed. Si Shi Qi looked at the distant dunes exploding as if hit by a shell, feeling regret.
He couldn’t change his reckless fighting style, ingrained over time. It was almost an automatic reaction, leaving no room for thought. But suddenly, Si Shi Qi changed his mind. As his sword slid past, he had already circled behind Milia. With just one punch, he was confident he could end the battle and take back the severed Divine Knight to deliver his final words to her companion.
Suddenly, a bright light flashed.
“Ding!” Si Shi Qi’s iron fist struck hard against the lightsaber Milia held across her chest. Though the light dimmed under the impact, the sword was still quite sturdy. If it hadn’t been so strong… this might have been Si Shi Qi’s last chance for her.
She rolled and slid for a long distance before her consciousness returned from the life-and-death gray zone. She quickly lay flat on the sand, curling up. If the previous sword strike had only been a mental shock, then this punch, which nearly broke her divine sword, was purely physical. Though her will remained clear, it couldn’t completely erase the overwhelming fear from that moment.
Si Shi Qi shook his right hand in frustration. A burning smell came from beneath his hard armor. He could get burned just like this? Did it mean he really couldn’t touch this glowing, white-hot knight?
So troublesome.
The Divine Knight, who had been lying on the ground moments ago, was now running toward him with a glowing sword, acting like a madman.
Fight bare-handed against a scorching iron block? Si Shi Qi felt aggrieved just thinking about it.
Si Shi Qi looked down at his feet, then kicked—just like a child kicking up dust to act mischievously, he also kicked up a cloud of sand. But this cloud of sand, driven by powerful force, flew out like a shell. Roughly estimating, its speed was around 200 kilometers per hour. If it hit properly, it shouldn’t be any less painful than taking a shotgun blast.

Milia stopped abruptly, sidestepped, and jumped sideways, keeping the sand projectiles behind her. Her holy power had no effect on sand, and blocking them was merely a waste of effort. Immediately, a second sand projectile entered the attack zone. Milia once again dodged it with agile movements, but this time she lost her balance. The third wave of attacks came—this time, it was Forty-Seven. He swung his steel right fist with force from an optimal angle. Milia blocked it with her sword, but the impact sent her flying again. Yet this time, instead of fighting back, she used the momentum to create distance, making it impossible for Forty-Seven to pursue her.

This was exactly what Forty-Seven wanted. He had no intention of chasing after Milia. After two direct encounters with holy light, his right hand was almost numb from the pain.

His hand, groping through the sand, finally found what it sought. A heavy black great sword shook off the dust on it, standing there with an arrogant posture under the moonlight—just like him.

“A ‘foolish girl dying here because she doesn’t understand that gods, like men, can never be fully trusted’—how does that sound? Do you like it?” Forty-Seven pretended to be casual, leaning on his serrated great sword. In truth, he indeed held the upper hand.

Milia remained silent. She was concentrating all her mental energy to gather holy power, unsure when she would have to face Forty-Seven’s next attack.

“Aaaaaah!” A vast, echoing sound reverberated through the air, like howling wind mixed with the clashing of metal, filling their ears with noise.

Forty-Seven felt the ground beneath his feet vibrating—he leaped up to the top of the dune. Milia also stepped back hesitantly, not knowing what was happening.

A column of sand shot into the sky and spread out in all directions.

The dust made Milia cough. Why did monsters prefer to stay underground?

Forty-Seven saw the sand in the low area flowing, like a vortex. As the vortex grew larger, both Forty-Seven and Milia could barely stand, as if something deep underground was constantly stirring.

That thing rose from the ground—almost as if lifted by the surging sand. As its form emerged, even Forty-Seven, who usually relied on logic, felt a hint of awe.

It was so majestic. On its long neck sat a head covered with huge disc-shaped horns. Its terrifying jaws were tightly closed, and sharp spikes on its chin lay layered like a beard. Its eyes, like molten metal balls, emitted a tangible gaze, scanning the two of them. Its wings, large enough to cover the sky, flapped a few times, shaking off the sand but stirring up more at the same time. The edges and folds of its wings had dark green spots, like rust. Its scales, seemingly made of brass, glowed with a warm light even at night. Along with its body, a strong metallic scent spread out, making Milia feel as though she were holding a large piece of brass in her mouth.

She was both dazzled and thrilled. It was a dragon—at least an old brass dragon.

“Wretched humans! You have disturbed the slumber of the King of the Roaring Desert, the guardian of the northern lands, the master of past and present—the supreme dragon Abazig! Prepare to face the wrath that burns everything!”