Chapter 199: Skills
Yograj cracked his shoulders with a loud pop, rolling them back as a sly grin crept across his face. "Wanna see who’s more skilled then? I’ll let you see," he said, his voice sharp with challenge as he stepped closer to Razeal.
Razeal’s eyes narrowed slightly. He didn’t flinch, didn’t move back, but instead gave a slow shake of his head. "No."
That one word hit the air with heavy finality.
"No?" Yograj’s brows rose, his expression twisting with mock disbelief. He let out a half-laugh, half-scoff, his eyes rolling in obvious exaggeration. "What’s this? Backing down already? Scared, kid?"
But Razeal’s voice remained plain, calm, almost bored. "We are standing on a ship. With your strength.. and mine if we fought seriously, this vessel would be obliterated within moments And not to sat It would serve no purpose. Just a meaningless thing to do."
Yograj’s smirk widened, his pride pricked. "I won’t use my strength. I’ll hold back to the level of a normal human. You can do the same. A fight of skill alone. I won’t even rely on my immortality. It’ll be fine. Right?"
The old man’s tone carried confidence, but also a faint spark of excitement. It had been years since he had a worthy sparring partner.
Razeal paused. His gaze moved slowly across the deck. First to Levy, who was watching wide-eyed. Then to Aurora, her expression guarded but curious. Finally to Maria, who sat at a distance, eating calmly at a table as though none of this concerned her.
Only after that did Razeal’s dark eyes return to Yograj. A small exhale slipped from his lips. "...Alright," he said at last. "Let’s do this. But Yes, no using strength beyond normal human. Only skill."
Honestly.. he himself wanted to test his combat skills. He’d fought countless times against that S-ranked woman, the weapon master, in system training grounds. His experience was undeniable.. his combat ability was already at a high level. But he wasn’t fully aware of his capabilities so.. today, Why not put himself to the test.
"That’s the way to go!" Yograj’s laughter boomed, pleased that the boy finally accepted. He dropped into a stance legs apart, knees bent, arms raised loosely in front of him. To anyone else, it might look casual, but to trained eyes, there were few flaws in his posture. It was the stance of a man who had fought for centuries.
Levy instinctively stepped back, distancing himself from what was about to unfold. He could already feel the tension thickening in the air. His gut told him this was the best thing for him to do now.
Razeal remained upright for a moment, studying the old man with his calm, flat gaze. Then, with a soft sigh, he extended one hand outward. Shadows rippled under his palm, twisting upward until they solidified into a sword long, sleek, and as dark as ink.
The shadow blade pulsed faintly, humming with restrained power.
Yograj cracked his neck, the sound echoing across the deck, and a smirk curled his lips. He pressed one foot firmly into the wooden boards of the ship, grounding himself. His breathing slowed. His eyes sharpened. The world around him seemed to slow down as his senses heightened.
Then.. he moved.
It was a blur. One heartbeat he was several feet away, the next he was right in front of Razeal, his body spinning with fluid speed. His waist twisted, his leg sweeping up high, aiming a brutal kick toward the side of Razeal’s head. He had used every ounce of technique to maximize the force of that strike.
Levy’s heart leapt into his throat. His eyes widened as he saw the speed. "From which angle is that normal human speed?!" he muttered in sighing tone. Still, compared to what Yograj might truly be capable of, Levy realized he was holding back. The movement was fast, yes, but not blinding. Levy could at least see it with his eyes. If the old man had gone even half-serious, Levy knew he wouldn’t even catch a blur.. Afterall someone from eternal hold.. not to say immortal and so old.. It really be embarrassing if not.
But what confused Levy more was Razeal. He hadn’t moved. He stood still, almost relaxed, his expression unreadable as Yograj’s kick whistled toward his skull.
Is he slow? That’s going to knock him out cold! Levy thought, confusion rushing through him.
But just before impact, Razeal’s lips parted slightly. His voice was calm. "Such a big opening, old man."
Instead of dodging or raising his sword, Razeal snapped his leg upward in a vicious, direct kick aimed squarely at Yograj’s groin.
The audacity stunned Yograj for half a second. Most fighters, when faced with a strike like his, would instinctively dodge or block. But this kid? He had chosen the dirtiest, most ruthless counter.
Yograj’s eyes flickered with surprise. He dares...!
He tried to retract his leg, pulling it back down, but the motion left him off-balance. Before he could recover, Razeal’s hand shot up with frightening precision, gripping Yograj’s raised leg firmly by the ankle.
The force of Razeal’s grip was unyielding, unnatural in its steadiness. The old man felt it instantly the way the boy’s hold locked him in place, turning his own strike into a dangerous liability.
For a heartbeat, time seemed to freeze.
And
Before the old man could recover or shift his balance, Razeal’s leg lashed upward with merciless precision. His foot connected squarely with its mark.
Thud!
The impact sent Yograj’s body jolting off the ground, airborne for two whole steps before Razeal released the leg he had been holding. For a split second, the old man’s frame looked weightless, suspended unnaturally in midair.
But Yograj wasn’t ordinary. With incredible control, he twisted in the air and landed solidly on both feet, his boots planting silently against the wooden planks of the ship. Not a creak, not a stumble. He stood straight, shoulders squared, as though he hadn’t just been kicked into the sky.
Levy swallowed hard. His eyes flickered across Yograj’s face, searching for any sign of pain, a grimace, even the smallest wince. But there was none. The old man’s expression was calm, composed, almost as if the hit had been nothing at all.
"Immortality," Levy whispered under his breath, awe and envy mixing in his tone. "Such a... desirable thing."
Razeal’s shadowed sword hung lazily against his shoulder. His eyes didn’t burn with pride or triumph; they were as calm and unshaken as still water. "If I had used my sword instead of my leg," he said plainly, "I would have cut you in half from there to up." His voice carried no arrogance, no mockery. It was a fact, spoken with chilling honesty.
Yograj tilted his head, his lips twitching into the faintest grimace. "I would never strike a place like that. To attack another man’s dignity... that is a sin." His voice lowered into a mutter, as if to convince himself of his own rules even in battle.
Without another word, he lunged again. His feet pounded against the deck as his body shot forward with frightening speed. His fists came like waves, strikes aimed at Razeal’s chest, his ribs, his jaw. Each blow was sharp, honed by centuries of combat.
But Razeal moved differently.
He didn’t even block or clashed. He just flowed.
His body shifted like water bending around stone. Shoulders twisted just enough for fists to pass by. Feet slid back and forth, weaving around each strike. To the onlookers, it almost seemed like he knew where the next hit would come before Yograj even moved.
And the truth wasn’t far from that.
Razeal’s ears picked up the faintest tightening of muscle, the subtle shift in breath, the tiny creak of joints moving. His keen hearing, paired with his sharpened reflexes, allowed him to predict even the intention of an attack before it even fully formed. Combined with the unnatural reaction speed granted by his flowing body, he was untouchable.
Every time Yograj’s arm twitched, Razeal’s body was already gone from that spot. Every time his leg swung, Razeal’s counter was already prepared.
The old man’s strikes met nothing but empty air.
Minutes stretched.
And then, with a final, desperate strike, Yograj swung wide. His body spun. His fist cut through the air only to meet nothing. His world lurched, spinning around him, and then the next thing he knew, his back slammed against the deck.
He blinked up at the sky.
"...Third time." His voice was strangely calm as he lay sprawled out on cold wooden floor. "This is the third time I’ve fallen." He wasn’t angry, not even ashamed. He sounded genuinely... surprised, as though questioning reality itself.
From the side, Levy, Aurora, and Maria had gone silent. At first, all three of them had believed Yograj would eventually beat Razeal, land a decisive blow, and prove his superiority. After all, he was the immortal warrior, the one who had lived lifetimes in combat. But what they had witnessed was something else entirely.
A one-sided beating.
Not with overwhelming power or ruthless strikes. But with simple, flawless combat skills.
Razeal hadn’t even used his sword. He had relied solely on dodges, evasions, and occasional kicksband it had been enough to wipe the deck with the old man as though playing with a child.
Maria’s fork froze halfway to her mouth. Her aqua-blue eyes widened slightly before narrowing again in disbelief. Even she, who had chosen to watch from afar with disinterest, had to admit the fight was not what she expected. What kind of training does one go through to move like that? she wondered silently.
Yograj slowly pushed himself up, his joints popping as he stood. His gaze shifted to the boy before him. Razeal stood with one hand tucked casually into his pocket, his sword resting lazily against his shoulder, his expression utterly calm.
And that sword? It hadn’t been used once.
Yograj’s lips pressed together as he tied his long black hair back, pulling it out of his face. He stared deeply at Razeal. "You’re holding back," he said flatly.
Razeal tilted his head slightly, his expression unchanged. "What can I do? If I ended the fight in one move, you wouldn’t have seen the difference in skill." He tapped the flat of his sword against his shoulder. His voice carried no arrogance, only certainty.
Yograj’s pride bristled. His fists clenched. "Go on.. use it. Show me. I want to see what sword style you wield. And don’t hold back now."
Razeal exhaled softly through his nose, his gaze steady, unwavering. "Alright. Prepare yourself then."
The old man’s smirk returned, but his eyes gleamed with serious intent this time. He raised his fists high, his body settling into a stance of true readiness.
Razeal moved.
One instant he was standing there, calm and still, the shadow sword in his grip like a shard of night itself. The next, he vanished into motion. His body blurred, his step almost soundless as he appeared directly in front of Yograj. The blade cut through the air, a sweep of black steel that carried no wasted movement smooth, fluid, inevitable.
Yograj’s eyes widened as instinct screamed at him. He shifted his body, muscles reacting with decades of honed discipline, twisting to evade the incoming strike. And yet no matter how he bent, how fast he turned the slash curved. It bent with his dodge, like water chasing its prey.
A sting tore across his chest.
Shhhk!
Blood sprayed in a thin red arc before splattering the deck. Yograj stumbled back half a step, stunned, his hand brushing against the warm wetness now streaking down his torso.
He gritted his teeth, his mind racing. What was that technique? He tried to recall the movement, to analyze the angle, the stance, the flow of the sword but the answer slipped from him. Nothing made sense. The motion hadn’t followed any swordsmanship he had ever witnessed. Not even the basics aligned.
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