SPELLCRAFT: Reincarnation Of A Magic Scholar

The Martial Blade God's smile deepened as Neron unleashed his final attack.

The radiant sphere, a culmination of his power and desperation, roared toward its target like a vengeful sun. Yet, in the face of such overwhelming might, the Martial Blade God remained unshaken.

"Martial Realm," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the chaotic din.

CRACK!

Reality itself fractured like glass, and the battlefield dissolved in an instant.

Neron felt the ground beneath him vanish, replaced by an endless void of white. There was no sky, no earth, no horizon—only a blank canvas that stretched infinitely in every direction.

"What—?!" Neron staggered, his senses reeling.

His aura flickered uncertainly as his surroundings defied comprehension.

"This is my domain," the Martial Blade God's voice echoed from everywhere and nowhere, calm and commanding.

Neron turned, his gaze locking onto the man who now seemed more formidable than ever. The Martial Blade God stood at the center of this surreal expanse, his presence imposing as his golden eyes gleamed with quiet authority.

"In the Martial Realm," he continued, "I am the world. My will shapes its very fabric."

SNAP!

With a casual flick of his fingers, a gleaming blade materialized in his hand. Another appeared beside him, then another, until a dozen swords floated in the air around him like an painting of death.

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"Your Arcanas," he said, his tone almost pitying, "are bound by the rules of your world. But this is not that world. Here, they are meaningless."

Neron's eyes narrowed as he tried summoning [The Sun], but the familiar warmth and energy did not respond. [The Tower] was equally inert, and no amount of will could draw upon the power he relied on.

'Damn it...!' Panic crept into his thoughts as he clenched his fists.

Without his Arcanas, his options were severely limited.

"Come, Neron," the Martial Blade God beckoned, his calm smile unwavering. "Let us see what you can do with only your own strength."

Neron grit his teeth and surged forward, relying on raw physical ability to close the gap between them. His fist, infused with every ounce of his remaining power, hurtled toward the Martial Blade God.

CLANG!

The blade intercepted effortlessly, the sound of metal meeting fleshless air ringing out in the void.

"Predictable," the Martial Blade God remarked, sidestepping Neron's follow-up attack. With a single motion, he swung one of his conjured swords, forcing Neron to dodge.

The battle began in earnest, but it quickly became clear that Neron was outmatched.

SWISH!

A blade streaked past his face, narrowly missing him. Another slashed toward his legs, forcing him to leap back. Every step he took, every strike he attempted, was met with an overwhelming counter.

The Martial Blade God moved with unerring precision, each swing of his blades a masterclass in efficiency and control. It was as though he anticipated Neron's every move before it happened.

"You're relying on instinct," the Martial Blade God observed as he deflected another desperate punch. "But instinct alone won't save you here."

"Shut up!" Neron roared, summoning every ounce of strength to deliver a spinning kick aimed at his opponent's temple.

The Martial Blade God caught his leg effortlessly, twisting it just enough to send Neron sprawling to the ground.

THUD!

Neron rolled to his feet, breathing heavily. His body ached, his movements growing sluggish as the toll of the battle mounted.

'He's not even trying,' Neron realized, a cold dread settling over him. 'He's toying with me.'

The Martial Blade God's expression confirmed his thoughts. Despite the intensity of the fight, he showed no signs of exertion, his breathing steady and his gaze calm.

"You've done well to come this far," he said, his tone almost gentle. "But this is the end."

Neron's aura flickered weakly as his Original Magic strained to keep him in Mage Mode and Martial State. His mana reserves were nearly depleted, and the physical toll was becoming unbearable.

CRACKLE!

The golden glow around him shattered like glass, signaling the collapse of his enhanced states. His body sagged under the weight of exhaustion, and he fell to one knee, gasping for air.

'No… not like this,' he thought, clenching his fists even as they trembled.

The Martial Blade God stepped forward, his movements measured and deliberate. With a wave of his hand, a single blade materialized—a simple, unadorned sword that exuded quiet menace.

"This is your limit," he said, his voice devoid of malice. "There's no shame in that."

He pointed the blade at Neron, its tip hovering inches from his throat.

"It's over."

The cold blade lingered near Neron's throat, but the Martial Blade God didn't press further.

His golden eyes met Neron's, calm yet unyielding.

Exhaustion clouded Neron's mind as he struggled to push past the haze of his defeat.

"What now?" Neron asked through gritted teeth, refusing to show weakness despite his kneeling position.

"Will you kill me... the same way you killed Lilith?"

At the mention of her name, something flickered in the Martial Blade God's gaze—a brief glimmer of emotion that was difficult to discern.

Then, to Neron's surprise, he smiled.

"If I wanted to kill you, boy," he said, lowering the blade, "you would already be dead."

The certainty in his tone was unnerving, spoken as though it were an unchangeable truth.

"Then what do you want?" Neron demanded, forcing himself to stand despite the trembling in his legs. "To mock me? To shove your power in my face and remind me of how weak I am? Congratulations… you succeeded."

The Martial Blade God chuckled softly, his amusement clear.

"What I want," he said, "are the Arcanas."

The revelation hit Neron like a thunderbolt.

His fists clenched, anger simmering beneath the surface.

"The Arcanas? Why? You don't need them. With your strength, what could they possibly offer you?"

"It's not for me," the Martial Blade God replied, his tone unhurried. "The Arcanas are needed for a greater purpose—one that serves my organization, the Nether Cult."

"Nether Cult?"

The name was unfamiliar, but the weight with which it was spoken carried an undeniable foreboding.