Shadow Over the Heavenly Throne-Chapter 64: Clever trap

Veynessa stood tall.

"Looks like your legendary technique doesn’t work so well on me," she said lightly, as if commenting on the weather.

Yllara raised an eyebrow, her eyes gleaming with a cold light.

"So, you can still joke with blades at your neck," she replied quietly. "Let’s see who laughs last."

Veynessa’s clones surrounded Yllara from all sides, blades suspended in the air like stars ready to fall... and yet, nothing broke through. The pressure wasn’t enough.

"Time to change tactics," she thought. "Each of my copies isn’t just a shadow — it’s a full manifestation of my soul, sustained by Qi. Their existence demands constant energy. Every move, every defense, every sequence forces me to react and pay the price. Even the swords hovering around me, so threatening and impressive, are nothing more than dozens of active forms draining my inner energy.

This isn’t a war of attrition — it’s a battle against the clock. My advantage looks spectacular, but it’s just a façade. There’s less Qi flowing through my body than in someone at the eighth stage. My reserves are limited, and every second, every move of my clones and swords devours that energy at an alarming rate. If I don’t finish this quickly, exhaustion will consume me, and then I won’t even have the strength to defend myself."

Her eyes narrowed.

She could feel it. Her body, with each passing minute, was growing stronger. The blood in her veins pulsed under the pressure of Qi, now flowing more naturally, more synchronized with every muscle fiber. That had been her plan all along. She knew she couldn’t compete with Yllara in terms of Qi capacity or purity. Any direct exchange of techniques would end in her defeat.

But she had something else. A long-term technique to enhance the body — an internal adaptation to intense Qi flow. The longer the fight lasted, the more her body hardened, slowly approaching the physical parameters of the eighth stage.

That was why she had played for time from the start. Why she used clones and swords not to win, but to distract, while preparing her body for direct combat.

Already, after such a prolonged battle, her body had reached the threshold where she could challenge someone at the eighth stage in physical combat — as long as they weren’t a specialist in body hardening. In a purely physical clash against an opponent relying mostly on field control and ranged techniques, she had a real chance to break the balance.

A faint smile curved her lips. Her eyes glinted with determination, and in her heart, a decision took root.

In a single instant, all the clones vanished. Hundreds of blades in the air dissolved like a memory.

Veynessa stood alone.

Yllara narrowed her eyes. Her face betrayed a surprise she couldn’t quite hide.

"...What is she doing?" she whispered to herself, barely audible.

This was no ordinary move. It was a shift in the entire tone of the battle. And Yllara felt it.

Veynessa raised her hand. The ring on her finger pulsed with a deep, silvery light that instantly cut across the entire arena. In response, the space around her hand began to tear, as if the world itself resisted releasing what was about to emerge.

The sword materialized slowly, as if reality was too weak to contain it. First came the shadow of the blade, then its outline. The blade was black as night, with silver lines pulsing inside like veins of light. The hilt was wrapped in spirit-woven silk, and at the base of the blade lay the symbol of two crossed swords within a crown.

It was Astralis Vow — the Astral Vow, an artifact she had never before used in a public duel.

A weapon said to be able to cut through even the seals of the Ancients, if the wielder was willing to pay the price.

Silence fell over the stands. The elders watched with unease. No one said it aloud, but all knew one thing: you don’t draw artifacts. Not in a spar.

Calista raised an eyebrow.

"She really wants to win."

"Hmpf," Elder Fenthar muttered, folding his hands on his knees. "Been a while since anyone drew an artifact in an official duel."

"Indeed," Elder Maerion nodded. "Last time must have been over sixty years ago. And even then, it caused a scandal."

"Artifacts aren’t regular weapons," added King Theron. "They are our trump cards. Hidden cards we don’t reveal unless we’re on the edge of death. Drawing them in a spar is almost tactical profanity. If an opponent learns how your artifact resonates with you, they might prepare a counter. That’s a risk few are willing to take."

"And yet she did it," murmured Elder Fenthar, squinting. "Which means this fight... means more to her than just a show of strength."

Yllara raised her brows slightly, a shadow of surprise crossing her face at the sight of the artifact in Veynessa’s hands.

She said nothing. Her gaze rested on Veynessa with new intensity — focused, analytical, cautious. Her silence was her only reply, but in it lay more than a thousand words.

Veynessa tightened her grip on Astralis Vow, moving her wrist slightly, feeling the weapon’s weight.

She smiled faintly at the blade, as if greeting an old friend.

"Now I can go all out," she whispered.

With each swing, Astralis Vow exerted pressure on space itself, which quivered as if protesting its presence. The blade cleaved the air, leaving behind a thin, shimmering trail of light — not fading, but persisting, as if each cut was a crack in reality.

With absolute focus in her eyes, Veynessa moved. Her feet pushed off the stone floor, her body soaring forward with a perfect balance of speed and strength. Astralis Vow vibrated in her hand — not as a tool, but as an extension of her will.

The first strike came without warning. Mid-sprint, with a dozen paces still between them, Veynessa suddenly slashed the air, not aiming directly at Yllara. But Astralis Vow didn’t need physical contact.

From its edge shot a streak of light — a thin line of energy that tore through the air and sliced reality like lightning.

The cut surged toward Yllara at such speed that even the air failed to react.

Yllara frowned, her hand moving instinctively. She activated her technique, Weight of Silence, altering local gravity into a crushing pressure barrier that had previously halted Veynessa’s blades. She expected the same result.

But this time, it didn’t work.

Astralis Vow entered the gravitational zone, and though its speed dropped, the blade didn’t shatter, bend, or stop. Only slightly slowed, it continued toward her.

Yllara’s eyes widened. She deactivated the technique and leapt sideways, barely escaping the strike at the last possible moment.

Before she could regain full balance, the next cut was already flying toward her. Still off-kilter, Yllara reactivated Weight of Silence, hoping to slow the blade enough to dodge. The technique worked again — partially. The cut slowed, but didn’t stop.

She disabled the technique and twisted hard to the side, letting the strike pass by another inch.

Another wave of pressure whistled through the air.

Yllara frowned, her gaze narrowing with focus. "I can’t keep doing this," she thought. "I can’t rely on dodging forever. At this rate, one of these attacks will land."

She looked over the arena, her eyes briefly settling on a spot she had chosen at the battle’s start. Then, it had been a precaution.

"Time to use it," she whispered, something cold and calculating flickering in her eyes.

She began maneuvering across the arena, deliberately positioning herself to appear increasingly pressured. Her movements seemed chaotic, desperate — but each shift, each rotation, had purpose.

Veynessa, focused on the offense, instinctively followed her. Unaware, step by step, she entered the trap Yllara had laid from the very beginning.

Exactly where she wanted her.

Consumed by battle, feeling she was pressing Yllara back with each blow, Veynessa stepped left. Her attention fully on the offensive — no longer analyzing the terrain, no longer calculating, just following the rhythm of dominance. The spot she stepped into looked like any other on the arena.

But Yllara smiled quietly.

"There... right there. I’ve been waiting for this."

In a heartbeat, space collapsed, and from it burst a microscopic gravitational point.

Zero Point.

Gravity struck suddenly, brutally, without warning. The stone floor beneath Veynessa cracked and collapsed, as if the arena itself couldn’t withstand the pressure. The air thickened to its limit, shrieking and grinding like metal crushed by unseen forces. Veynessa’s body faltered under the strain, her sword trembling as if trying to escape her grip. The space around the epicenter rippled, deformed, unstable — as though the battlefield had been seized by invisible gods.

Veynessa froze. Her body was being sucked into the core.

"I’m sorry, Veynessa," Yllara said, her voice calm. "But to defeat me... you’ll need many more years."

Silence fell.

Veynessa didn’t respond.

Instead — she turned. In one motion, without warning, she slashed the air, sending a cut across the arena. The energy blade sliced space in a straight line, skimming the ground and leaving a luminous scar in its wake. The strike hurtled forward relentlessly, precisely, as if it knew its destination.

It aimed at an unremarkable spot on the arena — a place that seemed meaningless.

Yllara, seeing the direction of the attack, frowned. Confusion flashed across her face, then certainty — she thought it was a desperate strike. After all, Veynessa was already trapped. There was no way out.

"This is over," she thought with cold certainty.

The place the energy blade targeted was the same spot where, during the demonstration of the clones at the duel’s start, one of Veynessa’s copies had touched Yllara’s shoulder.

Astralis Vow’s strike tore through the air. And something happened.

Suddenly... Yllara’s body jerked, as if an invisible force yanked it from its position. Before she could comprehend anything, she was teleported — her body appearing directly in the path of Astralis Vow’s strike.

The hit landed instantly. The energy blade cut through her waist, striking dead center with such precision it seemed as if the world itself guided the blow. Astralis Vow cleaved flesh, muscle, and bone in one fluid, unstoppable motion. Yllara’s body bent as the energy blade pierced her like lightning, leaving behind steaming blood and scorched flesh.

Her eyes widened, her mouth parting in a silent expression of pain and disbelief. This wasn’t a blow you could block. Not a pain you could ignore. It was an absolute cut — soundless, yet devastatingly clear in consequence.

Moments later, the air around Veynessa loosened. The gravity vanished, as the Zero Point was suddenly disabled. Without an active Qi source, the structure dissolved.

Yllara, clutching her side, barely stayed upright. Her face showed no anger — only shock.

Veynessa raised her gaze, barely catching her breath.

"What was that?!" Elder Fenthar nearly leapt up, eyes wide.

"Teleportation? No..." murmured Maerion, eyes narrowed in focus. "That wasn’t a classic Qi transfer."

King Theron raised a hand to his chin, fingers touching in thought. He remained silent for a moment, replaying the battle in his mind.

"It wasn’t teleportation... nor classical position manipulation," he murmured. "I didn’t sense any Qi release in that moment, which means it must’ve been prepared earlier."

His gaze shifted to the center of the arena, then to Yllara, then back to a memory. "During the clone demonstration..." he said suddenly. "Yes. One of her copies touched Yllara’s shoulder."

"Anchoring," he whispered. "She left a marker and activated it..."

"...at the moment of the cut, pulling her into it," Maerion finished, shaking her head in disbelief. "Precision, planning, control... it was a trap from the very beginning."

"She must’ve planned it from the first minutes," added Fenthar, furrowing his brow with admiration. "The whole battle was just preparation."

"Risky. But it worked," Maerion admitted softly. "I didn’t expect that level of battlefield understanding."

On his throne, Kaen looked down at the arena with an unreadable expression. His hand supported his cheek, fingers tapping lightly. After a moment, his lips curled into a faint smile.

"Clever trap," he whispered. "But still not enough, little girl... to defeat Yllara."

On the cracked arena floor, Yllara knelt on one knee, her frame barely holding up. The cut ran straight through her waist. Her robes were torn in both directions, blood flowing from her sides and under her ribs, trickling down her legs.

The skin along the wound was charred, a faint smoke and scent of burnt flesh lingering in the air. Muscles were shredded, bones fractured — a piece of rib glinting through torn tissue. Her breath came in harsh gasps, her pupils twitching, her body barely holding consciousness.

Her eyes were wide — not from pain, but fury. She understood what had happened. In her mind, she retraced each step, each rotation, until she remembered the clone that had touched her shoulder.

Anchoring...

Her clenched teeth and twitching mouth corner betrayed her rage. She’d been caught in a trap.

She looked up at Veynessa, her gaze blazing with fire.

And then... the ring on her finger glowed with a quiet, cerulean light.

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