Devouring Monarch: Rebirth of the Profane Phoenix - Chapter 62

Dear Brother – You Are A Monster…
A sudden slap echoed inside en elegant room, the face of the beautiful fair-skinned beauty turning red as she slammed against the white walls with golden fixtures and the young girl’s eyes filled with both dismay and shock.

It was the first time someone had struck her for something outside of failing to master a skill within the time limit… Amalia’s chest began racing as she felt a sense of terror from the arrogant face of her master.

“How dare you?” The Sword Saintess exclaimed with a frosty tone, her eyes so narrow they formed terrifying slits.

‘I am wrong… I have to apologise!’

Amalia threw her body onto the quilted blue carpet, her hands placed down, grasping the soft ground with her face to the floor, rubbing it incessantly, hoping to gain forgiveness from her master before she suffered a worse fate.

“M-Master… I am wrong…”

With a sigh, the sword saintess looked down at the grovelling sight of her apprentice.

“Do you even know why I am angry and filled with disappointment?” the more she spoke, the deeper and less accepting she became.

‘What did I do wrong… Was it losing to my brother? I don’t know… What do I say!?’

The clueless Amalia could only act this way, her eyes filled with tears as the woman she respected most, even more than her mother, gave her such a look she had never seen before in the many years she spent training with her.

It was horrifying as she trembled, with a cold sweat dripping down her back.

“Amalia… You have been training with me for nine years—what is the main thing I always tell you when fighting.”

Suddenly, it became apparent why her master was angry…

The rule is to never use special techniques outside of important battles, fighting with your life on the line or duels to the death because they are techniques that can kill and also put an immense strain on the user.

‘I am so stupid… Master is worried about me, and I broke her rules so easily because of my fiery head!’

“But Amalia, my dearest successor…”

Her master squatted down, stroking the long black hair of the quivering girl like a mother would her daughter—both had lost their chance to experience that relationship as Amalia’s mother vanished shortly after her birth.

This was a large reason their relationship is closer to a mother and daughter than teachers and students.

The Saintess rubbed the torn muscles of her disciple’s abdomen, causing her to let out a groan of pain, the deep purple discoloured flesh similar to her own, as she looked at her wound with a sigh, she seemed melancholy, “My dear Amalia, you know that using a secret art in that kind of posture and way is dangerous…”

Amalia looked at her master, nodding while biting her lips; the same recoil caused the wound across her master’s abdomen she was worried about, as the gentle, motherly tone sounded again, soothing Amalia.

“Your Mana was low after the training regime and overworking yourself in battle… It could have been dangerous and killed you both!”

This Saintess had a long scar across the abdomen, making her infertile, the deep wound still dark and gruesome and caused by her misuse of a secret art when exhausted.

“You were losing to your brother, and because of your anger, you almost killed him.” Her soft hair cascaded over her shoulders as the crying girl climbed into her chest, a normal sight for the Saintess as she began rocking Amalia slowly in her arms.

“I know… I didn’t mean to get so excited… brother was so strong and scary… His power was like facing a Stage Four Monster!” Amalia’s voice was soft while she hugged the Saintess tightly, her body still trembling.

But it wasn’t from the fear of the Saintess… Her eyes closed and saw those eyes, the black sclera and golden pupils like a monster… Amalia felt guilty but afraid of her brother’s form and aura.

Trembling, her face looked up to the Saintess. “At first, I was so happy to see him grow at the tournament two weeks ago. But all my training… all the suffering, and my brother can beat me in everything but mana density….”

With a sigh, the Saintess ruffled Amalia’s hair and looked to the side with a wry smile, wondering how this girl was her most talented successor…

“You realise he was holding back, right? He never planned to go all out against you and hadn’t even realised the danger of your attack before it was too late…” A bitter smile as she tapped the nose of Amalia, who groaned, no longer crying.

“Amalia…”

“Yes, mother?”

“… You always have this habit when I scold you, tsk…”

“Hehe….” Amalia looked cute as the fear of the battle moments before faded, and she could feel happy once again for her brother’s growth.

“Amalia. I am going to train your brother into a sword demon.” The words caused the young girl to freeze—the woman known only to train female students for the past thousand years suddenly declared to train her brother… but not as a saint.

As a Demon

“So prepare yourself because he is talented and has a drive and ability to surpass anyone I’ve taught before, even you.”

****

Meanwhile, back in the training area.

Asura held a practise sword the same size and shape as Nova while darting around the training ground like a galloping gazelle. His speed was graceful, rapid and filled with power.

His strikes were swift, precise and filled with intent to kill as his mind replayed the match with his sister. The difference between them shocked him a little.

However, he saw an issue with his battle; his swordsmanship lacked lustre—he lacked a powerful attack other than using magic, but could he cast them rapidly during high-speed combat?

No… He needed something more, a technique to empower his swordplay.

Asura’s mind raced as he recalled the fight; his sister used three attacks… The first was a simple strike to test his power and defence.

Then followed up with a basic wind magic that followed her blades that he might mirror using his Soufire Blade—however, there was nothing after that… His melee combat had the void martial arts, but he lacked an offensive sword art.

“No… let’s first try to mimic my sister’s attack… aim for seven additional fire attacks.” He stepped back, the seven dummies regenerating as he took a deep breath. “It doesn’t have to be a slash attack. What about simple fireballs or blasts coming from the tip of my sword to work with both slashing and stabbing?”

Asura took a deep breath, closing his eyes as he recalled the movements of Amalia’s technique…

It was a simple one, but he couldn’t copy it as it required mana density, and he lacked that amount of mana to launch seven consecutive attacks, so instead, he condensed it into a smaller attack, the tip of his blade shimmering with a flame, that alternated between dark blue and crimson red.

Asura dashed forward, his steps light as he swung his sword, a small fireball no larger than a tennis ball leaving his blade, striking the dummy with a loud explosion, causing the training dummy to fall apart.

‘No! It was too soon, and my first attack didn’t hit, but I could use this for ranged combat!’

Asura dashed forward once again, his body moving swiftly as he thrust his blade, launching another fireball, but this time it hit the dummy square in the chest the moment after his sword pierced its chest, causing it to explode, and then followed up with a slash, releasing another fireball, to the dummy that attacked his right side.

The explosion made his blast larger than his sisters, but the force allowed his brutal and wild movements to use the momentum and force to dart around the combat faster.

As if a devil possessed him, Asura spent hours repeating this arduous and strict training until his body and mana were completely exhausted.