The Last Godfall: Transmigrated as the Young Master-Chapter 160: Almost there

The river spread wide beneath the bridge ruins, brown and fast, its surface broken by standing waves where stone still jutted up from the old foundations.

Vencian slid one boot forward onto a slick slab and let his weight settle, watching the One-Armed Man mirror him from a few paces away, blade angled low, shoulder turned to hide the missing limb.

Vencian pressed power down into the water first, shallow and thin, laying it beneath the stone like packed earth. The surface tightened. The slab held. He shifted his stance a handspan to the side, closer to the faster channel, and let the current bite at his calves.

The One-Armed Man stepped in hard, committing fully. His heel landed where the river should have pulled, and instead found purchase. He leaned into it, trusting the ground, blade lifting as he drove forward.

Vencian slid sideways and released the false hold.

The slab rolled. Water surged through the gap. The man’s foot skated, then dropped. He snarled and slammed his blade down, channeling heat straight through the steel and into the riverbed. The strike hit with a crack, sending steam and spray up around his legs.

The heat tore apart on contact. It burst into hissing white sheets, broke into bubbles, then vanished. The river swallowed it, churning harder, its surface flashing and closing as if nothing had been fed into it at all.

He forced more in. The blade glowed brighter. The water screamed louder, but the glow bled out uselessly, streaking away in thin veins that dissolved the instant they spread. The river drank everything and gave nothing back.

His boot slid again. His knee dipped. He hauled himself upright by brute force, breath sharp, jaw tight. The blade came up fast, too fast, slashing for space rather than position. 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝙚𝙬𝓮𝙗𝒏𝙤𝒗𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝒐𝓶

Vencian stayed where the current was strongest and let it hammer his shins. He watched the man’s grip adjust, fingers choking higher on the hilt. The heat along the blade flickered, uneven now, pulsing in short bursts instead of a steady flow.

The One-Armed Man planted again, more cautiously this time. His eyes cut down to his feet, then snapped back up. A muscle worked along his cheek. His mouth twisted, not into a snarl, but something smaller and quicker.

The river shoved against his legs, and he shoved back, jaw set, irritation leaking through the set of his shoulders. For the first time, his stance looked worked at rather than assumed, every correction visible as he fought to keep ground that no longer wanted him.

The lash came again, higher this time.

It caught Vencian across the ribs and tore the air from his chest. The impact folded him sideways, armor biting into bone as heat punched through cloth and skin. His breath ripped out in a raw sound, and his legs buckled hard enough that one knee struck the stone.

The drain followed immediately. Power yanked out of him through the point of contact, fast and brutal, as if a plug had been torn free.

His vision dimmed at the edges. His hands went weak on reflex, fingers spasming before he forced them closed again.

Fear flashed at the sudden hollow in his chest, sharp and immediate, driven by the loss of strength and the river pressing higher against his thighs. He acknowledged it and clamped down, jaw locked, shoulders braced.

The Arche fed.

The One-Armed Man’s blade flared brighter for a heartbeat, heat thickening along its length even as spray hammered it from below.

Steam burst up around his legs again, but thinner now, the glow already thinning under the river’s pull.

Vencian dragged a breath in through clenched teeth. The cold cut harder with his guard cracked. His illusions wavered, edges slipping as pain and chill tore at his focus.

The false depth beneath his feet smeared. Stone shifted where it should not have. The current tugged at his calves with more insistence, fingers of water sliding around his boots and pulling.

He tried to shift back and nearly went down. His heel skated, caught, then slid again as the slab rolled a fraction under the surge. He dropped his center and spread his stance, ribs screaming as the movement pulled against the fresh strike.

The One-Armed Man advanced into it, sensing the opening. His steps were shorter now, careful, but relentless.

Each one pushed heat into the river in quick bursts, feeding the Arche and stripping more from the space around Vencian.

The glow along the blade flickered brighter with each feed, then dulled as the water took its share.

Vencian forced power into the surface again, shallow and uneven.

It held for half a step, then tore loose as his focus slipped. The river surged through the gap immediately, slamming into his knees and dragging his balance sideways.

He could not pull back. Turning would expose his flank to the lash. Stepping upstream would pitch him into deeper current with his strength bleeding out. The ground under him no longer answered cleanly, and the river had its hands on him now.

He stayed where he was because there was nowhere else left to go.

Water hammered Vencian’s shins as the drain kept pulling. His ribs burned where the lash had caught him, each breath scraping shallow and fast. The One-Armed Man held position a few paces out, blade low, heat pulsing in short feeds that tugged at Vencian’s strength every time the river splashed high enough to bridge the gap.

Vencian let the drain run for one more heartbeat.

It was longer than survivable. His legs shook. His grip loosened and tightened again by force. Cold crawled higher, numbing his feet as the slab shifted under him in small, treacherous slips.

He did not try to counter. He did not pull back. He held and watched the flow take more than it should.

Two facts landed together and stuck.

He had to escalate.

Anyone who walked away from this would talk.

Before he committed to anything that could not be hidden, he made a narrower choice. Control how he would be seen. Control the shape of the story that left this river.

He drew the illusion inward.

The change was small. His eyes darkened a shade, then another, the color sinking until it matched what people expected to see. No flare. No show. Just the quiet mark of a bond taking hold.

The One-Armed Man’s advance checked. He leaned back a fraction, weight shifting as he caught the change. His mouth pulled tight, then split into a crooked line that showed teeth.

"Do Arksprens grow on trees now," he said, voice sharp with irritation. His gaze flicked over Vencian’s face, then hardened. "First the Preceptor’s daughter. Now you."

Vencian did not answer.

He dragged a breath in through his nose and let it out slow, shoulders dropping a hair as if settling into something he had tried to avoid. His lips moved once, barely audible over the river.

"Almost there."