Incubus Living In A World Of Superpower Users - Chapter 431

Capítulo 431: You’ve Been Quiet For Weeks 2

“You want to keep shaving scales for the next hour, or you want to buy yourself a spine-cracker and make the grading team write ‘effective’ in the margins?”

He exhaled through his nose, slow and sharp. The air burned a little on the way out. His grip tightened, then adjusted; the knife balanced in his hand like something alive.

The serpent’s hiss rolled over him, vibrating through the stone as if the whole ruin was lending its breath to the beast.

The courtyard pump thrummed louder, a heartbeat for the arena itself. Around them, insects circled tighter, their faint glow sketching every scar, every hairline fracture in the serpent’s armor.

Old wounds, old repairs, proof that this monster had been summoned repeatedly and had survived each test until now.

He thought about the cracked plate near the skull, the seam along the belly, the weight of coins waiting in his invisible pocket, and the system grinning in his ear like a street vendor who knew the rain was about to fall.

“Multitasking is the way to go,” the system sang, too cheerful for the stench of dust and blood that hung in the air.

“Think fast, buy faster. I promise not to sell you anything with glitter.”

The serpent’s head feinted, weaving side to side. He didn’t bite. He let the body’s weight speak the truth instead of the eyes.

He slid toward the cracked plate, boots whispering across moss. His right foot caught the faintest ridge in the floor, an old repair seam no one had sanded clean.

Most would stumble. He used it. He pivoted, shifting all his weight through that anchor, and the knife kissed the crack just enough to feel a hint of give. Like a smile that wasn’t ready to show teeth.

He pressed harder. The serpent slammed its head against the wall in answer, stone exploding in chips.

The shock ran up his blade into his wrist. His fingers went numb for a blink, and pain chewed at his shoulder where the earlier blow still lingered. He swore, low and tight, but he didn’t let go.

“Make your pitch,” he muttered to himself, to the panel that had decided to chirp right when effort felt like a tax. His breath was steady, even when his muscles weren’t. “And keep it short.”

“Oh, look at you, delegating,” the system said, pleased as a cat. Three things. One: You can burn ten coins for a quick-fuse mirror thread.

Think paper-thin reflective film, sticks to a plate, holds one illusion for two seconds. Makes it think your blade’s here when it’s really there.

Two: a cheap water knot. This knot binds a loop of real moisture for a heartbeat—perfect for tripping tails or ankles.

Three: do nothing, keep hoarding, and I’ll draft a strongly worded letter to your thrift. Might even sign it in calligraphy.”

“I like water,” he said flatly, already moving, knife flashing for the crack again. He didn’t expect penetration this time.

He wanted repetition. He wanted the serpent to hate that exact motion. To anticipate it. To open itself elsewhere.

He rolled right, let the illusion of his presence smear across the moss. The serpent struck at the echo, its head snapping violently that cracked stone.

He was already past, feet angling toward the pump gate, when the system hummed with the satisfaction of a locked purchase.

“Water knot,” it said. “Paid. Unspool at your heel, step through, pull at count four.”

“Count what?” His knife slashed shallow across a plate, sparks spitting into the air.

“Your heart. I’ve been listening to it all day.”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t have the breath, and the serpent didn’t care for side conversations. He moved as the instructions demanded.

A glimmer uncoiled at his boot, a thread of water spilling out like a ribbon, pooling and circling itself into a sleeping loop. He stepped forward.

The tail, happy to punish, swept after him with crushing intent. At the fourth beat of his heart, he pulled.

The knot snapped tight. Water hardened like rope blessed by a sailor’s pride, looping the serpent’s tail and stealing a precious fraction of its rhythm. That half-beat was enough.

He took it the way a thief takes an unlocked door. He surged in, blade aimed for the cracked plate, no grace left, no artistry.

His elbow tucked close, shoulder screaming in protest, but he ignored it. The knife bit deep. The plate split with the sound of old bread tearing.

The serpent reared, a roar shivering up its throat. No longer patient or pretending to be a test—it was angry now. Its head swept in, all fury, no feints.

He didn’t have time for cleverness. He braced both hands on the knife and shoved, driving steel under the plate into meat.

Heat bled down the blade into his palms, searing hot enough to make his teeth clench. The system hissed like it had grabbed the steel itself. “Spicy,” it said through grit. “Finish it.”

“On it.”

He ripped the blade out before the head could snap his arm off. Dirt smeared the edge, unplanned, but he let it stand as camouflage.

The serpent twisted, tracking motion, and he gave it a false line—half-step, then vanished. Its head lunged where he wasn’t.

He drove his knee up, hard, into the soft juncture of throat and chest, a place beasts never think to guard against hands. The knife punched again, a short, ugly thrust. No finesse. Just work.

The serpent thrashed, and the courtyard shook. He let go before its convulsions could break his arm, dropped flat as the tail scythed overhead, and rolled with the shock that rattled his ribs.

The pump below thudded like a drum. The serpent smashed against the wall, plates shattering sparks. The insects scattered wide, frantic, light painting every crack of stone.

The head lifted one last time, eyes burning coin-white. It struck not at him, but at the air, a blind bite meant to punish the world itself for the insult of being killed.

Then it sagged, weight collapsing, body slumping into silence.

He stayed low. One count. Two. Three. Listening for rhythm. The courtyard answered by settling. The pump eased back to its slower beat. The ruin’s silence returned from frantic to watchful.

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