MIGHT AS WELL BE OP Chapter 932: Style

Klaus began his work without delay. With a sharp snap of his fingers, he birthed a new, isolated plane from the void itself. Recognizing that Anthony and Lucian were no ordinary men, but literal monsters in human skin, he reinforced this dimension heavily, fortifying every law and foundation within it. Once the construction of the battlefield was finished, another snap of his fingers teleported the two combatants into the freshly forged realm.

Anthony and Lucian offered no resistance, aware that it was Klaus orchestrating their movement. The moment their feet touched the hardened soil of the new plane, they erupted forward like projectiles launched from opposing cannons. They collided with the force of fated enemies who could not coexist. One had to be extinguished. Between them, there was no room for peace—only an eternal, violent struggle.

A massive grin split Anthony’s face. He had to admit that he had never felt such intense pressure in a duel of sword and blade. Never before had his spirit been pushed to such a restless, violent peak. Lucian Darkheart was the true embodiment of the katana. Compared to him, even Warlord Raelith seemed lacking in pure katanamanship. If Spectre was a mere flickering candle, Lucian was the sun—blazing, absolute, and overwhelming.

Anthony was relishing every second of the encounter.

He once believed he had witnessed the peak of natural sword talent in his father, Raelith, and in Spectre, but Lucian was ruthlessly shattering that delusion. As a man who lived and breathed the blade, how could Anthony not be joyful? He was intoxicated by the clash, drunk on the insanity of steel and intent. The only way to honor such a moment was to escalate the tempo of their shared madness. Whether or not Lucian could survive the approaching storm was a question Anthony intended to answer very soon.

Furthermore, it was Lucian who was dragging this side of him out. If there were dire consequences, then Lucian would simply have to take responsibility for them.

With a wide smile that bore a striking resemblance to his father’s, Anthony’s strength and speed exploded. Any limits he had grazed earlier were discarded as he accelerated the pace just as he intended. In his grip, his katana hummed and buzzed, as if the weapon itself was enjoying the chaos and longing to sing through both flesh and steel.

Anthony launched his strike.

His katana lunged from the left, acting more like a piercing rapier than a traditional blade—direct, sharp, and lethal. Lucian was momentarily startled by the sudden spike in intensity, but his adaptation was instantaneous and almost supernatural. He wasn't truly shocked by the rising heat of the battle; he had expected this much from Null Anthony. He had expected this from the protagonist, the one favored by ???.

Lucian’s own katana whipped out to parry, but Anthony’s blade shifted its trajectory mid-air. With a blur of his wrist, the katana redirected its path from Lucian’s ribs to his spleen in a heartbeat. Yet, Lucian’s reaction was just as rapid. His blade adjusted as if he had already read the path of Anthony's sword, intercepting the strike with uncanny accuracy.

A deafening, metallic clang rang out as their weapons crashed together once more. By now, the blades were changing color, turning from polished silver to a glowing crimson from the friction and heat of their relentless exchanges. Sparks showered the air with every hit, but they were ignored. The entire world had shrunk down to nothing but steel, willpower, and pure instinct.

Without a pause, Anthony followed up. His movements flowed like a relentless river, his strikes raining down like an endless barrage of bullets.

Left. Right. Right. Left. Above. Below. Side. Above. Above.

Angles were no longer a constraint. Wherever a direction existed, his sword was already there. His hand became a blur, filling the atmosphere as if thousands of hands were moving as one. Anthony had evolved into a sword demon, a fanatic devoted entirely to the katana, his soul and body consumed by the edge of the blade.

Even in the heat of this ferocity, a burning expectation flickered in his eyes. He expected Lucian to block every blow. He expected Lucian to parry every strike. He expected Lucian to remain unharmed. He expected Lucian to...

Lucian did not disappoint.

He met Anthony’s frantic onslaught with an ease that was almost insulting. Lucian’s form dissolved into a series of blurs and afterimages as he met every attack head-on. He didn't retreat or dodge. He met blade with blade, refusing to take even a single step back. In that moment, Lucian stood like an immovable mountain—unshaken and unfallen. He looked like a man who had spent countless eons doing nothing but mastering the defensive arts of the katana.

Anthony’s eyes gleamed with brilliance at the sight. Mesmerized by the display, he could only whisper a single word in the depths of his mind.

Beautiful.

Anthony’s heart hammered in his chest. It felt as though he had found a brother-in-arms, a fellow lunatic, a terrorist of the katana. Here was someone who viewed the blade not just as a weapon, but as a literal extension of his own existence.

However, one detail puzzled him.

Lucian’s talent was beyond ridiculous.

Anthony had watched Lucian fight Aaaninja three years prior during the Starborn Tournament. At that time, Lucian’s katanamanship had been impressive, but it was nowhere near this level. The gap between the Lucian of the past and the man standing before him now was so immense that they couldn't even be compared.

Nevertheless, Anthony didn't care.

All that mattered was Lucian’s skill with the katana. With joy surging through his veins, Anthony launched another wave of attacks, daring Lucian to answer, daring him to push back. He wanted to find the limits of Lucian’s path. He wanted to grasp what the katana truly meant to Lucian. The only way to find that truth was through the steel itself.

Sensing Lucian adapting to his rhythm, Anthony shifted his style once more. His previous movements had been refined, fluid, and serene. But now that Lucian had matched that pace, Anthony threw elegance aside. He became savage. His strikes turned feral and barbaric, as if he had completely surrendered his mind to raw instinct.

With that surrender, the frantic language of their katanas continued. Steel screamed against steel in a state of pure delirium as two monsters etched their truths into the earth with every thunderous clash.