Chapter 200: Face
And before he could settle into thought, Razeal was upon him again.
The boy didn’t relent. Strike after strike poured forth, his body flowing with unbroken rhythm. Every slash came from impossible positions an upward slice while leaning backward, a horizontal cut from a pivot that should have been too short, a downward arc that turned mid-swing into a thrust. None of it followed traditional form. None of it should have been possible.
Yet every one landed.
Yograj tried again to dodge, to parry, even to counter but every time, the sword seemed to twist with him, flowing like liquid shadow, chasing his every movement.
His immortal body withstood the blows, but the sensation of steel meeting flesh was real.
One cut. Then another. Dozens.
The deck became their battlefield. Their speed rose with every exchange, boots hammering wood, the ship rocking beneath their movements. Soon, to Maria, Levy, and Aurora watching from afar, the fight blurred into streaks of motion. They couldn’t follow the details anymore. They couldn’t even see the individual strikes. All they could perceive was that Razeal was pressing Yograj back, step by step, pushing him toward the edge of the deck like an unstoppable tide.
Maria’s lips parted as she leaned forward slightly, her fork slipping from her hand and clinking onto the plate. Her aqua eyes tracked the blurs, unable to keep up but fully aware of the outcome.
Yograj’s chest became a canvas of cuts. Shallow, yes none fatal not that he would even care but they accumulated endlessly. His skin painted with crimson lines that crossed and layered over one another.
His eyes, however, widened not in pain but in disbelief. What... is this?
No matter how he tried, he couldn’t recognize the style. Every strike was alien. Every sequence was disconnected from the last. There was no stance, no tradition, no flow of a school or form. It wasn’t even "formless." It was beyond that. It was just random.
And yet it wasn’t clumsy. It wasn’t lacking purpose. It was like water spilling down a slope, finding its path with inevitability. No matter where he moved, the sword simply... followed.
Minutes passed, though to Yograj it felt like hours.
Two more minutes.
Finally, Razeal stopped.
His blade hung at his side, his stance relaxed. The shadowy sword shimmered faintly before dissolving into the air, vanishing as though it had never been there.
Yograj froze, his fists half-raised, chest rising and falling in steady breaths. He glanced down at himself, then up again, still unable to comprehend how not a single one of his counters had landed.
"You’ve lost, old man," Razeal said flatly, his tone calm, as if he had just finished brushing dust from his shoulder. "You would have died thousands of times by my hand already. Continuing is meaningless."
The words struck like a gavel.
Yograj exhaled slowly, his chest still bleeding in countless lines. Yet his face showed no pain only astonishment. His mouth opened, closed, then opened again.
"...My skills," he admitted quietly, "they are indeed inferior to yours." The words tasted bitter, but he forced them out, his pride clashing against undeniable reality.
Razeal’s expression didn’t shift. His voice was calm, almost reassuring. "You could have defeated me if you had used your true power. Your real strength, your agility. You haven’t even absorbed abilities yet that is supposed to be your main edge. And your body isn’t what it once was. Thirty years locked away in one place... I can see it. You’re not comfortable moving as you did before."
It wasn’t mockery. It wasn’t arrogance. Razeal’s words were oddly generous, as if offering Yograj an excuse, a way to preserve his pride.
But Yograj only shook his head. His brows furrowed, his mind struggling. The vast difference in skill, in ability it was incomprehensible. He had lived lifetimes. He had survived wars, slaughtered beasts, fought champions. He had thought himself experienced beyond measure. Yet standing before this boy, he felt like a child holding a wooden stick in front of a master swordsman.
The silence was broken not by Razeal or Yograj, but by Levy.
"That..." His voice cracked, rising with disbelief. "That’s!"
Yograj turned his head, frowning, his dark eyes narrowing as he saw Levy pointing directly at him.
"What is it now, boy?" Yograj muttered, irritation creeping into his voice.
But Levy didn’t answer immediately. but his lips moving soundlessly before he finally managed to croak, "Look at your... your chest..."
Aurora’s gaze shifted as well. She walked slowly toward Razeal’s side, her pink eyes narrowing with dawning realization as she stared at her supposed father’s torso. Maria, who had remained silent all this time, finally lowered her fork and leaned forward slightly, her expression unusually weird.
All their eyes fixed on Yograj.
Feeling the weight of their stares, Yograj frowned deeper. "...What now?"
Then, finally, he looked down.
For the first time, he truly saw it. His chest.
hundreds, no thousands of cuts, layered upon one another. Thin, precise slices crisscrossed his torso, forming patterns he hadn’t noticed during the fight. Together, they almost looked like some abstract painting carved onto flesh, strokes of red drawn by a sword so sharp it left no jagged edges.
His eyes widened slightly. "Ohhhhh..." he exhaled, lips parting in muted surprise.
He couldn’t even fully see the pattern from his own angle, but he could feel it now. A stinging tapestry, etched across him, each mark intentional even though none looked the same.
Levy’s eyes flicked between Yograj’s chest and Maria’s face, back and forth, as if searching for confirmation. His mouth twitching his voice lost somewhere between awe and weird kind of speachlessness. Aurora’s stare harder, while Maria’s aqua eyes lingered coldly on the sight, her noble composure straining as she tried to mask her reaction.
Because at the very middle of the old man’s chest, there was something no one could have imagined.
A portrait.
Delicate, breathtaking, and impossibly precise.. her face.
Carved not by brush or ink, but by the edge of Razeal’s sword. Thin, shallow cuts layered across Yograj’s white muscular chest, each wound shallow enough not to spill blood heavily, but deep enough to leave behind crimson lines. Together they formed the outline of a woman’s face so vivid that it almost seemed alive.
Every strand of her hair was there each one cut individually, flowing as if caught in the wind. The detail was so intricate it was terrifying. Razeal hadn’t simply slashed in anger or recklessness.. he had carved. He had sculpted with a weapon meant for killing. Blood replaced ink, the body replaced canvas, and yet the result was not grotesque but almost hauntingly beautiful.
Aurora’s lips parted, her pink eyes wide. Her voice came out as an awed murmur, unbidden.
"I didn’t know anyone could draw this well. And with a sword, no less... while fighting at that speed."
Her tone carried disbelief and awe in equal measure. The fight had been blinding, each movement too fast for her eyes to catch. And yet, hidden in the chaos of combat, this portrait had been born.
Levy, standing near her, was equally dumbfounded. His throat was dry, his eyes glued to the old man’s chest as though unable to look away. "I wasn’t aware either... that anyone swordsmanship can be that great," he whispered back instinctively. His voice lacked its usual sarcasm or nervousness. There was only awe.
The old man himself stared down at his chest, his face uncharacteristically shaken. His hand hovered uncertainly above the portrait, trembling slightly. His eyes, which had seen so much bloodshed, widened with disbelief.
Such delicate work... while fighting?
The thought circled in his head, relentless. He had never seen anything like it. Not once in his long, immortal life. Never had he even imagined such a feat was even to be possible.
He had used all his combat skills to fight back, to dodge, to counter, to press. He had faced Razeal with his full concentration, his movements honed by decades of battle. And yet, this boy while outmaneuvering him, while striking him hundreds of times had not only cut him but carved something so fine, so impossibly intricate, that even a master artist might have faltered.
Portraits this clear... strands of hair, the softness of the gaze, even the flow of wind in her locks... and done with a sword? Done in minutes, while moving faster than the eye can follow?
For once, Yograj could not summon anger or shame. There was no space in his chest for those emotions. There was only a heavy, almost reverent respect.
He raised his head and looked straight at Razeal, lips curling into something between a smile and a grimace. "The kind of talent you have... it surpasses mine. I’ve never seen anyone so skillful. If not for your white hair and black eyes, I might have thought you were a Virelan. Because unless one belongs to that bloodline, such things should be impossible at this age."
He chuckled softly, shaking his head. The words were not just flattery they were a genuine acknowledgment, one of the highest compliments a man like Yograj could ever give. To be compared to the Virelans, the legendary bloodline of unmatched warriors, was an honor that could define a person’s legacy.
Razeal only shook his head, saying nothing. His face betrayed no pride, no arrogance.. just that same unreadable calm.
But the others still stared.
Aurora’s breath trembled as she looked at her father’s chest, the lines of blood forming the face clearer with each second. Levy’s green eyes darted back and forth between the portrait and Razeal, struggling to process what he was witnessing.
And Maria.. Maria was silent. Deadly silent.
Her aqua eyes locked on the old man’s chest, unblinking. Her lips pressed tightly together as she studied every detail of the portrait. Every curve of her face. Every strand of her hair. The faint arch of her brows, the way the hair seemed to flow as if carried by wind. It was her. Perfectly her.
Then, slowly, her gaze lifted. She turned her head toward Razeal, who stood calmly, his expression unmoved, his eyes neither seeking approval nor apology. He hadn’t even looked at her once.
Maria’s jaw tightened.
This bastard... he didn’t even ask for my permission.
Her chest tightened with something sharp and hot. Irritation, yes but also something more confusing, something harder to name. So instead of speaking, she simply turned her head to the side and pouted, her lips pressing together, her aqua hair shifting as the sea breeze caught it. Outwardly she acted annoyed, inwardly she wasn’t sure what to feel about it. Honestly.. that portrait looks beautiful.. and magnificent just like her.
Yograj broke the silence with a booming laugh, his deep voice echoing over the deck.
"Well then, it seems I’ll have to break this beautiful piece of art you’ve left me. As much as I admire it, I can’t go walking around with someone else’s face carved onto my chest, can I?"
He laughed again, lightheartedly, even though blood still trickled from the lines. Already his immortal body was healing as he now allowed it to heal, the shallow cuts knitting themselves together, the portrait fading line by line. In moments, the carefully carved details blurred into nothing, his skin returning to smoothness though droplets of blood still clung stubbornly.
"Let me help you with that," a sharp voice cut in.
Fwoooosh!
A concentrated stream of water shot forward, striking Yograj’s chest with the force of a pressure spray. The blood washed away instantly, splattering across the deck before disappearing between the gaps in the wood.
Yograj tilted his head back slightly, letting it happen, his long hair dripping as droplets slid down his body. He exhaled in satisfaction, his broad chest now clean.
Lowering his gaze, he looked toward Maria, who stood with one arm extended, her palm still glowing faintly with remnants of water magic. Her expression was far from calm irritation darkened her features, her aqua eyes narrowed dangerously.
Yograj chuckled, wiping a stray droplet from his chin with the back of his hand. "Really helpful," he said, his tone teasing. Then his gaze sharpened. His eyes lingered meaningfully on Maria, as though reading her unspoken thoughts, before sliding slowly toward Razeal.
The implication was clear enough to anyone who caught it.
Maria did.
Her eyes narrowed even further, icy and dangerous, her lips curling just slightly. She didn’t speak, but her glare was sharp enough to cut.
Yograj only smiled faintly in response, as though her anger amused him rather than warned him.
Razeal, as always, said nothing his calm face betraying nothing of the storm swirling between the three of them.
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Hey guys! 💖 First of all, congratulations this is our 200th Chapter! What a long journey it’s been, and I’m so grateful to all of you for still being here with me. ❣️
Also, apologies for the late upload today. I had to attend a relative’s funeral, which was quite far away, and the travel really wore me out.
Important notice: Please don’t buy the current Privilege tier until the new one comes up (From 1st of Oct). I’ll be keeping the price the same (since some readers had concerns about it), but I’ll be adding 5 extra Chapters to make it more worthwhile. I’ll also be lowering the price for the current Privilege.
Thank you so much for reading and staying with me on this long journey! 💕
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