SPELLCRAFT: Reincarnation Of A Magic Scholar
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Chapter Summary
The concept of time suddenly seemed meaningless in the clash between both him and a being that had transcended such shackles. Only the sublime feeling of cutting through the Nether's body, and the evasion of fatal blows, filled his mind. And slowly, he began to experience another sensation he had forgotten.
'How long have we been fighting for?
' The Martial Blade God had no idea.
The concept of time suddenly seemed meaningless in the clash between both him and a being that had transcended such shackles.
Only the sublime feeling of cutting through the Nether's body, and the evasion of fatal blows, filled his mind.
And slowly, he began to experience another sensation he had forgotten.
"Haa… haa…"He was running out of breath!
His swings became sluggish.
His bones ached.
His muscles hurt with each convulsion.
His body was already showing signs of exhaustion.
'So this is how it feels!
I had forgotten!
'The Nether now had the upper hand, pushing the Martial Blade God on the defensive.
He had lost the advantage, and was now barely keeping up.
He was in a very precarious position, drawing closer and closer to death.
Yet… the Martial Blade God was smiling—no, he was laughing.
Like a madman dancing in the presence of imminent destruction—he did not cease his cackles of insanity.
Even as his body began to receive hits from the Nether's blade, he kept up his cheerful state, he kept up his excitement.
His body screamed in pain, but that did not prevent him from enjoying every moment of it.
The constant stream of Nether energy that corrupted his body was purified by the high concentration of Aether in his body, and his wounds kept healing.
However, the rate of damage, and the intensity, made him more and more wretched the longer he fought.
His wounds healed slower than before, and his wounds kept getting more.
"Haaa…"He had finally reached it—the limit of his strength.
The Nether, however, seemed to be getting stronger.
It seemed the gap between them only widened the more he swung his blade.
Yet, what could he do except swing his blade?
His body was weary, yet he couldn't stop.
Until—>CLANG!