Miracle

Valkas Ul wagered 37 Contribution Points

VS

Ash Hiss wagered 2 Contribution Points

It was already rare enough for a newcomer to take part in deathmatches for two consecutive days after arriving at the "Shithole" (the Death Row Inmates' affectionate name for the Prison), let alone for his opponent to be the "Noble" Valkas. Naturally, it drew countless spectators.

Quite a few people who were not members of the Deathmatch Club came to watch as well. The stands were packed, and a large crowd even stood at the entrance.

"Both of them are using swords... Is this a Sword Art duel? It's been so long since I last saw Swordsmen fight. After every Sword Art duel, the entire arena smells fragrantly of blood..."

"Human, chop that Elf to death!"

"What kind of sword stance is that? He hasn't learned Sword Art, has he? Don't tell me he saw the Noble pick up a sword, got scared, and grabbed one himself?"

"If you can't use a sword, don't use one! Wouldn't a spear be better? It's simple and easy to pick up."

"An axe is obviously better. One swing, and no matter what weapon you have, it'll all be smashed to pieces."

"Y-you... what nonsense are you talking about? A spear is clearly more suitable for beginners!"

"I-I'm not talking nonsense! An axe is the best weapon for newcomers!"

Ash had another reason to break out of Prison: he would rather listen to people swear than hear two grown men with Black Whirlwind voices arguing in the refined phrasing of tsundere girls. It was as incongruous as tom yum tofu pudding.

"They're so noisy."

"That's what the Shithole is like. Flies buzz everywhere."

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

"Maggots cannot become butterflies. Even a real butterfly is merely a slightly larger fly in a Shithole."

Ash smiled. "Sounds like you have deep feelings about Prison life. Interested in writing a book?"

Valkas lightly brushed his fingers across the blade and assumed a standard Sword Art stance.

"Ash Hiss, I'm sorry."

The instant the Barriers around the arena rose, Valkas turned into a swift shadow. The Longsword in his hand seemed to extend more than ten meters, piercing the air in an instant!

Although Ash had remained cautious, he was still too late to block with his sword. He could only barely dodge to the right, avoiding a vital strike as Valkas's sword sliced a small piece of flesh from his shoulder!

The intense pain made Ash suck in a sharp breath, but he had no time to rest, because Valkas was already right in front of him!

Clang! Clang! Clang!

Ash did not run. Instead, he did the opposite, charging into Valkas's reach and dragging the battle into the most dangerous possible distance!

His reason had not been drowned by pain—Valkas was ten centimeters taller than him, with longer arms and legs. His reach and attack range were simply too great; at mid-to-close 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, preventing him from even being able to swing his sword!

"Have you not learned any Sword Art at all?"

Ash suddenly felt a chill crawl over his entire body. From the corner of his eye, he saw Valkas twist his wrist, changing from an overhand grip to a reverse grip!

Clang!

Valkas's sword blocked Ash's thrust. The Elf immediately drove his elbow sideways, using his height advantage to smash Ash across the forehead!

Retreat! Retreat! Retreat!

The elbow strike nearly knocked Ash unconscious. At that moment, the Spell Power that had lain dormant in his mind slowly began to circulate, releasing a cool sensation that swiftly restored his awareness. His body still retained its combat instincts, and he decisively retreated!

When Ash's vision cleared, a flash of cold light rushed straight at him!

Boom!

Ash scrambled to his feet, not daring to let his back touch the ground. He looked at the wall Valkas had shattered with a single sword strike, his face filled with lingering fear, followed immediately by terror.

Their swords were unsharpened!

The Prison was not insane enough to hand sharpened weapons to Death Row Inmates and let them slaughter each other!

Valkas cutting a piece of flesh from Ash's shoulder with an unsharpened weapon had already been absurd. Ash could only assume Valkas's sword was so fast that even his shoulder flesh could not react in time.

But that was a stone wall!

Actual stone!

Stop it, this wasn't Sword Art!

This had already exceeded the jurisdiction of Sword Art!

"A Spell Spirit?"

"Why do you look so surprised?"

Valkas smiled.

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

"But the Prison hasn't lifted the Spell Power restrictions—"

"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 knowledge I have completely mastered remain my strength even without a supply of Spell Power. They still turn every ordinary movement I make into a moment of Miracle."

Ash let out a long breath. His clothes felt a little heavy because blood from his shoulder wound had soaked into them. He could feel his strength leaking away strand by strand. As his blood fled his body, it also took his stamina with it.

Unlike bare-knuckle boxing matches, swordsmanship deathmatches involving cold weapons had no flashy turn-based exchanges. There was only a single breath between life and death—when the strong lived, the Weakling died.

Yet for some reason, he felt refreshed. The Spell Power in his mind even became active, and his shoulder did not hurt as much anymore.

"If that attack hits a vital spot, I probably can't be saved, right?"

"I don't know. I've never gone all out against anyone in a deathmatch."

"I'm the first?"

"And the last."

Boom!

With a light sweep of Valkas's sword, the floor, as hard as refined steel, began to crack and burst apart. It was like a giant Snake charging toward Ash beneath the ground!

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

"He actually used a Miracle!"

"How is that possible!?"

An uproar erupted from the stands. The Death Row Inmates nearly pressed their faces against the invisible barrier, desperate to see more details of Valkas.

Igula was no exception. He had seen Valkas's deathmatches before and had long expected Valkas to be able to use Spell Spirits.

But using Spell Spirits and using Miracles were entirely different concepts!

Every Miracle required several composite Spell Spirits working together to cast it. But that did not mean possessing several composite Spell Spirits allowed one to cast a Miracle. Ordinary people and handsome men and beautiful women all had one mouth, one nose, and two eyes, but the final combinations were different: one had the face of an Angel, while the other also had the face of an Angel—except their face had hit the ground first when they were born.

Miracles were extremely difficult to cast, so difficult that "casting a Miracle" was itself part of the Miracle.

One had to know that those who could become Spellcasters were already exceptionally talented. Otherwise, they could not refine a skill to the realm of "art" and summon Spell Spirits from it.

Yet among these favored geniuses, most could only hope to master one or two Miracles in their entire lives. That was also the average level of Spellcasters—those below average had not even mastered a single Miracle.

Since Miracles were so rare, their rewards naturally matched their difficulty. Compared to the straightforward effects of Spell Spirits, Miracles were more complex, grander, harder to counter, and could even produce all kinds of unbelievable effects that crossed the gaps between different schools.

For example, a Swordsman's Miracle might have healing effects, a Water Arcanist's Miracle could evaporate enemies, and a Gun Artificer's Miracle could make enemies willingly catch Gun Bullets...

A saying was popular among Spellcasters—"Spell Spirits are merely extensions of our skills. Miracles are the true impossibilities!"

Igula had also mastered a Miracle, and he had completely mastered the several Spell Spirits required for it. In theory, he was qualified to cast a Miracle as well.

But he had never successfully cast a Miracle in Prison.

Not once!

If activating Spell Spirits in Prison was like picking one's nose with one's feet, difficult but manageable with enough practice;

then casting a Miracle in Prison was like applying makeup with one's feet! And it had to look very good, or it would not count as a Miracle!

Ash was finished now.

Watching the arena collapse around him, Igula felt pity for Ash.

Valkas was clearly out to kill. Under the crushing force of a Miracle, Ash could forget about leaving behind an intact corpse. It would be difficult enough to find all his minced flesh among the rubble. The Healers in the Prison's treatment room could not possibly handle injuries that severe. In the end, Ash's corpse would inevitably be dealt with by the Ogres.

This was the reality of Blood Moon Country. Beneath the tablecloth embroidered with "Racial Equality," "Law Above All," and "Harmonious Coexistence," the predators still followed the cruelest law of the strong devouring the weak.

Once one's interests were touched, even hiding in Broken Lake Prison would not prevent the Upper Position from crushing them to death with a finger.

What a pity. He had been quite an interesting man...

After the sound of the Deathmatch Arena collapsing went on for quite a while, someone finally could not sit still.

"Why isn't he dead yet?"

"Even if the Miracle has been weakened to less than a tenth of its power, it shouldn't fail to kill a Weakling who can barely hold a sword, right?"

That was right. Why was Ash not dead yet?

The Death Row Inmates, whose attention had been completely drawn by the Miracle, finally began to seriously observe Ash.

There was not a single intact patch of ground left in the Deathmatch Arena. Facing Valkas's effortless earth-shattering Miracle, Ash darted left and right like a hamster, covered in dust and grime. Several times, he had nearly been crushed into minced meat by Mountain Shattering Earth Splitting.

But he dodged every time! Every single time!

Although his movements looked utterly miserable, in the eyes of these Death Row Inmates, they were becoming increasingly clean and decisive, without the slightest waste of stamina!

Even Ash's sword became steadier and steadier, and he could even block Valkas's slashes!

It was simply, simply like...

"Just like his deathmatch with Beautiful Beast yesterday."

Someone muttered softly.

As the first victim, Igula naturally felt this deeply. During that battle, he had watched Ash grow stronger step by step, his technique improving more and more. In just a few minutes, he had transformed from a greenhouse flower that could not even roll into a beast filled with combat instincts.

And now, the second victim had appeared.

That beast Ash had actually learned Sword Art during battle!?

This was Prison, not some training center for geniuses, damn it!

But quite a few people recalled Ash's crime and connected his current display of genius with his origins.

"The Four Pillar Gods..."

In the dim stands, Lang Na had an arm hooked around his boyfriend's neck. His eyes remained fixed on the two people in the Deathmatch Arena, and an eerie light flashed through his pupils.