Timeless Assassin-Chapter 450: Back Step

After the initial exchange, both fighters grew more cautious, their blades dipping and rising in calculated arcs as they circled each other with half-measured steps, while testing the other for flaws.

Neither was willing to make the first reckless move, but when even after thirty seconds of half-hearted lunges and feints, Leo refused to show any real aggression, Veyr’s patience finally wore thin, as he lunged forward with a sharp thrust aimed at Leo’s stomach, deliberately leaving his neck exposed in hopes of drawing out a counter.

*CLANG*

Leo intercepted the thrust with one hand, his dagger angled low and tight against his forearm, the force bracing through his wrist as he fell for the bait and tried to counter with his free arm, only to be caught completely off guard when Veyr snatched that very arm with a whip-quick twist that nearly dislocated the elbow on contact.

*Step*

Leo took a step back, barely keeping his grip on the weapon as the twisting pain surged through his joints, and in the very next breath, Veyr’s blade came screaming diagonally through the air, aimed viciously at his chest with a speed and weight that, if not met clean, would cave in his ribs and crush his lungs without hesitation.

*CLANG*

Leo’s forearm screamed in protest as he threw up his dagger in a desperate parry, the blade barely redirecting the strike as he staggered back again, boots skidding on the arena floor, his balance fraying but still intact.

*Clang*

*Clang*

*Clang*

The next barrage arrived without warning.

Left shoulder, right thigh, the edge of his ribs, then a near miss at the neck—each swing came with such brutal precision it felt less like a duel and more like a dance orchestrated solely by Veyr, as Leo scrambled for a response.

The faint wisps of red that he saw did not allow him to block at the optimal angle, as the guesswork he used to keep up with Veyr, also opened his defence to a million other problems, as without blocking the first strike at the perfect angle, he could not position himself properly for the second, and was left in an even worse position to block the third.

"Having half knowledge is worse than having no knowledge..... you cannot use intent detection in the half right form that you use it currently.

In your current form, it’s only a recipe for disaster—"

Charles’s words rang in his head, as just like the old monarch had warned, by relying on his half-baked technique, Leo quickly dug himself into a deep defensive hole.

Each new strike launched by Veyr became an unanswerable question for him, a sharp-edged probe that demanded a flawless reply, and each of his improper blocks bought him only a second more before the tempo surged forward again, relentless and unforgiving.

’He’s not reacting to my strikes..... He’s predicting crudely,’ Veyr observed silently mid-assault, his gaze narrowing as he studied the way Leo blocked just at the point of contact, never a fraction earlier.

’He’s reading the general direction but not the true angle.’

And with that realization, Veyr adjusted.

He shifted the rhythm.

He curved the tempo.

He buried his intent within hesitation and dragged feints across the surface of his true strikes, watching as Leo faltered ever so slightly, parrying too soon or too late, while the edges of his robe grew more and more tattered under each passing barrage.

Leo could feel the slip. The weight behind every swing growing heavier, not because Veyr was growing stronger, but because his own timing was beginning to fracture, the tempo eluding him by half a beat at first, then nearly a full one as Veyr’s momentum bled into fluidity.

Veyr’s sword no longer attacked. It danced.

And Leo, no longer the equal he had briefly been, began to once more be pushed backwards, retreating into narrower and narrower circles as he tried to find footing on a battlefield that no longer belonged to him.

The crowd, once roaring in disbelief at Leo’s early stand, now fell into a breathless silence, a tight suspense gripping the atmosphere as only the echo of steel and scuffed boots rang across the arena.

Veyr’s smirk widened as he pressed closer, his blade orbiting Leo’s defense like a predator testing the cage.

"That attempt to block... it was cute while it lasted," he whispered, just loud enough for Leo to hear, as he started to finally press for the kill.

A sudden horizontal slash came next, sharp and sweeping, and Leo twisted to meet it, catching the edge with his dagger, though the backlash shuddered through his bones and nearly knocked the breath from his lungs.

He was falling behind.

He realized that he could not keep up anymore, as just one more step, one more failed counter, one more missed breath.... and he’d be done.

He needed something. Anything to stay competitive in this fight, and hence he reached inward, activating the only move that he thought could help him buy time.

[Parallel Processing].

The skill unfurled silently within him, its effect instant as the world dulled around the edges. Sounds warped. Veyr’s sword no longer blurred but instead carved clear arcs through slowed air, as his thoughts gained clarity like glass wiped clean of fog.

The strike aimed at his shoulder became a readable angle. The step that powered it, dissected....

As in the next intent, he blocked it clean.

*CLANG*

He hadn’t become faster.

Just more efficient, as by using [Parallel Processing] he once again gained the edge that he had lost.

His blocks once again met Veyr’s blade with sharper precision, and his feet began to glide in smoother diagonals, as if the rhythm had returned under his command.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Leo felt the pressure ease off his lungs as he parried and sidestepped not by prediction, but by reaction.

And yet—

"Oh?"

The word slipped out from Veyr’s lips, a playful breath laced with genuine intrigue, as mid-swing he blinked in visible surprise.

"You just used Parallel Processing, didn’t you?"

Leo said nothing, his focus absolute, his hands meeting the next blow cleanly, the angle of the parry so sharp it sent sparks trailing off the blade.

Veyr chuckled softly.

"Cute. Well..."

He rolled his shoulders and exhaled, the grin still untouched on his face.

"Two can play that game."

And then he blurred.

Moving so unnaturally fast, that for a brief moment, even to Leo’s enhanced perception, it felt like he had vanished entirely from the space between one breath and the next.

The ground beneath Veyr’s feet cracked as his full power surged, and the strike that followed came not from a direction but from everywhere at once.

Leo blocked left, only to be clipped from the right. He ducked a downward slash only to have the pommel crack into his ribs from below.

It wasn’t the speed alone.

It was awareness.

Veyr had activated it too.

He was reading Leo’s reactions, adjusting in real time, as if their movements were layered within one another, a mirrored duel with Veyr always just a step ahead.

A sweep came for his knees. Leo leapt back.

But the follow-up, a rising backhand, clipped his shoulder with brutal force.

*CRACK*

The pain shot through his left side like lightning.

He staggered.

His grip faltered.

But Veyr didn’t press forward.

He paused. And laughed.

"You forgot that the two of us share the same bloodline in the end, cuz?"

He twirled his blade with ease, as if none of this had ever been serious for him.

Leo didn’t reply. His eyes were now fixed on the faint red mist swirling around Veyr again, the aura thickening, sharpening, extending to a five-foot radius and glowing brighter with every passing moment.

And that’s when the realization finally settled.

Veyr had it too.

The same bloodline. The same gifts. The same cursed instincts.

Leo wasn’t the only special one anymore.

He was battling a reflection of everything he had once believed was uniquely his.

This content is taken from fr(e)ewebn(o)vel.𝓬𝓸𝓶