The Sinful Young Master - Chapter 84

Chapter 84: Fighting against the time

Jolthar turned to him, his expression steady but unyielding. “It’s not about fighting them all. It’s about delaying them long enough for you to escape. We don’t have the luxury of arguing, Eran. Every second we waste, their numbers grow.”

The ground shook again, the sound of claws scraping against stone growing louder. More of the creatures were emerging, their pale forms glistening in the dim light. Their slit eyes locked onto the group, and their collective snarls filled the air with an overwhelming sense of malice.

Daus who had been silent until now, took a step forward. “We’ll follow your lead, Jolthar.”

Jolthar allowed himself a faint smirk, his hand tightening on his sword.

Daus hesitated, but seeing the determination in Jolthar’s eyes, he finally nodded. Turning to the others, he began organizing the retreat, ensuring the women were placed in the centre of their formation for maximum protection.

Eran looked sceptical and didn’t want to leave Jolthar behind; they had been leaning on him much more ever since they came to the valley.

As the group began moving, Jolthar stepped forward, placing himself between them and the advancing horde. His drake, Maelruth, let out a low growl, its sharp eyes fixed on the creatures as if sensing its rider’s intent.

Belan and Lysandra didn’t move. Eran also didn’t leave the place along with his men. Only the warriors of the tribe started to move, taking the women with them.

He looked at them and said, “I don’t think we can survive this if we fight those gore creatures.”

Eran replied, “I don’t care, Jolthar. But my lady wouldn’t definitely kill me, knowing if he had left you behind and ran away.”

He looked at Belan, and she glared at him, “I don’t know what you are trying to achieve by thinking of going against that army of deadly creatures. I already sent a signal to Blue Rose. We need to hold on until reinforcements come.”

Jolthar looked at them and thought for a second.

Jolthar took a deep breath, his aura flaring faintly as he prepared himself for what was to come. His mind was clear, his resolve unshaken.

Behind him, the sound of the retreating group of the tribal people grew fainter as they moved farther away.

Ahead, the creatures continued to emerge, their numbers growing into a sea of pale, grotesque forms. He looked at the knights, who were standing with fear in their eyes, yet their determination to fight made them stand their ground.

Jolthar turned to see the creatures and raised his sword, the blade humming softly with energy as it reflected the faint light.

“Come on,” he muttered under his breath, his voice low and steady. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

As the warriors began their retreat, Jolthar stayed behind, his sword glowing faintly as he channelled his aura. He knew they needed time, and he would buy it for them. With a determined shout, he swung his blade downward, the void’s energy erupting from it in a concentrated arc.

The air around the sword screamed as if alive, an invisible force slicing through the pit and striking the creatures and the ground itself. The valley quaked violently, cracks spidering across the rubble as the force of the attack threatened to bring the canyon down entirely.

“Come on!” Jolthar shouted over his shoulder.

The next second, he plunged forward along with Maelruth; both of their forms were a blur as they swiftly launched the assault.

–

The battlefield was a maelstrom of chaos, dust, and death.

Eran and the knights who stayed behind formed a tight line, their faces grim but resolute.

Belan and Lysandra stood among them, their weapons drawn and their expressions fierce. This was no ordinary battle—it was a fight for survival. The air was thick with the stench of blood and the guttural roars of the abominations pouring from the rubble.

Jolthar leaped ahead, his drake Maelruth roaring as it surged forward beside him. The young warrior’s movements were a blur, his figure almost ethereal in its grace as he launched himself into the air. His sword glinted in the dim light, and with a mighty swing, he carved a wide arc of distinct white energy through the air.

The arc struck the ground in a dazzling explosion of power, obliterating the creatures in its path.

The knights and warriors, galvanised by Jolthar’s ferocity, roared in defiance and followed his lead. Their weapons clashed against the monstrous creatures, slashing and hacking with all their might.

Belan’s sword danced in her hands, her strikes precise and lethal, while Lysandra’s sword found its mark time and again, piercing through the grotesque forms with unrelenting force.

But despite their determination, the battle was gruelling.

The creatures kept coming, their numbers seemingly endless.

The knights, though seasoned, began to falter. Sweat dripped from their brows, and their breaths came in ragged gasps. The strain was evident in their movements as exhaustion crept in.

“This is madness!” Eran shouted, parrying a clawed strike and retaliating with a powerful slash that sent a creature sprawling. “How can there be so many?”

Jolthar heard him but didn’t respond.

He couldn’t afford to.

His focus was absolute; his attacks were relentless.

Every swing of his blade unleashed lethal void strikes that tore through the abominations, their unnatural forms dissolving into dark blood upon contact. Yet he knew that even with his power, they were fighting a losing battle.

If reinforcements didn’t arrive soon, they would all be overwhelmed.

Daurgien watched the chaos unfold, standing at the rear of the monstrous horde. His sharp eyes narrowed as he observed Jolthar cutting through his creations with almost effortless precision. A scowl spread across his face, equal parts irritation and intrigue.

“This one,” Daurgien muttered, stepping forward. “He’s more troublesome than I anticipated.”

Raising his voice, Daurgien barked an order. “Stop!”

The creatures immediately halted, their grotesque forms standing eerily still.

The battlefield fell into a tense silence, broken only by the laboured breathing of the warriors.

Daurgien stepped to the forefront, his dark aura radiating malice.

“You,” he said, his voice carrying effortlessly across the battlefield. His crimson eyes locked onto Jolthar. “You are the one who dares to meddle in my plans. A mere boy with delusions of grandeur.”

Jolthar planted his sword into the ground, his chest heaving as he steadied his breath. He met Daurgien’s gaze, his expression unwavering.

“You talk too much,” Jolthar said, his voice calm but laced with defiance.

Daurgien chuckled, though there was no humour in it. “Bold words for someone who’s about to die. But I’ll admit, you’ve piqued my interest. A mid-level warrior who fights like a seasoned champion. Impressive… and annoying.”

The tension between the two was palpable, like the calm before a storm.

Jolthar stepped forward, his grip tightening on his sword. His drake growled low, the sound vibrating through the ground.

“Stay back,” Jolthar said to the others without looking back. “This fight is mine.”

Daurgien watched how Jolthar had been singlehandedly taking care of the creatures and how his power exceeded that of anyone present here. He understood one fact, and it was Jolthar’s sword power; it was completely different and lethal too. So he decided to put an end to him first, then take care of everyone later.

Eran started to protest, but Belan placed a hand on his shoulder, shaking her head. “Let him handle this. We’re no match for Daurgien in our current state.”

Daurgien smirked and spread his arms wide, his dark aura intensifying. “Very well, boy. Show me what you’re capable of.”

Without warning, Jolthar charged.

His movements were a blur, his sword slicing through the air with precision. Daurgien met his strike head-on, their blades clashing in a shower of sparks. The force of the impact sent shockwaves through the ground, causing the warriors behind Jolthar to stumble.

The duel was ferocious.

Jolthar’s strikes were swift and calculated, his void-infused attacks leaving trails of shimmering energy in their wake. Daurgien countered with equal ferocity, his strikes heavy and deliberate, each one carrying an unnatural weight.

“You’re strong,” Daurgien admitted, parrying a particularly vicious strike. “But strength alone won’t save you.”

He thrust his hand forward, unleashing a wave of dark energy Jolthar narrowly avoided by leaping into the air. Spinning midair, Jolthar brought his sword down in a powerful arc, the blade glowing with void energy. Daurgien raised his hand just in time, the clash creating a loud explosion that sent both combatants skidding backwards.

RUMBLE!

The ground trembled beneath them as they squared off again.

Jolthar’s expression was stoic, but beads of sweat lined his brow. Daurgien, in contrast, looked almost amused, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of frustration.

“You’re persistent,” Daurgien said. “But persistence won’t change your fate. You’re outmatched.”

Jolthar didn’t respond. He shifted his stance, his aura flaring as he prepared for another assault.

The others watched in silence, their hearts pounding as the battle unfolded.

The duel wasn’t just a clash of swords but a clash of wills.