Super.Dawg
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Chapter 145
🕑 Added 2025-10-22 10:12:01 +0000 UTC[Telescopic Sight]
“They’re really at it,” the remaining hooded figure muttered, his tone somewhere between amusement and irritation. After all, his two arrows did not miss but blocked.The wind bit at his cloak as he knelt, setting the small crossbow against his shoulder. Through the thin shimmer of his visor-skill, the battlefield resolved into perfect lines of motion and heat—Boris stood out like a beacon.
“I’ll give them a hand this time,” he whispered, and pulled the trigger halfway.
[Target Lock]
Mana pulsed along the weapon’s limbs, humming to life. The bolt shimmered faintly, its tip glowing with condensed force.
Then a presence behind him.
“I thought I didn’t need to do anything…”
The voice was soft. A woman’s voice—close. Too close.
He froze.
“…but a quest is a quest,” she continued, her tone carrying a calm authority that cut through the strong breeze of wind. “No student dies under my watch.”
He tried to turn. Muscles tensed, instincts screamed—but by the time his head began to move, it was already too late.
The air rippled.
A flash of gold.
His world flipped, the snow rising to meet his vision. For an instant, he saw her eyes—golden, calm, endless. The eyes of something not quite mortal. An ageless.
Then darkness claimed him.
….
Snow whispered across the broken field.
Every gust carried the metallic scent of blood and frost.
Boris could hear the clash of steel and the desperate cries of students behind him — but in front of him, there was only silence. Silence, and the faint crunch of boots on snow.
The black-hooded figure advanced, curved swords glinting faintly blue. He was tall, but his steps made no sound, as though the earth itself feared to mark him.
Boris tightened his grip on his spear.
He’d fought beasts. Monsters. Things born of corrupted mana and flesh.
But this man… this man was trained. To defeat someone. Someone like him.
And worse, he was the type to enjoy it. Savour it. Like Kana.
The first strike came without warning.
A blur — left blade down, right blade sweeping across the chest — both so fast they blurred into a single motion. Boris barely twisted in time, parrying with the shaft of his spear. The clash echoed like struck iron, jarring through his arms.
The hooded man was already gone, sliding past his defense, curving around like a windstorm. His blades cut from impossible angles.
Too fast. And too light on his feet.
He’s testing me, Boris thought.
He turned his defense inward. Let the spear dance in tight arcs, controlled motions. The weapon wasn’t made for finesse, but Boris had years — decades, in combat experience. He didn’t need to overpower the enemy. He just needed to endure. Help from Kana.. Or Suri would come later.
Why did I think of Suri?
The man’s blades clanged again, showering sparks against his armor. The edges bit deep into the metal but never quite reached flesh.
Each blow pushed him back a step.
Each parry drained another heartbeat of his strength.
And still, Boris endured.
Snow scattered around them as they circled. The other soldiers and students had drawn away, instinctively giving the two combatants space.
Then the man laughed softly.
“The way you fight really annoys me,” he said. His voice carried a casual amusement, like he was speaking to an insect that refused to die.
He turned his head slightly — eyes, dark and sharp, glancing toward the other skirmishes. One of them had already fallen, screaming, “And I must back them up. So no choice.”
He raised both blades in a cross, the blue lines along their edges brightening.
Boris’s instincts screamed. He lowered his spear. Braced.
Mana pressure condensed around the man’s body — the air thickening until Boris could taste it. Metallic. Bitter. His vision blurred from the distortion.
Then the man whispered a word.
[Hundred Strikes]
He moved. Just one step forward — and swung.
It wasn’t elegant.
It wasn’t even fast.
But the space around the curved blades fractured.
Blue arcs tore forward like waves of condensed wind, dozens — no, hundreds — of them, spreading in a fan. Each one a blade of compressed energy that split snow and earth in its path.
Boris exhaled, muscles tightening. The first wave hit his spear — and the shock nearly tore it from his hands. He twisted, pivoting, using the haft to absorb the next.
Each impact screamed in the air, sparks bursting like stars.
His armor cracked at the shoulder. The next wave split his greave.
Still, he stood.
The third wave came, heavier. The fourth—stronger.
His knees bent, boots grinding deep into the snow.
His breath came ragged.
He couldn’t block all of them. Not this many.
His mind raced. The [Hundred Strikes] wasn’t infinite — there had to be a limit. Either the skill consumed stamina, mana, or control. Every skill had a cost.
Then, between the bursts of blue light, Boris caught a flicker — the man’s right knee faltering slightly, just a heartbeat of imbalance.
There!
[Cleave]
It wasn’t a full [Cleave] skill. Boris cancelled it in the middle, just enough for the steaming smoke to pop out from the ground.
Through the smoke, Boris stepped forward, spear raised.
“You’re fast,” he growled, “but I know someone better.”
The man looked up, surprise flickering under his hood.
…..
Kana's chest burned. Her hands trembled—not with fear, but rage. A molten, blinding rage that rushed through her veins like molten marble energy.
It was the first time she felt so mad yet it didn’t feel it was the first time.
The man’s company responsible stepped forward.
Kana could tell, even through the veil shadow, that the man beneath the hood was no youth.
His movements were fluid, yes — precise, practiced — but his hands bore the stiffness of someone who had trained for decades. The faint wrinkles around his eyes betrayed a life of battle and blood.
Two daggers, curved and short, gleamed faintly with a sickly green sheen. Poisoned, Kana thought. She assumed that every strike meant to end a life with a scratch.
Their blades met in a bright clash that cut through the muffled chaos of the battlefield. The ring of steel echoed, crisp against the distant roars of monsters.
At first, Kana thought she could overwhelm him. She could predict where his strikes would land — his stance was old-fashioned, full of tiny tells that she’d already memorized.
Her next strike came faster. Then faster still. Her dagger moved in arcs of light, every hit heavier, every breath sharper.
But when she lunged, he was already there, his blades waiting for her.
When he feinted left, she was there to block — but he was gone before her dagger even met resistance.
They blurred through the snow like twin shadows in a dance no one else could see.
Sparks flashed in rhythm to their movements. The seemingly forming blizzard swallowed their sound.
He’s fast for his age. Kana thought, ducking another strike. And he’s reading me as well.
The world around her narrowed — the screaming of soldiers, the crashing of monsters — all fading. There was only the rhythm of movement and the pulse of energy in her veins.
Then she saw it.
A gap — small, but real. His weight shifted to his back foot. His chest was open.
Kana grinned. Finally. She thought. She could imagine it. The man would die. The fallen northern soldier was successfully avenged.
Kana stepped in. Mana energy surged through her arm.
[Dagger Pierce]
The dagger shot forward, humming faintly white. The tip angled perfectly toward the man’s throat — clean, decisive, lethal.
And then—
It hit the air.
Kana’s red eyes widened. How?!
The blade stopped mid-motion, shuddering against something invisible, like a ghost from the rumours. She forced herself to stop — not enough to throw her off balance, but enough to send a jolt up her arm.
Kana’s footing faltered.
The man moved instantly, spinning with both daggers, one slicing for her ribs, the other for her throat.
She bent backward.
Farther.
Too far.
The blade skimmed a strand of her hair as she twisted, spine bending in an impossible arc — it was all thanks to [Bolt Dagger], allowing her to move in ways no ordinary fighter could.
When she straightened again, they were both still — breathing a bit hard, daggers ready. She couldn’t believe it. The fight with the shadow man was a lot longer and she wasn’t even exhausted. But now… both her hands were too heavy.
“Tch. What a tough student.”
Snow fell quietly between them.
The man exhaled, a faint sigh escaping his lips. “You Abhet kingdom folks,” he said, voice raspy but amused, “are getting us to do additional work.”
He stepped forward, boots crunching the frozen ground.
Kana gritted her teeth, dagger up. “All of you will be buried here.”
He smiled under the hood. Then he blurred.
No— he was there and not at the same time.
Kana’s eyes widened. Her instincts screamed. She swung on pure reflex — her dagger passing through his form as though he were made of smoke.
Her second dagger followed, tracing a clean arc that should’ve cut flesh — but it met only air again.
[Dagger Assault]
Her hands became a blur of motion, a dozen strikes per heartbeat. Sparks scattered where her blades touched his outline, but nothing hit solid. It was like fighting a shadow reflected in mist.
He was using something — some sort of phasing ability. He could make his body ghosts?
Her strikes slowed. Her breathing steadied.
It doesn’t matter. Kana took a deep breath. Because she could feel it again. Her body telling where to move.
….
The battlefield was chaos made flesh.
Steel clashed, monsters screamed, and the snow—once pure—was streaked with crimson.
Yuri stood at the rear, scanning through the storm. Her breath came in short, frozen gasps as she watched the battle unfold like threads in a tapestry she couldn’t quite hold together.
Boris’s spear blazed with power, but his enemy was tough. And he was getting pushed back a bit.
Wor-en fought beside Suri, their coordination steady—an old rhythm of teacher and student, steel and illusion.
Zia remained still behind her, quietly watching. She glanced over her shoulder to ask for help, “Where is that old woman?”
But Kana—
Kana was different.
Her movements were sharp, too sharp. Every strike of her daggers carried a weight that shouldn’t be there, a recklessness that bordered on desperation.
Kana was too reckless as if she would gladly exchange her life just to defeat the enemy in front of her.
Her opponent, the hooded man, met every blow with surgical precision, deflecting, redirecting, waiting. And sometimes.. He became something else.. His poise only made her fury burn hotter.
“She’s losing herself…” Yuri whispered.
The air around Kana almost shimmered. The cold didn’t seem to touch her anymore — her fury had grown wild.
And then Yuri saw the reason.
Her eyes fell on the body.
A northern soldier — lying still, half-buried in snow, armor broken open like a cracked shell. His blood was still steaming against the frost.
Kana must have seen it too.
Yuri’s chest tightened. Kana’s strikes turned harsher, the sound of each clash sharper, angrier. It wasn’t the same precise rhythm Yuri knew — the balance, the calculation. It was grief turned into motion.
She’s blaming herself! Goodness! Yuri realized. She thinks she is a failure.
Kana’s daggers met the enemy’s blades again, sparks flaring between them. The hooded man said something—Yuri couldn’t hear what—but Kana screamed, a raw, wordless sound.
Yuri’s instincts took over.
If Kana stayed like that, she’d die. Rage maybe made her strong, but blind.
“I hope—” Yuri muttered, squinting through the snow. The fallen soldier’s position… yes, there. A shallow rise, not far from where Kana fought. Maybe—maybe there was still a pulse.
No time to check. Might be too late.
She cupped her hands to her mouth, shouting across the din of battle.
“Kana!”
Her voice cracked the frozen air. Kana didn’t flinch..
Yuri tried again, louder this time—using every bit of command in her voice.
“Kana!” she screamed at the top of her lungs. “He’s still alive!”
The words echoed over the howling wind.
A lie.
But a necessary one.
Post note:
Yuri is a leader candidate for a reason.
Hope you enjoy! 😉
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