The Sinful Young Master - Chapter 327
Chapter 327: Appearance of a deity
“You cannot defeat me!” Preeyonka screamed, spinning her sword in a complex pattern that created a whirlwind of cutting energy around them both.
“My divine heritage protects me! My power comes from the realm of deities!”
Jolthar caught her blade between his palms again, and this time held it steady despite the storm of power flowing through it.
“Your heritage is your weakness,” he said calmly.
“It makes you believe you’re untouchable. But everything can be broken if you know where to apply the right pressure.”
Frustrated by his words and her inability to land a decisive blow, Preeyonka leaped backward and raised her free hand toward the sky.
Divine power began to gather above them, forming into a sphere of pure destructive force that grew larger and larger until it was the size of a house.
“Divine Cannon!” she shouted, and hurled the massive sphere of energy directly at Jolthar.
The attack moved faster than lightning, carrying enough power to destroy an entire army.
But Jolthar was ready for it.
He brought his hands together in front of his chest, and the purple chaos energy that surrounded him suddenly expanded into a shield of pure chaos force.
When the Divine Cannon struck Jolthar’s chaos shield, the collision was like two suns crashing into each other. Light blazed so brightly that everyone in the square had to cover their eyes.
The sound was beyond hearing—it was felt in people’s bones rather than heard with their ears.
The divine energy bounced off Jolthar’s shield and rocketed away into the distance.
It struck a hill far beyond the city walls, and the entire hillside exploded in a fountain of ground and stone. The ground shook a little, but that was only for a few seconds.
When the dust settled, there was nothing left but a crater deep enough to hold a castle.
In the square, Lord Eude cowered behind Gales, his fine clothes soaked with sweat and his face white with terror.
Beside him, what was left of Gales’s mercenary band pressed themselves against the ground, too frightened to even look at the battle taking place before them.
“This is impossible,” Eude whispered, his voice shaking like a leaf in a storm.
“The reports said he was only Tier 6. How can a Tier 6 do this? How can anyone do this?”
The mercenaries had no answer.
They had thought themselves tough fighters, men who had seen everything the world had to offer. But watching Jolthar fight a daughter of a deity with his bare hands and hold his own was beyond anything in their experience.
Preeyonka stared at the distant crater in disbelief.
“You… you deflected my strongest attack. That should have destroyed you completely.”
“Should have,” Jolthar agreed, walking toward her with deliberate steps. “But the chaos taught me that ‘should have’ is just another limitation to be overcome.”
She swung her sword at him again, putting everything she had into the strike.
The blade moved with greater speed and power, aimed perfectly at his heart.
But Jolthar’s hand shot out and caught the weapon by its edge, his fingers closing around metal that burned with the fury of storms.
For a moment, they stood frozen like that—Preeyonka pouring all her divine heritage into her blade, Jolthar holding it motionless with nothing but his enhanced grip.
Then, slowly, cracks began to appear in the metal.
“No,” Preeyonka breathed, “This cannot be happening. This is impossible!”
“Everything is possible,” Jolthar said, and with a sharp twist of his wrist, snapped the second blade into a million pieces. This time nothing was left of the blade.
The breaking of her weapon sent Preeyonka stumbling backward, her divine power flickering like a candle in strong wind.
But before she could recover, Jolthar was there, his hand closing around her throat once more.
“Wait,” she gasped, all her arrogance finally gone.
“Please, I can serve you. I can be useful. Don’t—”
Jolthar’s grip tightened, and he lifted her off the ground.
His green eyes showed no mercy, no hesitation.
“You had your chance to show mercy to the people you killed today. You chose not to take it.”
As his fingers began to close with lethal force, a voice suddenly boomed across the square from somewhere high above.
It was a voice that seemed to come from the wind itself, carrying the authority of the storms and the power of hurricanes.
“Let her go, boy.”
Everyone looked up, and there in the clouds above them was a figure that made even Jolthar pause.
Borehym, Deity of Winds and Storms, had materialized in the sky above Tekkora.
He was enormous, his form shifting between solid flesh and swirling air, his eyes like twin tornadoes filled with rage.
“I felt my daughter’s pain from my realm above,” the deity continued, his voice making the very stones tremble. “Release her now, and I might allow you to live.”
Jolthar looked up at the divine being hovering in the clouds, then back at Preeyonka struggling in his grip.
The people of the square held their breath, waiting to see what he would do when faced with the direct intervention of a deity.
“Your daughter is a murderer,” Jolthar called back, his voice carrying clearly despite the wind that had begun to swirl around them.
“She killed innocent people for gold. Justice demands payment.”
“Justice?” Borehym’s laughter was like the sound of a tornado tearing through a forest. “You dare speak to me of justice, mortal? I am a deity! My will IS justice!”
Jolthar’s expression didn’t change.
“Then your justice is flawed.”
Jolthar would have let her live if she hadn’t killed his people. The moment he saw those bodies of those people of Tekkora and Cleora’s hands in chains, it was the moment his mind was set on killing every single one who was involved.
Though he may never show it, he had now considered the Tekkora and its people to be his home; it was what stood with him and had now grown into a city with a name that resounded throughout the empire.
He had once crossed blades with a god itself—what weight, then, could a nameless deity carry before him now? A whisper without a name, a shadow without a crown.