Chapter 843: Broken Sword
"Don’t think too highly of yourself, Vrasha! I’ve fought countless life-and-death battles before becoming the leader of the Dragon Blood Tribe!" Kaelrath roared, swinging his massive sword into a defensive stance.
Vrasha only let out a low chuckle, her grip tightening around her blade as her piercing gaze cut into his very soul.
"Heh~ Is that why you got your ass beaten by Mireya?" she mocked openly, her words slicing deeper than any blade.
Kaelrath’s eyes blazed with hatred, his entire body trembling with fury as the atmosphere grew suffocating. His Mana erupted in a violent surge, his pupils glowing a bloody red.
"VRASHA!!!" he bellowed, his voice cracking with rage. "DON’T YOU DARE CROSS THAT LINE! THIS IS BETWEEN ME AND THAT DAMN BITCH!!"
"DRAG HER NAME INTO THIS AGAIN, AND I’LL SKIN YOU ALIVE RIGHT HERE AND NOW!!!"
Consumed by rage, Kaelrath abandoned defense altogether. His grip tightened, and he lunged forward, unleashing his full strength in a furious assault.
Vrasha’s grin widened—this was exactly what she wanted. Her plan had worked perfectly, driving Kaelrath into madness.
’Yes... show me your anger. Show me everything, so I can crush your arrogance in one strike and make you beg for death.’ Vrasha’s eyes gleamed as she tracked his every move with ease.
To her, Kaelrath was painfully slow. She didn’t even need to step back; her keen senses allowed her to read his every swing and block his strikes without effort.
Clang! Clang! Clang! BOOM!
Kaelrath charged in recklessly, swinging his sword with increasing speed and power, each strike fueled by his mounting fury.
In minutes, the two exchanged thousands of blows, the battlefield echoing with the thunder of their clashing blades. Yet Vrasha blocked and deflected every attack effortlessly—her breathing calm, her face unmarked by strain.
Elsewhere, Malgar carved his way through the battlefield with his colossal axe. Each swing split the earth and warriors alike, leaving craters filled with mangled corpses.
After cutting down the last of the Dragon Blood Tribe soldiers around him, Malgar turned toward the raging duel. His eyes widened in disbelief as he realized the truth.
Vrasha was toying with Kaelrath.
He saw with his own eyes that Vrasha was handling Kaelrath as if she were sparring with a child. Every one of his furious attacks met with a flawless counter from Vrasha’s blade.
Malgar’s ears rang with the deafening clash of steel, his eyes widening as sparks exploded across the battlefield with every strike between Vrasha and Kaelrath.
’How much stronger has she become since the last time I saw her back in the tribe? She’s toying with him! The leader of the Dragon Blood Tribe!’ Malgar screamed inwardly, unable to believe what he was witnessing.
Meanwhile, Mireya carved her way through the Dragon Blood Tribe’s army, a sword in hand as she painted the battlefield red. With every swing, hundreds of soldiers fell, their bodies piling like broken dolls in her wake.
"Somebody stop this woman! She’s slaughtering our people!" a soldier cried in terror, his voice trembling as despair clouded his eyes at the horrifying scene.
"Someone help me take this bitch down!" another roared desperately.
"On it!"
A group of warriors charged together, surrounding Mireya from all directions. Their swords clashed against hers, and the collision shook the ground with violent tremors.
But instead of overwhelming her, they were flung aside like rag dolls by a single slash of her blade.
The strike was so powerful it carved a massive scar into the surface of Crimsonfang Peak itself, leaving the ground split open. The battlefield fell silent for a moment, warriors staring in stunned disbelief.
A devastating shockwave rippled outward, toppling those who had dared to face her. Blood poured from their mouths as they collapsed, their bodies twitching before their souls slipped away.
"T-They’re dead... she killed them all with a single attack!"
"W-We can’t fight her... she’s a monster!"
Cries of terror erupted as Dragon Blood Tribe warriors broke ranks, fleeing the battlefield in desperation. They knew now that victory was impossible—not with someone like Mireya fighting alongside the Ogres. And with their leader locked in battle against Vrasha, being pushed back with every strike, their hope crumbled into dust.
Malgar, watching this chaos, grinned widely. He saw the opportunity to crush the Dragon Blood Tribe’s army completely while their leader was occupied.
Kaelrath, though still rising after every blow, was no longer the proud, composed leader he once appeared. He fought like a mad bull, charging forward recklessly, his movements driven not by strategy but by unhinged rage.
"Is this how you plan to defeat me? Pathetic! You look ridiculous, Kaelrath!" Vrasha roared, bringing her blade down with a crushing strike.
Cling! The deafening ring echoed as Vrasha’s sword slammed into Kaelrath’s weapon. Sparks exploded across the battlefield—then, with a sharp crack, Kaelrath’s legendary sword split in half.
Clang! The broken piece crashed onto the ground with a metallic thud, the sound cutting through the chaos and drawing every eye to it.
Gasps erupted. Warriors from both sides froze in disbelief. A legendary weapon—one passed down through generations—had shattered before their eyes. None had ever seen such a thing.
The surviving Dragon Blood Tribe soldiers stood stunned, their faces pale with shock, unable to process what had just occurred. Even the Ogres stared wide-eyed, astonished by Vrasha’s monstrous strength.
What made it even more terrifying was the weapon in her hands. By all appearances, Vrasha’s sword was nothing special—its aura ordinary, its design merely elegant. To the crowd, it had looked like nothing more than a decorative blade.
Yet this "ordinary" sword had just destroyed one of the oldest, most revered weapons in existence. Their perception of it—and of Vrasha—changed instantly.
Kaelrath stared at the jagged remains in his grip, his hands trembling. His widened eyes reflected pure disbelief.
"T-This... this is impossible. My sword... broken? This can’t be real! It has to be some kind of trick!" he muttered, his voice shaking, unable to accept reality.
’My sword... the pride of the Dragon Blood Tribe... shattered. How could this happen?! This is one of the oldest legendary blades in the world!’ his thoughts screamed in denial.
When he finally looked up, Vrasha was watching him with open mockery, her eyes gleaming with ridicule—as though he were nothing but a fool.
The humiliation stung deeper than the loss of his weapon. His fury boiled over.
’This bitch... she dares break my sword and look at me like that?! I’ll kill her right here, right now!’
His Mana erupted violently, surging with his rage. With a snarl, he hurled the broken blade at Vrasha, the weapon tearing through the air so fast it created a shockwave.
But Vrasha didn’t flinch. She stood her ground, that same fearless grin plastered across her face, not moving an inch as the broken weapon hurtled toward her.
’So arrogant... but now you’ll learn your lesson.’ Kaelrath smirked, watching Vrasha remain motionless as the broken blade hurtled toward her. To him, it was the perfect opportunity—her arrogance would be her downfall.
’Good... just stay there and do nothing! Accept your fate, Vrasha. You’ll die by my hand!’ His grin widened with glee, convinced he had finally cornered her.
"Heh! You think you can kill me with such a sloppy attack?" Vrasha mocked, her grin spreading as she casually lifted her hand. With effortless ease, she caught the broken sword mid-flight.
The attack stopped so suddenly that Kaelrath stumbled back in disbelief. His eyes widened as he stared, dumbfounded at the impossible scene before him.
"You’re a coward, Kaelrath. A spineless coward... shameless enough to rely on a desperate sneak attack," Vrasha spat, tightening her grip around the broken blade. With a single squeeze, the sword shattered into fragments, crumbling in her bare hand.
Horror crept into Kaelrath’s face. The ease with which she destroyed his weapon made it clear—she could crush him just as easily. And all this time, she had merely been toying with him, making him believe she was fighting seriously when in truth, she was playing with her prey.
Vrasha raised her own sword once more and advanced, each deliberate step echoing with menace. Her grin grew sharper, deadlier, while Kaelrath, without realizing it, retreated step by step.
His heart thundered violently in his chest. For the second time in his life, he felt the suffocating chill of death’s shadow. The memory of Mireya—when she nearly killed him and left him castrated—flashed through his mind like a nightmare reborn.
But suddenly, his fear gave way to twisted excitement as he remembered the armor clinging to his body.
’That’s right... she can’t kill me. I still wear the legendary armor. Her blade won’t even scratch me.’ His lips curved into a smile, confidence seeping back into his eyes.
"Do you really think you can kill me just because you managed to break my sword? Don’t make me laugh, Vrasha!" Kaelrath sneered arrogantly, standing tall once more as if her presence no longer frightened him.
He continued coldly, "That blade shattered only because it was old and worn from countless battles. You merely took advantage of its weakness."
Vrasha met his gaze without flinching, her voice calm but edged with lethal promise. "If that’s what you want to believe, then so be it. But understand this—I only need to destroy your armor... and then kill you with my sword."
"Kaelrath, get ready to pay with your life for my parents’ passing." With a broad smile on her face, Vrasha said that before her figure abruptly vanished into a blur.
"W-Where has she disappeared to?" Kaelrath’s heart rate started to rise as he became anxious.
She suddenly materialised behind him like a ghost, causing his eyes to widen in shock and terror and his mind to scream for him to flee right away.
Her sword was just an inch from striking him in the chest, but it was too late for him to avoid her blow.
"This is not good." Just before Vrasha’s sword sliced through his thick armour like butter, Kaelrath muttered.