CH249 Orthodox Knight Vs Unorthodox Mercenary

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Shree~!

Up in the sky, Senu mirrored Alex's concern with a sharp, worried cry.

Seeing Casper Schaumer's sword thrusting toward Jared's vulnerable form made Alex's consciousness within the Mindspace panic—panic which instantly spread to Senu through their psychic bond.

Alex frantically tried to use the Grand Formation to shield and heal the Dark Knight. Yet even with his Saintly power locked and suppressed by the Domain Prohibition Writ, a Saint's body remained a fortress, nearly impervious to external interference.

His Grand Formation was indeed a marvel of Runic Array mastery, but it was still, at its core, a Tier III Array Formation, at best. It simply lacked the refinement and force of a Tier IV, which was necessary to affect a Saint directly.

Alex had to pull back much of the formation's support from the rest of the Fury soldiers, pouring its strength into the link tethering him to Jared. Only then did it show the faintest sign of influence.

But in that instant of focus, Alex's eyes widened in disbelief.

"He doesn't need it?!"

---

"You managed to deflect it from your body?" Casper Schaumer's brows furrowed as he stared at the man before him.

Indeed, Jared Rivia still stood.

Just before the sword could pierce through him, Jared had caught the blade with both hands, twisting it aside at the last possible moment.

The steel cut deep into his palms and carved across his side, but his vital organs remained safe.

Had the strike pierced him with the full force that cracked the earth beneath their feet, the damage would have been catastrophic.

"This is pointless, Jared Rivia." Casper wrenched back his sword with a sneer. "Now die!"

He raised his weapon to finish it when the air shifted behind him.

A sudden gust carried with it a surge of killing intent. Casper abandoned his strike instantly, springing backward. A heartbeat later, something slammed into the ground between him and Jared, detonating with a sharp blast that forced both men to separate.

"Who?!" Casper snapped, eyes narrowed.

As the dust cleared, the object revealed itself.

It was a sword. Jared's sword.

Realisation struck Casper like a hammer. His gaze whipped back to Jared.

As expected, the Dark Knight had retreated toward where his disarmed war axe lay, stabbed into the ground. A faint glow pulsed along his arm.

'Energy thread? When did he…?' Casper's expression soured.

Jared calmly reached down, seized the war axe, and wrenched it free from the ground. He slung it onto his shoulder in one fluid motion, the fiery glow of the [Grand Fireball] spell blazing in the background, lending his silhouette a weighty, almost mythic gravitas.

Jared exhaled slowly, taking a moment to suppress his Saintly power. The Greater Rune glowing faintly on his forehead flared once before releasing its healing light.

Warm energy coursed through his body, healing him. The gashes on his palms and side closed rapidly, leaving behind only thin lines that would fade with time.

When the work was done, Jared channelled his Internal Energy to suppress the Greater Rune, silencing it so it would not interfere further.

This was his way of telling Alex, 'Do not waste the Grand Formation on me. Focus elsewhere.'

Turning his gaze back to Casper Schaumer, Jared spoke, his tone calm yet biting.

"You're not bad. Even without proper instruction, you've taken the Schaumer Sword Technique this far. Impressive."

His eyes narrowed. "But you seem to have forgotten something. Two decades ago, the number of Schaumers I killed—those who had truly mastered the technique—was no less than five."

He swung his war axe in a wide arc, the heavy weapon dragging the air itself with it. The sheer force of the motion rippled outward, collapsing the ravine Casper's earlier strike had torn open.

"Come. Let me show you why they died at my hands."

"You damned mercenary filth!" Casper roared.

Boom!

The two clashed again.

Jared lunged forward, bringing the axe down with crushing force against Casper's wide greatsword.

"Ugh!" Casper grimaced, his arms straining as the impact reverberated through him. Still, he held.

Digging his heel into the ground, he shoved upward, pushing Jared back just enough to regain space. Casper raised his blade for an overhead slash—only for Jared to spin his war axe by the long shaft, whirling it overhead like a storm.

The sudden rotation forced Casper to halt his advance. In that instant of delay, Jared redirected the axe and hacked down toward his opponent's exposed side.

Casper had no choice but to abandon his attack. He dropped his stance, slashing upward diagonally. Steel rang as his blade knocked Jared's strike high overhead.

But Jared did not resist the deflection. He flowed with it, letting the war axe's massive weight pull through the motion. Guiding the weapon with subtle control, he curved it back into a deadly row, bringing it crashing down toward Casper once more.

This time, Casper leapt clear, soaring over the descending axe and swinging downward in a counterattack.

Jared's hands shifted, sliding from the centre of the shaft toward its tip. The axe head smashed into the ground, its rebound springing the shaft upward like a lever. The weapon's shaft whipped into the path of Casper's falling strike, intercepting it.

But Jared wasn't finished.

Using the momentum of the springing shaft, he vaulted forward, leg-first, like an Olympic pole vaulter. His legs coiled around Casper's waist like a lucha libre pro wrestler's hold, and with brutal strength he slammed the man neck-and-back first into the ground.

Thud!

Without hesitation, Jared used his own shoulder and back as leverage, bringing the war axe's massive head arcing down toward Casper's chest.

But the sole surviving Schaumer bore the pain of the leg slam, quickly rolling free at the last possible moment to avoid the falling axe. Then tumbled back to his feet.

'Damned mercenary! I can't read his movements. One wrong move and I'll die!' Casper's thoughts rang with urgency.

"Come," Jared beckoned on him with his hand while his voice carried cold disdain. "Is this all the legacy of Schaumer amounts to?"

"Shut up!" Casper roared back, charging forward with a furious thrust.

Thing!

Steel rang.

Jared met the strike with a sweeping counter, his war axe intercepting the greatsword.

Casper leaned into the clash, forcing momentum through in the classic Schaumer Sword Style—an orthodox rhythm of blade first, body following, pressing relentlessly toward the enemy's downfall.

But Jared's counters flowed like a storm. His motions were circular, unpredictable, the uneven weight of the war axe guiding both weapon and wielder in ways no orthodox swordsman would expect.

It was the refined duel style of a knight against the battlefield instinct of a mercenary. One honed in the training room, the other on the battlefield and in chaos.

The clash escalated. Dozens of moves exchanged in rapid succession, sparks flying, earth cracking beneath their blows. And just when Casper thought he had adapted—Jared shifted again.

The Dark Knight sent Casper stumbling back with a brutal swing, then brought the axe crashing down before him.

Boom!

Dust erupted. The shaft snapped taut, vaulting Jared forward in a pole-vault motion.

This time, Jared used the dust as cover. His body flipped, legs driving downward.

Wham!

A two-legged dropkick smashed into Casper's chest, hurling him backward across the battlefield.

Jared landed hard, but didn't stop. Using the momentum of his fall, he swung the axe downward in a killing arc.

Casper scrambled, unable to find proper footing. He barely raised his sword in time.

Crash!

The overhead blow shattered his helmet, ripping it free and sending it clattering across the ground.

When the dust cleared, Casper was revealed kneeling, a thin line of blood trickling down his forehead.

The axe had bitten through the helmet enough to meet his flesh. A single inch deeper and his skull would have been split. The only reason he lived was because the war axe lodged in the helmet, tearing it away rather than cleaving his head in two.

Jared stood over him, silent. Then, to Casper's surprise, he cast the war axe aside. The heavy weapon spun away and landed with a distant crash.

Instead, Jared walked to where his old broadsword still stood buried tip-first in the earth.

He gripped the hilt and drew it free, spinning the cleaver-like blade around his wrist with practiced ease.

"Yes..." his voice was low, reverent. "This suits me better."

He turned his gaze back to Casper, eyes sharp as blades.

"Get up. Surely this isn't all your so-called Sword Master talent has to offer?"

At that moment, a sudden pressure burst forth from Jared.

A sharp, undeniable intent filled the air—oppressive, commanding.

The unmistakable aura of a Tier IV Sword Master.

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