SSS Talent: From Trash to Tyrant Chapter 514: Final Trial [VI]

Bartholomew drew in a deep breath and fitted another arrow to his bowstring.

His hands shook as he lifted the bow, but the quiver no longer stemmed from mere fear. It had evolved, now laced with agony, mana fatigue, and a fiercer fire simmering beneath.

He could win this.

The realization crashed over him abruptly, striking with more force than the serpent's prior lunge.

Not that the battle had grown simple. Far from it. Every deep breath seared his ribs. His shoulder pulsed from the tree collision. His right hand hung numb post-[Skybreak Knuckle], while the beast ahead loomed bigger, mightier, poised to devour him with one fatal slip.

Yet he could win this.

The serpent hauled itself onward once more, its damaged flank shoving aside soil and stray roots. Half its stone-like plating lay shattered from relentless [Piercing Shade Arrow] barrages, its jaws still jerking from the lightning surge he'd unleashed inside. Faint strands of pale mana lingered where [Moonbind Arrow] had pierced, their light dimmed yet persistent.

Bartholomew's breaths steadied a touch.

'It's injured.'

The serpent lunged.

The moment a clear line appeared, he unleashed [Piercing Shade Arrow]. Dark radiance coiled round the arrow, slender glowing lines spiraling its length until mana squeezed tight, whistling shrilly through the air. It hammered the fractured spot at the neck's base anew. Deeper penetration this round. Insufficient for death, but ample to ignite torment and provoke a savage spasm.

The serpent reacted at once. No withdrawal. It whipped aside, jaws gaping broader, charging wildly to pulverize foliage and splinter a sapling's trunk.

Bartholomew dodged left, veered right, then dove beneath the tumbling trunk. The serpent's bulk pursued, ripping through his former position. Earth erupted. Stone grated wood. Conservation of energy forgotten. Excellent. Its immense size would exact a heavy toll.

He grasped for a fresh arrow, but his left shoulder howled upon full draw attempt.

The serpent spotted the pause.

It accelerated.

Bartholomew slid backward in desperation as the head whipped overhead, then rolled and launched [Moonbind Arrow] prone. The silvery projectile burrowed lower now, amid plates on the serpent's belly. Moonlit mana threads unfurled like luminous roots, ensnaring body and soil below, impeding the subsequent surge. The beast strained, thrashed wildly, its rhythm shattered enough for the hurt flank to grind against a protruding stone.

A new fissure rent the plating.

Bartholomew noticed.

Trafalgar did too.

From the clearing's fringe, Trafalgar observed motionless. Arms crossed, face serene, yet inwardly he'd ceased viewing this as mere trial. Barth was succeeding. Rough around edges, yes. Messy amid pain's interruptions. No polished performance. Still, adaptation shone: distance managed, serpent compelled to pivot on weak side, and crucially, thoughts flowed amid chaos.

'Survival's past him now,' Trafalgar mused. 'He's dictating the battle.'

The serpent wrenched partially loose and attacked anew, hunkered and vicious, dragging combat to bare terrain free of tree obstacles. Bartholomew retreated with clipped strides. Not by choice, but bodily limits closing in. Ribs throbbed. Shoulder weighed down. String tension lagged.

The serpent sensed it.

Jaws parted.

Bartholomew's fingers brushed an arrow, then halted.

No.

Not yet.

He shifted hold, seizing a different one.

Black mana surged forth once again. [Piercing Shade Arrow] howled ahead, plunging into the gash high on the serpent's flank. The creature seized, rasped, and wheeled fully upon him, every plated shift radiating lethal intent.

Ideal.

Bartholomew bolted.

He zigzagged along the clearing's perimeter, compelling pursuit. Each pursuit twist widened the beast's injury, reopening the breach repeatedly. Another [Moonbind Arrow] flew not at flesh but ground ahead. Silvery threads bloomed in a shallow web, snaring beneath partial bulk. Brute power shattered it, yet not before the flawed side scraped and listed.

There.

Neck's underbelly flickered exposed for a fleeting instant.

Bartholomew halted abruptly, spun, and unleashed [Piercing Shade Arrow] into the vulnerable meat.

The arrow buried almost fletching-deep.

The serpent's frame crumpled.

Its skull smashed earthward, jarring roots free of soil. For a wild, triumphant flash, Bartholomew believed it finished.

Wrong.

The serpent reared anew.

Slower.

Unsteady.

Bartholomew gaped, chest laboring.

Mana dwindled. Body fared worse. One solid strike more, and he might crumple.

His wrist bracelet shimmered softly amid dappled forest light.

No.

Not after this journey, saved by trinket.

Fingers clamped final arrow.

Then clarity struck.

Not refined. Brutish, brief, risky—thus likely effective.

'Five seconds,' he calculated.

[Sleep] granted that against such a foe. Perhaps shorter if resistance surged swift. Five seconds: scant in typical clashes.

Here, sufficient.

The serpent readied charge, maw agape, form twisting past agony.

Bartholomew composed himself.

Mana on this shot formed neither dark squeeze nor silver gleam. Scarcely visible: mere air haze, subtle warp like heat over rock.

He released.

A plain arrow.

Precisely intended.

The serpent tracked tardily. Anticipating thunderous strike, mana-shriek to shatter shell. Instead, shaft hit near hurt neck; [Sleep]'s concealed mana pulsed softly outward.

The serpent jerked.

Head faltered.

Absurdly, fury morphed to dazed bewilderment. Coils slackened. Neck drooped. Entire mass sagged, eyes glazing as skull thudded dirt.

Asleep.

Bartholomew seized no instant idly.

In motion pre-full collapse, he dashed forth, boots gouging ground, bow discarded mid-stride for lack of draw time or aim. Mana gathered fistward anew, azure-white streaks flashing knuckles like lightning veining crystal.

He vaulted atop lowered skull, smashing [Skybreak Knuckle] into wounded neck where [Piercing Shade Arrow] barrages had sundered plating and rent flesh below.

Collision burst with harsh, vicious snap.

Lightning erupted into gash.

Serpent spasmed reflexively, semi-conscious yet beyond slumber. Bartholomew roared through gritted teeth, shrugging shoulder torment, thrusting fist further to channel surge through shredded tissue and raw innards. Frame bowed once, ferociously; neck-adjacent flaw burst under cumulative ruin and voltage.

The serpent roused solely to perish.

Body flailed once, twice, tail carving furrow across glade.

Then stilled.

Utterly.

Stone plates ceased grinding.

Coils unwound.

Massive head lolled into soil, motionless.

Bartholomew perched rigid atop, gasping, one fist mired in gore and shattered scale, other limp.

He blinked.

Again.

Then it sank in.

"I DID IT!" he bellowed.

The cry ripped free, hoarse and unashamed. He leaped from carcass, botched landing, teetered, steadied, pumped fist regardless. "I ACTUALLY DID IT!"

Trafalgar observed quietly a moment, then approached.

Bartholomew whirled, heaving, visage aglow with raw, incredulous glee seldom unveiled sans anxiety or regrets.

Trafalgar paused paces off, eyed slain serpent, then met his gaze.

"You did well."

Nothing more.

Bartholomew flushed crimson instantly.

"I-I mean..." Bloodied fingers nudged glasses higher, worsening smear, deepening blush. "I had to, right? With you watching and after all that talk before, couldn't exactly shame myself and"

Trafalgar snorted.

Bartholomew fell silent immediately.

But grin lingered unbroken.