Miracle

"Valkas Ul bets 37 Contribution Points."

"VS"

"Ash Hiss bets 2 Contribution Points."

It was already rare for a newcomer to participate in deathmatches for two consecutive days upon arriving at the "Shithole" (the affectionate nickname Death Row Inmates had for the Prison), let alone that his opponent was the Noble Valkas, which naturally attracted countless onlookers.

Many who weren't part of the Deathmatch Club rushed over to watch; the spectator stands were packed, and a large crowd even stood at the entrance.

"Both are using swords... is this a duel of swordsmanship? It's been a long time since I've seen Swordsmen fight. Every time a sword duel ends, the whole arena is filled with the fragrant scent of blood..."

"Human, hack that Elf to death!"

"What kind of grip is that? He's never learned swordsmanship, has he? Did he just grab a sword because he saw the Noble holding one and got scared?"

"If you don't know how to use a sword, don't use one! Wouldn't a Spear be better? Simple, easy, and beginner-friendly."

"An Axe is clearly better. One swing, and no matter what weapon they have, it's all smashed to pieces."

"What... what are you talking about? A Spear is obviously more suitable for beginners!"

"I... I'm not talking nonsense! The Axe is the best beginner weapon!"

Ash added another reason to his list for a Prison Break: he would rather listen to people swearing than hear two grown men, who sounded like a Black Whirlwind, arguing with the delicate, tsundere-girl sentence structures. It was as jarring as Tom Yum Tofu Pudding.

"They're so noisy."

"That's the Shithole for you. Flies buzzing everywhere."

Valkas looked at the Iron Sword in his hand and flicked it with his finger, producing a clear, crisp ring.

"Maggots can't turn into butterflies. Even if they were real butterflies, in a Shithole, they'd just be larger flies."

Ash smiled. "It seems you have deep feelings about prison life. Interested in writing a book?"

Valkas brushed his fingers over the blade and assumed a standard swordsmanship stance.

"Ash Hiss, my apologies."

The moment the barriers on the four sides of the arena rose, Valkas transformed into a blur. The longsword in his hand seemed to extend over ten meters, piercing the air in an instant!

Even though Ash had been on high alert, it was Too Late to block with his sword. He could only barely dodge to the right to avoid a fatal blow, but Valkas's blade still sliced a chunk of flesh from his shoulder!

The intense pain made Ash gasp, but he had no time to rest, for Valkas was already closing in!

Clang! Clang! Clang!

Ash didn't run. Instead, he did the opposite, charging into Valkas's guard to force the fight into the most dangerous range!

His reason wasn't drowned out by the pain—Valkas was ten centimeters taller than him with long limbs; his reach and attack range were too great. At medium-to-long range, Ash had almost no room to resist. Only by closing the distance to the extreme could he turn Valkas's advantage into a disadvantage, making it impossible for him to even swing his sword!

"Have you never learned any swordsmanship?"

Ash suddenly felt a chill run through his body. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Valkas twist his wrist, shifting from a forward grip to a reverse grip!

Clang!

Valkas's sword blocked Ash's thrust, and the Elf immediately threw a horizontal elbow, using his height advantage to smash Ash's forehead!

Retreat! Retreat! Retreat!

The force of the elbow strike nearly knocked Ash unconscious. At that moment, the Spell Power that had been dormant in his mind began to circulate slowly, emitting a cooling sensation that helped Ash regain his senses. Maintaining his combat instincts, he decisively retreated!

As Ash's vision cleared, a cold light came rushing toward him!

Boom!

Ash scrambled to his feet, not daring to let his back touch the ground for even a second. He looked at the wall shattered by Valkas's sword, his face full of lingering fear, followed immediately by dread.

Their swords were unsharpened!

The prison wasn't crazy enough to hand sharpened blades to Death Row Inmates for a fight!

It was already absurd that Valkas had sliced a piece of meat off Ash's shoulder with an unsharpened blade; Ash had just assumed Valkas's sword speed was so fast that his shoulder hadn't reacted in time.

But that was a stone wall!

It was made of stone!

Stop it, this isn't swordsmanship!

This had already exceeded the scope of swordsmanship!

"A... Spell Spirit?"

"Why do you look so surprised?"

Valkas smiled.

"Isn't it natural for a Spellcaster to use a Spell Spirit in battle?"

"But the prison hasn't lifted the Spell Power restriction—"

"Some things cannot be locked away. Even if you bind their hands and feet, they will still grow wings and fly. The Spell Spirits born from the knowledge I have fully mastered remain my power even without a supply of Spell Power. They will continue to turn every one of my mundane movements into a miraculous moment."

Ash let out a long, ragged breath. He felt his clothes growing heavy, soaked by the blood from his shoulder wound. He felt his strength ebbing away bit by bit; as the blood fled his body, it took his stamina with it.

Unlike a bare-knuckle boxing match, a deathmatch with cold weapons had no room for flashy, turn-based exchanges. There was only the breath between life and death—the strong live, the weak die.

For some reason, however, he felt refreshed. The Spell Power in his mind even began to stir, and the pain in his shoulders subsided significantly.

"If I take a hit like that to a vital spot, I probably won't be saved, right?"

"I don't know. I've never used my full strength against anyone in a deathmatch."

"Am I the first?"

"And the last."

BOOM!

Valkas gave a light flick, and the ground, as sturdy as refined steel, began to crack and explode as if a giant serpent were charging toward Ash from beneath the surface!

"Elven Swordsmanship Miracle, Mountain Shattering Earth Splitting!?"

"He actually used a Miracle!"

"How is that possible!"

A roar of commotion erupted from the spectator stands. The Death Row Inmates pressed their faces against the invisible barrier, desperate to catch every detail of Valkas's performance.

Igula was no exception. Having witnessed Valkas's deathmatches before, he had long anticipated that Valkas could utilize Spell Spirits.

But using a Spell Spirit and using a Miracle were two vastly different concepts!

Every Miracle required the coordination of several composite Spell Spirits to cast. However, possessing multiple composite Spell Spirits didn't guarantee the ability to cast a Miracle. It was like how ordinary people, handsome men, and beautiful women all have one mouth, one nose, and two eyes; the difference is that one results in an angelic face, while the other also has an angelic face—only theirs hit the ground face-first when they were born.

The difficulty of casting a Miracle was so extreme that the act of "casting a Miracle" was considered a miracle in itself.

One had to remember that those who became Spell Masters were already exceptionally gifted; otherwise, they could never have refined a craft to the realm of "Art" to summon a Spell Spirit.

Yet, even among these heaven-favored elites, the wildest dream for most was to master one or two Miracles in their lifetime. This was the average level for Spell Masters—those below average hadn't even mastered a single one.

Miracles were so rare that their rewards were naturally proportional to their difficulty. Compared to the straightforward effects of Spell Spirits, the power of a Miracle was more complex, grand, and difficult to counter, often even deriving incredible effects that crossed the boundaries of different schools.

For instance, a Swordsman's Miracle might have healing properties, a Water Art user's Miracle could evaporate enemies, and a Gun Artificer's Miracle might force enemies to catch their own bullets...

A saying was popular among Spell Masters: "Spell Spirits are merely extensions of our skills, but Miracles are the true wonders!"

Igula had also mastered a Miracle, and he had fully mastered the several Spell Spirits required for it. Theoretically, he was qualified to cast a Miracle.

But he had never once succeeded in casting a Miracle inside the prison.

Not even once!

If channeling a Spell Spirit in prison was like trying to pick your nose with your foot—difficult, but doable with practice—then casting a Miracle in prison was like trying to apply makeup with your foot! And it had to be applied perfectly, or it wouldn't count as a Miracle!

Ash was finished.

Watching the heaven-shattering, earth-splitting scene on the Deathmatch Arena, Igula felt a pang of pity for Ash.

Valkas was clearly out for blood. Under the crushing weight of a Miracle, Ash could forget about having an intact corpse; it was doubtful whether they could even scrape enough remains together from the rubble. The Healers in the prison's Treatment Room could never handle such severe injuries. In the end, Ash's remains would inevitably be disposed of by the Ogres.

This was the reality of the Blood Moon Country. Beneath the tablecloth of "Racial Equality," "Rule of Law," and "Harmonious Coexistence," the predators still followed the most brutal law of the jungle.

Once their interests were touched, even if one hid in Broken Lake Prison, they would still be crushed by the fingers of the powerful.

What a pity, he was quite an interesting man...

When the sound of the earth shattering on the arena had echoed for quite a while, someone finally couldn't sit still.

"Why isn't he dead yet?"

"Even if the Miracle's power is weakened to less than ten percent, it should still be enough to kill a weakling who can't even hold a sword steady, right?"

That's right, why wasn't Ash dead yet?

The Death Row Inmates, who had been entirely focused on the Miracle, finally began to observe Ash with serious intent.

The Deathmatch Arena was no longer intact. Facing Valkas's effortless earth-splitting Miracle, Ash dodged left and right like a hamster, looking disheveled and covered in dust, narrowly avoiding being crushed into paste by the Mountain Shattering Earth Splitting several times.

But he dodged every single time! Every time!

Although his movements looked wretched, in the eyes of these Death Row Inmates, his actions were becoming increasingly sharp and efficient, without a single wasted ounce of stamina!

Even Ash's sword grip was becoming steadier, to the point where he could actually parry Valkas's strikes!

It was almost, it was just like...

"Just like the deathmatch with the Beautiful Beast yesterday."

Someone muttered under their breath.

As the first victim, Igula naturally felt this deeply. He had watched, helpless, as Ash grew stronger step by step during their fight, his technique improving as he transformed from a greenhouse flower who couldn't even roll properly into a beast full of combat instinct in just a few minutes.

Yet now, a second victim had appeared.

Was this beast Ash actually so monstrous that he could learn swordsmanship during a fight!?

This was a prison, not some genius-cultivation center, you bastard!

However, many others recalled Ash's charges, linking his current genius performance to his origins.

"The Four Pillar Gods..."

In the dim spectator stands, Lang Na hooked her arm around her boyfriend's neck, her eyes fixed intently on the two figures on the Deathmatch Arena, a strange light flickering in her pupils.