Magic Academy Bans Harem

Chapter 321 The Sword Saint's Desperate Struggle

Is this swordsmanship?

The goddess of the bathing was dumbfounded as she watched the vast plain instantly ignite, a sight that resembled a meteorite falling from the sky, except that the ground did not dent.

Having spent her life in a magic academy, the Goddess of Bathing didn't have a very clear concept of the martial arts masters in this world.

Even in the game "Star Emblem," only a handful of bosses possess such impressive capabilities. Not to mention, your own characters would never be endowed with such exaggerated abilities.

The crimson sea of ​​fire, seemingly intent on devouring everything, obscured the view of onlookers, making it impossible to see what was happening inside.

But soon, another sharp light swept across the battlefield in a ring shape, neatly splitting even the ephemeral flames in two.

In what appeared to be only "half" of the raging fire, all that could be seen was the shadow of burning black mist.

However, even though his entire body was stained crimson, like a man of fire, his demeanor as he held the longsword in one hand remained calm and composed.

In contrast
In another corner of the battlefield, Freud knelt on the ground, clutching his right shoulder with his left hand. The two swords he had once held, as well as half of his right arm, lay scattered to the side.

Although they put up some resistance, they were not as easily cut into pieces as those who faced the Shadow of Black Mist before.

But without a doubt, even Elson's "Shadow Sword Saint" is no match for the Black Mist Shadow, which is like a world mechanism.

The three girls on the periphery watched this scene with expressions of fear, disbelief, or despair.

They were powerless to change this situation.

As if shaking off grime from a blade, the shadow of black mist twirled the longsword in its hand.

Along with it, the raging flames on his body also vanished.

Perhaps Freud's sword strike damaged the Shadow of the Black Mist.

It is very limited.

The shadowy figure in the black mist, once again wielding a sword, slowly approached the defenseless Freud.

Seeing this scene, Xia Luoluo desperately tried to break free from the goddess's restraints and ran towards the battlefield.

In the battlefield.

Floyd looked up.

What I saw was the black mist shadow, its long sword already raised high, about to slash me down.

His lips moved slightly, and Freud spoke in a weak, faint voice.

“Too slow”

The next moment, a sword light that was now completely tangible struck the shadow of the black mist from behind Freud, almost brushing past his body.

The black mist shadow that he parried with his sword was repelled far away by the sword light. At the same time, he also sensed something attacking him from above.

However, the shadowy figure in the black mist retreated hastily, only to be met not by an attack from the sky, but by a strange longsword that spun several times in the air before plunging straight into the ground.

After splitting the sea of ​​fire in two with that long-range sword strike, the one who entered the battlefield through the gap was a middle-aged man whose face no longer showed the weariness and languor of the past.

"What a mess, little Flo."

Looking at Freud kneeling on the ground, Roland Elson seemed to want to laugh lightly, but he couldn't manage to laugh in the end.

"If you were there to save the day, you entered too late. If you just wanted to observe, you intervened too early. Roland."

Amidst the still-sparkling battlefield, Freud watched the back of his brother, the "Sword Saint," with little emotion on his face, as if making an objective assessment.

Because of their significant age difference, and because they belonged to completely different generations in the field of swordsmanship, Freud and Roland, who were more like two generations apart than brothers, never had a very close relationship.

"I don't have the convenient travel methods of mages, so it's already quite good that I got here so quickly. Besides, it shouldn't be too late, right? Look how neatly your arm was cut off, so it should heal after a while with some saliva and some reattachment."

Hearing Roland's words, Freud frowned. What he hadn't expected was that Roland's output continued.

"Tsk, that's why I told you to stay away from fire. Look at you now. Hurry up and pick it up, or it'll be hard to catch if it gets cooked."

"Roland!"

"Besides, even if you can't win, stalling for time shouldn't be a big problem. Why lose an arm?"

Roland, still chattering, turned his gaze to the shadowy figure of black mist he had previously forced back into the distance. Then, the complaining gradually subsided.
"Okay, I take back what I said before. Fighting this monster really is a fight to the death. It can only be said that this kind of extreme is a bad habit that flows in the blood of every Elson family member. No, it is a bad habit shared by every fool who has entered the Elson style."

Roland stepped forward and pulled the longsword out of the ground.

Only when Roland held it in his hand could those witnessing it clearly realize the strangeness of Roland's personal sword.

It was a sword with an exceptionally long blade. Although the width of the blade itself should be no different from that of an ordinary longsword, it appeared exceptionally slender due to its length.

Fishing rod.

This is the name Roland gave to his specially made weapon.

When Roland draws this sword, which has slain countless demons, his most common action is to carry the unsharpened side of the longsword on his shoulder, just like a fisherman preparing to cast his line.

On the other side, compared to when he was with Freud, he spent more time observing his opponent's shadow of black mist and also re-entered a fighting stance.

"Don't be reckless, Roland. Even you can't beat him."

"Oh?"

Unable to tear his gaze away from his opponent, Roland only glanced at Freud out of the corner of his eye.
"The person who was beaten to his knees after showing off advised me not to show off. It was a really novel and interesting scene."

Roland closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again.

"I can't win. I can't even remember the last time I heard something like that. Although, over the years, I've been given a lot of qualifiers and preconditions."

"But don't forget, I am still the 'Sword Saint'."

In a battlefield that resembled a fiery inferno.

Illuminated by the firelight, Roland Elson and the shadow of the black mist faced off against each other.

Even Roland, who stands at the pinnacle of the Elson style, has commented more than once that the Elson style is an extreme, distorted, and biased swordsmanship.

Even with an absolute difference in strength, achieving victory in a single blow is often very difficult. And to kill with a single blow is even more so.

But what Elson School has always pursued is to pour all of its energy into a single, decisive sword strike. And this kind of swordsmanship has a shared name: "Desperate Strike."

Pouring out one's entire being—this isn't just talk, a slogan, or a wishful belief. It's real; it's about giving your body everything it can in that final blow.

Therefore, once the "Desperate Strike," a frenzied sword strike that surpasses one's own limits, is unleashed, whether the opponent is defeated is another matter, but the Elson-style swordsman will definitely end up covered in wounds.

This also means that in casual sparring, Elson-style swordsmen use relatively ordinary swordsmanship to dazzle and overwhelm their opponents. However, in actual combat, or combat where they must unleash their full power, victory or defeat often hinges on a single, decisive blow.

Battles between Elson-style swordsmen and swordsmen of other styles are all these fleeting, abstract scenes. Internal conflicts within the same style are even more unimaginable.

Neither side will allow the other to strike a second time.

"Are you really a swordsman of the Elson style?"

Upon seeing the shadow of the black mist, he had already adopted the standard "death-defying" stance, gripping the sword hilt in reverse.

Roland, who was also gathering his strength, still didn't forget to use words to disrupt his opponent.

"Elson's sword is a fool's sword that comes with a price once it's drawn. Even if you dedicate your entire life to it, there's nothing on the other side of the sword path but only obsession. So, to make us seem a little smarter, we all have specially made swords."

Roland's "fishing rod" is like that, and so are Freud's twin swords.

"After all, nobody wants to spend all their effort honing their swordsmanship, only to lose a single, potentially decisive, battle due to factors unrelated to themselves. Even if you're willing to do that, those old fogies in the Cross Hall won't allow it."

Roland gazed at the shadow of the black mist.

"Although it seems unlikely, you, who could even defeat Flo, are you perhaps just a 'beginner'?"

The "entry-level" that Roland mentioned is one of the many levels that the Elson School divides its students into. The term itself reveals that entry-level students do not hold a high position within the Elson School.

When faced with Roland's question, the Shadow of Black Mist did not answer. Instead, after gathering its strength, it unleashed a desperate sword strike at Roland.

The two were dozens of steps apart, and even Roland's strange sword fishing rod could not possibly hit his opponent from that distance.

But Roland showed no sign of relaxation or carelessness. With a solemn expression, he also unleashed a desperate attack against the shadow of the black mist.

Instantly, space distorted.

The onlookers had no idea whether these distortions were caused by Roland's sword or by the power of the Black Mist Shadow.

But then, after a flash of sharp light, the previous distance between the two seemed to disappear, and the clash of swords produced a deafening sound.

It was a sound as if the sky and the earth were shattering at the same time.

With that sound, time on the battlefield seemed to suddenly stand still. Two intertwined figures froze in the very center of the battlefield.

But the absolute stillness lasted only a few breaths.

In contrast to the still sculpted shadow of black mist, Roland began to "move".

Using the most ordinary posture, as if relying solely on brute force, Roland slowly swung his sword-wielding arm.

The next moment, Roland suddenly let out a battle roar like a wounded beast.

As blood seeped from the corners of his eyes and ears, the bulging veins on Roland's arms and forehead also suddenly burst.

As if Roland was about to die before his opponent, the power he unleashed spread out with a fierce sonic wave, extinguishing the raging karmic fire around him in an instant.

In the blink of an eye, probably only Freud, who was nearby, saw what had actually happened.

Roland's sword shattered the Black Mist Shadow's sword, then struck the Black Mist Shadow's body. The Black Mist Shadow's mask cracked, but that was all.

The longsword "Fishing Rod," which Roland had amassed countless renown for, failed to cleave the body of the Black Mist Shadow, shattering into pieces.

The metallic clanging sound mingled with the previous loud noises.

The terrifying impact sent the shadow of black mist flying.

Without the black mist surrounding it, its surprisingly small body, like a cannonball, streaked through the air at a speed almost imperceptible to the naked eye, and plummeted straight into the dark forest surrounding the barren plain.

The instant his body disappeared into the dark forest, it was as if a hurricane had swept through, causing large swathes of trees in the forest to collapse with a deafening roar.

Countless trees, with smooth cross-sections at their bases.

This wasn't the black mist's body carrying a whirlwind as sharp as a blade; it was merely the aftershock of the Sword Saint's desperate attack that had already struck this forest.

Behind the shadow of the black mist, the huge fan-shaped area had already been completely split in two by that sword strike.

Even if the trees are aware of it, they may not realize that they have already been cut down.

Until that hurricane hit.

Without the obscuring effect of the numerous black leaves, the Dark Forest suddenly lost its mystery.

From above, the dark forest is clearly visible, as if a corner of it has been suddenly ripped out.

"Flo!"

Seemingly stunned by the power Roland had displayed, Freud, momentarily speechless, suddenly heard Roland's urgent call.

Looking at Roland's standing figure, Freud suddenly realized something.

Dragging his battered body, Freud stubbornly stood up, casually picked up a sword from the side, and quickly ran towards the Dark Forest.

Unfortunately, it was too late.

In the dark forest, Freud searched tirelessly for the shadow of the black mist, but ultimately failed to find the trace he sought.

On the other side of the battlefield, a look of sadness appeared on Roland's face.

Although he failed to kill his opponent, he saw a strand of golden hair falling out from the broken corner of the mask.

"As expected."

murmured softly, then suddenly coughed up a mouthful of blood.

He won this duel, thus preserving the title of "Sword Saint."
But
What should we do next time?
The Elson family, in the end, still gave birth to such a terrifying monster.

Suddenly, a horrific wound on Roland's chest, which had seemingly cleaved him in two, burst open, spraying an astonishing amount of blood into the sky.

With his eyes completely devoid of life, Roland released his grip on the short sword and collapsed into a pool of bright red blood.

(End of this chapter)