The Man's Decree (Favo novel) novel Chapter 5398

Talon said, "A Demonic Cultivator at the Earthly Immortal Realm Level Nine tops the younger generation. Niall lags a level behind. Victory is nearly impossible."

Back on the duel, Niall's complexion drained to the color of paper.

Each movement of the Wintry Sword Technique consumed oceans of spiritual energy, and he had only puddles left. Atorn's demonic aura, however, surged on without end, growing fiercer by the heartbeat.

"Ninth Form—Snowstorm!"

With a hoarse roar, Niall channeled the final spark of spiritual energy into his sword. The sword erupted into a colossal ice dragon—claws spread, fangs bared, every scale carved from frozen starlight. It dived at Atorn with a roar that shook the peaks. This was Niall's strongest strike, his trump card.

For the first time, a glimmer of caution flashed across Atorn's eyes, only to be chased away by a carnivore's grin. Cruelty curved his lips.

He slammed the spear butt into the ground. Both hands blurred through sinister seals. "Demonic Engulfer!"

From within Atorn's body, a tide of demonic aura burst forth that slithered into the open air and then knit itself into a legion of writhing silhouettes. Each shadow clawed at the heavens, met head-on by the soaring ice dragon Niall had called forth.

Although the ice dragon was formidable, the shadows devoured it. Soon, the ice dragon was gone.

Niall staggered, blood spilling from his lips, knees buckling beneath the weight of sudden hollow fatigue.

After the ice dragon vanished, he had used up his spiritual energy.

Across the arena, Atorn advanced in unhurried steps, the spear leveled at Niall's throat. "I warned you," he said, "the Martial Rankings is utter trash."

"Enough!" Lorraine cried, her voice cracking as she lurched forward, only to be yanked back mid-stride.

Aurelius tightened his grip on her forearm, his jaw set hard. "It's a fair duel," he muttered, eyes never leaving the battlefield. "We cannot intervene."

Niall ground his teeth, struggling to rise, but his limbs felt carved from wet sand. He met Atorn's frosty stare, resentment flaring behind his eyes.

"Die!" Atorn thrust. The spear whistled forward, its tip carrying an executioner's certainty as it lunged for Niall's heart.

A golden light ripped through the air from the direction of Roaring Storm Church, colliding with the spear and hurling the weapon sideways in a shower of sparks.

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