Sylas' body swayed, the natural cadence of his rhythm hitting a new gear as he strung one combo over to the next, and then another, followed by another.

Salivar's blade seemed slow, but it wasn't. Sylas' ability to read, to calculate, to play three moves ahead on a chessboard his opponent couldn't even see, was countless times more potent when he wasn't accounting for a weapon he wasn't familiar with.

He realized then that he didn't need a weapon. Maybe in this one respect, the Scorned Wraps were very much correct.

There was no stronger power than his fists.

A hook shook Salivar's jaw.

Than his legs.

A shin collapsed one of the Entrim's knees in.

Than his elbows, his palms, his feet.

Sylas fluidly pulled [Twilight Dance] into an even deeper depth, his elbow rocking Salivar's jaw toward the other direction, only to slam a palm against his chest to collapse his ribs in, and finish with a roundhouse right across his temple.

Every blow came with an explosion of both might and sound, shattering winds and whining space following every sequence.

Raising his heel high into the skies, he slammed it down with the momentum of a collapsing mountain. It seemed to ignore the chill in the air entirely, sparks of lightning and flickering flames forming as the friction lit the air itself on fire.

Salivar's eyes seemed to flicker with life and realization. This still wasn't enough?

Quite frankly, he couldn't believe it. Was it possible for someone to be this powerful in the F-tier? Someone who wasn't a Demi-God, that is?

No. It wasn't Sylas' power—it was whatever beasts he had fused with. They were giving him a great amount of power, that and his broken Rune Mastery.

On the one hand, the fact this wasn't Sylas' base power made it easier to accept. But on the other, the fact his body could withstand this much power was no less a shock.

What warrior in this world didn't have their number of trump cards and abilities? No one worth their salt took raw stats seriously. They didn't incorporate Comprehensions, the boosts from Skills, or things like Rune Mastery. That was why it was better to judge the strength of your opponent based on their Will.

But Sylas' Will… it was so weak.

How could he be this powerful?

The world seemed to slow around Salivar as he realized he wasn't fighting someone he could take down so easily. In truth, he had already known this deep inside, but maybe his pride hadn't allowed him to admit it so openly.

But now… he didn't have a choice.

"Fine," he said coldly.

Everything sped up and Salivar crossed his arms above his head, blocking Sylas' heel with his forearms.

The fluctuation between crimson and ruby gold in his hair solidified into the latter. A secondary Aether rushed out of him in waves, half of his body erupting with a blood aura and the other lashing out with bolts of golden lightning.

BANG.

Sylas was forced to take a step back, his foot flying back up with such force he flipped overhead. He landed deftly, but Salivar didn't follow up nearly as quickly, taking out a second blade.

Oddly enough, he had his crimson blade on his golden side, holding his new golden blade on his crimson side.

The scent of blood in the air grew heavier, but Sylas' gaze couldn't help but flicker toward the lightning. He, himself, was an avid user of lightning Aether. He knew how hard it was to control, and exactly how powerful it could be. But he wasn't familiar with every form of lightning Aether there was.

This one felt… heavy, somehow. Almost as though if it touched him, he would never be able to move the same way again.

Poison.

Another poison-type lightning. What a coincidence.

But this one didn't attack the Will like his own. Instead, it attacked the body, turning it slow and languid—but not through neurocognitive means. Instead…

Metal.

Sylas looked down at his feet. It wasn't clear because his Scorned Wraps covered his ankles. But there, in the few rips in his loose pants, he could see a few specks of gold forming over his skin.

And yet, even though he was looking at them clearly, he couldn't feel them. All he could feel was that his speed and even his strength were affected.

Lightning danced around Salivar's golden blade, blood slowly dripping down his crimson blade.

His expression had become entirely blank, as though he was lost in a dream-like state. There was nothing to read at all, and that came with an unexpected consequence.

Sylas couldn't feel anything from Mixed Demonic Arts anymore. While he could still use it to boost his own skill, he couldn't use it to read Salivar any longer.

There was a flicker in Sylas' eyes. This was the first thing he had come across here that he hadn't accounted for. This was outside his calculations.

Salivar took a step forward, wisps of fog radiating from his eyes as though they were overheating. But Sylas didn't see it that way. They weren't overheating… they were just finally waking up.

Salivar had realized that if he insisted on trying to hide things now to protect trump cards for the future, he would die. That wasn't something he could afford to do.

In that case… he would go all out.

Sylas crossed his arms before his body before Salivar even moved, and yet it was just barely fast enough.

Blade and chains met, the Scorned Wraps rattling as Sylas' forearms threatened to shatter to pieces.

They both held their ground, the world trembling, but lines of gold had already begun to appear along Sylas' jaw, peeling across his skin as though a rapidly spreading disease.

Sylas coughed, but no blood came. Instead, flakes of gold radiated from his lungs.

The gap between them felt almost too large to overcome.

With his Will remaining untouched, it was like he was watching himself slowly die from a third-party perspective.

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