The pain finally subsided, leaving Rayliar gasping for breath as his body trembled uncontrollably.
Cold sweat dripped down his face, tracing the sharp line of his jaw before pooling at his chin and falling to the bloodstained ground below.
He couldn't believe he was still standing.
He pressed a hand to his knee, struggling to push himself upright. His muscles screamed in protest, his balance wavering as he stood on shaky legs. But he refused to fall. Not now.
His hands were trembling, his fingers twitching from phantom sensations—the sound of his own flesh ripping apart and knitting back together still fresh in his ears.
Then, a realization hit him.
"M-My legs!"
He hadn't noticed before, but now that he was on his feet, he couldn't ignore it. The gaping holes that had been drilled into his thighs were gone, as if they'd never existed in the first place. The only evidence of the injury was the torn fabric of his pants.
"What did you do?! Damn it!"
Ronan's voice erupted, sharp and incredulous.
His eyes darted from Rayliar's healed body to the tattered remains of his own squad. Fury twisted his features into something feral.
How is this possible? He… consumed the Yggdrasill Fruit?! This has to be a nightmare!
The Forbidden Fruit. It was no mere legend. Belorfidë, the elven elder, had warned them years ago: it was a treasure too dangerous to destroy but far too perilous to leave unguarded. An artifact born of the ancient World Tree, destined never to be replicated.
For centuries, the elves had shed blood to protect it, ensuring it would never fall into the wrong hands. And yet, this boy… this insignificant human… had devoured it as if it were nothing more than an ordinary fruit.
"Damn it!"
Ronan's shout reverberated through the forest as he kicked the corpse of a fallen ally.
"You leave me no choice, boy. I'll have to kill you. You've just become an anomaly we cannot allow to grow…" His voice lowered to a menacing growl. "But rest assured, I'll make you suffer first."
The man's hand fell to the hilt of his katana. A dangerous glint flashed in his eyes as he began circling Rayliar like a predator stalking wounded prey.
"Long ago, during the early days of the New World, there was a tournament," Ronan began, his voice calm but laden with menace. "Participants were required to announce their name and role before fighting to the death. It's an old tradition… but I'll honor it just this once."
He stopped, his gaze locking onto Rayliar's.
"Name yourself."
The boy straightened his back, gripping the haft of his axe tightly. His voice came out steady, resolute.
"Rayliar, Woodcutter."
Ronan smirked, his fingers brushing lightly against the fabric-wrapped hilt of his katana.
"Ronan, Takehaya-Susanoo-no-Mikoto."
The air between them grew heavier, saturated with tension. Neither moved, each studying the other with the precision of a hunter.
Then, without warning, Ronan moved.
In a flash, the katana sliced through the air, a silver streak aimed directly at Rayliar's neck.
Clang!
The boy's axe intercepted the blade just in time, sparks flying as the two weapons met.
The sheer force of the impact sent shockwaves through Rayliar's arms, but he gritted his teeth and held firm.
Ronan's movements were fluid, seamless. With a flick of his wrist, he disengaged and slashed again, his blade curving toward Rayliar's midsection.
The boy twisted his body, narrowly avoiding the strike, and retaliated with a powerful overhead chop.
Boom!
The axe smashed into the ground as Ronan sidestepped, sending a shockwave rippling outward and leaving a jagged scar in the earth.
"You're slow," Ronan taunted, his voice cold and calculating. "Is that all you've got, Woodcutter?"
Rayliar didn't respond. His eyes narrowed, tracking every twitch of Ronan's muscles, every subtle shift in his stance.
Then, Ronan lunged. His katana became a blur, a flurry of strikes that forced Rayliar onto the defensive. Each clash of their weapons sent vibrations up his arms, the relentless onslaught driving him back step by step.
"Thunderbolt!"
A streak of lightning erupted from Ronan's hand, aimed directly at Rayliar's chest.
This time, the boy was ready. He dove to the side, rolling to avoid the blast, and sprang to his feet with surprising agility.
"You're adapting quickly," Ronan admitted, his tone begrudgingly impressed. "But it won't save you."
"Thunderstorm!"
The air around them shifted, heavy with the scent of ozone. Above them, dark clouds churned, and streaks of electricity began to dance in the sky.
Rayliar's instincts screamed at him to move, and he did, darting between bolts of lightning that struck the ground with terrifying force.
But they came faster than he could dodge.
Zzt!
A bolt grazed his arm, leaving a shallow burn. Another struck the ground near his feet, throwing him off balance.
"You can't win, boy," Ronan declared, striding confidently through the storm. "You're outmatched in every way."
Rayliar's grip on his axe tightened. He wasn't ready to give up—not yet.
"I'm not done," he growled, forcing himself to his feet once more.
He gathered his mana, focusing it into his weapon. The blade of his axe began to glow, a faint but growing light that pulsed with raw energy.
"Chop!"
The skill tore through the storm, a wave of energy carving a path toward Ronan.
The swordsman smirked, raising his katana.
"Is that all? Let me show you what real power looks like."
His blade ignited with golden light, and he swung it in a diagonal arc.
Boom!
The two attacks collided, their energies clashing violently and sending shockwaves rippling outward.
Rayliar didn't wait for the dust to settle. He launched himself forward, his axe whirling in a series of brutal, relentless strikes.
But Ronan was faster. Each swing of Rayliar's weapon was parried with ease, the swordsman's movements almost lazy in their precision.
"Limit Breaker."
The words came from Rayliar, calm and steady despite the chaos around him.
Mana exploded from his body, raw and unrestrained. Sparks danced in the air as his skill reached a new level.
"Chop."
_____________
SKILL CHOP HAS TEMPORARILY REACHED LEVEL 12!
WARNING! YOUR STATS ARE TOO LOW TO WITHSTAND THE SKILL'S BACKLASH!
_____________
The single word carried with it a weight that made the forest itself seem to hold its breath.
A blinding white light engulfed the battlefield.
When it cleared, the earth was scorched, and everything within a kilometer radius had been obliterated.
Ronan's katana lay shattered, a lone fragment embedded in the ground.
Rayliar staggered, his body broken and trembling.
But he was still standing.