SAINTESS [Chapter 158: Real Skill] (Patreon)

“Let the match begin!”

The instant those words rang out, Fein’s eyes lit up sharply. Like a hawk that had locked onto its prey, he bared his talons.

He stretched out his arms and swooped down like an eagle soaring with its wings spread wide. Even before he reached Winnie, the powerful wind rushing against his face made it hard for him to keep his eyes open.

Winnie raised his spear.

“No, no, that’s not it, kid. Not over here.”

Just as the iron claws were about to reach Winnie, they suddenly swerved away. Fein’s playful voice rang out through the air.

Winnie watched as Fein, who had been charging straight at him, suddenly changed direction at the very moment those sharp claws were about to strike.

Fein flipped off the ground and hung upside down in midair. Wrapping his arms around himself, he spun over Winnie’s shoulder with such dazzling speed that the eye could barely follow him, like a falcon soaring with its wings spread wide.

In the blink of an eye, he and Winnie had switched positions. Two crisp clangs of metal striking metal rang out in the process.

Fein landed perfectly from his spin, then leisurely stroked his iron claws.

Winnie glanced at both shoulders. They were completely unharmed, but that did not mean Fein had failed to attack him.

While Fein had been performing his acrobatics over Winnie’s head, he had lashed out at both shoulders with astonishing speed. However, the automatically activated [Armour Fortress] had blocked his claws, producing the two metallic clangs from moments ago.

“Oh? You managed to react in time and stop me with your Soul armament?” Fein casually turned around, ran a hand through his hair, and struck an annoyingly arrogant pose. “But that was just a little greeting, brat. So, what do you think? How many points would you give me?”

“That technique was called Falcon’s Plunder!” Fein declared, assuming an exaggerated pose.

“Looked like a dirt chicken trying to fly,” Winnie said, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, come on, brat. Not only do you lack artistic sensibility, but you’ve also got a vicious mouth.” Fein rolled his shoulders and grinned. “Forget it. If you want to keep acting tough, now’s your only chance.”

As he spoke, a suit of grayish-black armor emerged over Fein’s body.

The armor was exceptionally unusual. Its plates resembled the feathers of a black swan, yet they seemed to be made of some metallic material, gleaming brightly as they reflected the light.

This was...?

“This is my Soul armament, [Blackfeather Armor].” Fein gave a mocking smile. “You should have heard of it. After all, it’s also an armor-type Soul armament, though it’s a little different from yours.”

“It’s an original Soul armament passed down through my family, one of the few three-star armor-type Soul armaments still in existence. Naturally, there’s an enormous difference between it and your obsolete, antiquated one-star Soul armament.”

“It’s no exaggeration to call it the most powerful armor-type Soul armament of this era, the undisputed king of armor-type Soul armaments,” Fein declared proudly.

“It’s lightweight while retaining excellent defense. It helps its user take flight, move with agility, and amplify the power of magic. This is the proper path of development for modern armor-type Soul armaments!”

“That last move was only a probe. Make sure you catch this one!”

Fein spun while swinging both claws, transforming himself into a whirlwind that tore toward Winnie.

“That shell of iron wrapped around you might be tough, but what do you think will happen when magic hits it?” Fein’s taunting voice came from within the raging wind.

Winnie poured a vast amount of ice elemental power into [Frost Fang] and thrust his spear.

“No, no, wrong direction!”

The whirlwind abruptly changed course, making a high-speed turn around the direction Winnie had stabbed. It swept behind him and attacked his back.

From that angle, Winnie had absolutely no way to defend in time, much less summon [Armour Fortress] to block it. Aside from slowing him down, [Armour Fortress] was utterly useless.

“Ugh, seriously? Is that Mr. Impostor really this weak?” In the stands, Charlotte rested both hands on her knees and pouted in complaint. “Honestly, I won’t even get the chance to teach him a lesson myself. How boring. Tch, Mr. Impostor, if you’re this useless, what’s the point of staying alive?”

“You brat, you’re as slow as a tortoise carrying an iron weight! You’ve lost!” Fein laughed from within the whirlwind.

Moving faster than the wind itself, he needed less than a breath to pierce straight through Winnie and his iron shell alike.

He had assumed this impostor would at least offer him some entertainment. Instead, the boy had been utterly disappointing.

He had been defeated in fewer than three exchanges. Fein had only changed his move slightly, yet Winnie had failed to react at all.

Just as the thoroughly bored Fein prepared to end the battle, he failed to notice the faint curl of Winnie’s lips.

With his back still turned to Fein, Winnie’s face remained calm and unruffled, without the slightest trace of tension, as if everything were proceeding exactly according to plan.

“Winnie!” Shikondell stared nervously at the arena from the stands.

“Don’t tell me that guy’s going to lose here?!” Milian was equally anxious.

Compared to the two of them, the other Heroines of Destiny appeared much calmer.

Isatia looked perfectly composed. Mirexia did not seem nervous in the slightest either. As for Aesphyra, she had already risen from her seat with a faint smile, preparing to leave the stands.

The outcome had been decided.

It was already over.

[Bladestorm]

“Brat, you’ve lost!”

Just as the whirlwind Fein had become was about to crash into Winnie’s back, an abrupt chill ran through his body. He shuddered violently, every hair standing on end.

What was happening?!

“Who told you I was aiming at you?”

Winnie ended his feint and swung the blunt end of his spear shaft into the ground.

While Fein was still frozen in confusion, the scenery around him suddenly began racing backward. A dark figure shot toward him, grabbed him, and the world spun wildly.

By the time he came back to his senses, he discovered that someone had plucked him out of the arena as easily as if he were a chick.

“Mr. Referee?” After getting a clear look at the person before him, Fein still plainly had not grasped the situation. “What are you doing?”

Fein knew the referee would never interfere in a match unless absolutely necessary.

“The match is over.”

The referee offered no unnecessary explanation. He silently glanced at the blue-haired young man still standing in the arena, complicated astonishment showing on his face.

“What? How could that be?”

Fein had no idea what had happened, so naturally, he was unconvinced.

“See for yourself.”

The referee did not explain further and merely directed him to look at the arena.

“This?!”

Fein turned around, and the sight before him left his mouth hanging open.

A blizzard was raging across half the arena. Frost had descended, and bitter cold swept through the grounds, freezing a vast area solid.

Amid the enormous field of crystallized ice stood the blue-haired young man, calm and collected, one hand resting on his spear. The frigid wind howled around him, tossing his hair.

A second-year student had merely struck his weapon against the center of the arena, yet the resulting blizzard had spread all the way to the stands.

“...”

The shocking scene plunged the entire venue into silence.

It was not only Fein who had fallen quiet. The spectators in the stands had gone silent as well.

“Damn it, is that bastard really that powerful?” Pop muttered, shivering in the cold as he wrapped his arms around himself for warmth. He stared at the figure standing in the middle of the arena, his eyes filled with both fear and hatred.

He had come here hoping to see Winnie humiliated and beaten senseless by an elite upperclassman.

Although Winnie had instantly defeated a fourth-year student right before his eyes during the preliminaries, Pop had still clung to a shred of hope. He had convinced himself that the fourth-year student simply had not been strong enough, that he was at the bottom of his year, or that some accident had allowed Winnie to seize an opportunity and eliminate him.

Surely Winnie would be helpless against one of the best upperclassmen.

Yet the exact opposite had happened.

Winnie had turned around and crushed an upperclassman who ranked among the strongest finalists.

One move.

He had only used one move.

The rest of the audience began to realize it as well.

Though Winnie and Fein had exchanged several moves, Winnie himself had only attacked once.

That one attack had left Fein in such a terrible state that even the referee had to intervene personally to save him, nearly exhausting all his health insurance in the process.

Fein’s mouth remained wide open. At that moment, a crisp cracking sound reached his ears.

He looked down to find that his belt, now thickly coated in frost, could no longer bear the strain. It fell to the ground and shattered into icy fragments.

Only now did he personally experience the terrifying cold current and extreme low temperature.

“Holy... shit?”

Once the realization struck him, Fein could not help retreating several steps. He stared fearfully at Winnie in the center of the arena, lingering terror filling his heart. His previous arrogance had vanished without a trace.

If he had merely lost by a narrow margin, he would have been extremely unwilling to accept it. After all, he had been defeated by a student one year below him, and one who was supposedly a notorious scoundrel who had relied on deception and fraud just to stand on the same stage as him.

But now, Fein could not muster even the slightest unwillingness.

When the gap in strength became vast enough, it was difficult for anyone to feel envy or resentment.

People might feel jealous of someone who is only slightly stronger than them, but when confronted with someone ten times more powerful or beyond, jealousy and resentment become nearly impossible to sustain.

That was because they clearly understood that a gulf wider than any chasm separated them, one they might never cross in their entire lifetime.

At that moment, Fein realized precisely that.

Yet there were even more things he could not understand.

Why?

He had never paid much attention to Winnie. Those devoted to cultivation rarely cared about such gossip.

Yet even someone as indifferent to campus rumors as Fein had heard that Winnie was nothing more than a fraud who had made it this far by impersonating a descendant of the Goddess and exploiting that identity for personal gain.

But now that he had seen Winnie in person, why was he completely different from the rumors?

Of course Fein knew that he had been crushed by a difference in strength. What he could not understand was why such a difference existed in the first place. Even if Winnie’s talent was not as terrible as the rumors claimed, he was still a year below Fein.

Was Fein truly that inferior to him?

Could Winnie have taken some prohibited potion that vastly raised his cultivation for a short period, granting him such explosive strength?

No, that was impossible.

Before every match, while the competitors waited in the preparation area, instructors carried out a comprehensive examination of both participants. If Winnie had consumed any banned substance, there was no way he could have concealed it.

This ice magic did not resemble some heretical Soul armament either. If it were, the referee would have stopped him long ago, and the instructors in their viewing section would have noticed immediately.

Besides, this was the Chosen One Contest. Even the vice principal of Carillian Academy was watching in person. Even if the academy really did have a wielder of a heretical Soul armament, they would have no choice but to keep it hidden and refrain from using it.

Only someone tired of living would believe they could activate a heretical Soul armament right under the vice principal’s nose without being detected.

Then what was the reason?

Could every rumor about Winnie have been false? Could the real Winnie, even without a bloodline, simply be a genius?

But that made even less sense.

The logic did not hold up at all.

If Winnie had always been a genius, why would he insist on impersonating a descendant of Varelis?

Even without the title, his natural talent would ensure that he made a name for himself someday. However, pretending to be her descendant had brought him nothing but trouble. His reputation had not improved at all, and instead, everyone regarded him as a fraud. His name had practically become another word for a street rat.

If he truly was a genius, there had been no need whatsoever for him to impersonate a descendant of Varelis, had there?

That question involuntarily arose in Fein’s mind as he looked back toward Winnie in the center of the arena.

The blue-haired young man slowly raised his lowered gaze. A piercing, bone-chilling light shone from his cold, sharp eyes, seemingly even colder than the blizzard raging across the arena.

For a moment, Fein forgot to swallow.

That gaze gave him the impression that the blue-haired young man’s instinctive battle awareness had awakened, rousing the ruthless decisiveness hidden deep within his body.

Just what kind of beings had he defeated to possess eyes like those?

Fein was not the only one whose mind had fallen into turmoil. The spectators in the stands were equally conflicted.

After witnessing Winnie’s strength, the formerly noisy stands had fallen silent. Everyone sank into wordless contemplation.

Unlike Fein, however, many of them remained unconvinced.

Some claimed Fein was simply incompetent. Others insisted Winnie must have used some kind of underhanded trick. Still others argued that the blizzard merely looked frightening and possessed no actual power.

They were not the ones standing in the arena and had not experienced it firsthand, so naturally, they had no idea how vast the difference truly was.

Besides, people were stubborn. They only believed what they wished to believe.

Aesphyra leaned against the railing of the stands, glancing first at the audience and then at the aloof blue figure in the arena. The corners of her lips unconsciously curved upward.

She had watched Winnie’s growth from the beginning, so naturally, she understood it more deeply than anyone else.

Although Carillian Academy had the highest overall student quality on the entire continent of Terraria, the hardships Winnie had faced were far beyond anything most of its students would ever experience in their lifetimes.

For instance, a dog raised in captivity from birth, enjoying a comfortable life with plenty of food and shelter, might grow big and strong.

But could it ever defeat a wolf king, scarred from countless battles, who had fought its way through mountains of corpses and rivers of blood?

Their environments were different.

What they had seen and experienced was different.

Naturally, the heights they could reach would be different as well.

If anyone gets offended by some words please let me know I will fix them.