The Thorne of Destiny-Chapter 97: Second wave

Adrian’s breath came in sharp, controlled bursts as he steadied himself. The mist puppets didn’t relent. Instead, they advanced again, their movements eerily synchronized, their faceless visages locked onto him.

’It’s as if they are copying me.’

The realization struck him like a bolt of lightning. Their stances, their footwork, even the way they angled their swords, it was all his style. They weren’t just mindless constructs; they were reflections of his own combat instincts, honed from years of training and battle.

That changed the whole game. It meant they would anticipate his moves. He was uncertain about how they were able to mimic his sword moves, but couldn’t afford to dwell too much on the issue.

It wasn’t all bad news, though. He thought to himself while preparing for the next bout.

If they were truly mirrors of himself, then perhaps he could anticipate them as well.

The first mist puppet lunged, its blade cutting through the air in a diagonal slash. Adrian sidestepped, pivoting on his heel, and countered with a swift horizontal strike aimed at its midsection.

The mist puppet tried to dodge but wasn’t able to do so fast enough. The tip of the sword passed through the mist, dispersing it where it passed, but the puppet didn’t fall.

Though the mist in the areas where the sword passed through didn’t coalesce, leaving a thin line that indicated the damage that the mist puppet took.

Adrian frowned at the situation, clearly not expecting what had just happened. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but he knew that the mist puppets were not built for defense.

He had expected that strike to finish it off, alleviating some of the pressure on him. Then a thought struck him.

Normally, that amount of damage would not be enough to kill a cultivator at his level. It would hurt, sure, but it wasn’t a life-threatening injury.

Perhaps he just needed to deal as much damage as would kill a normal cultivator. His theory made sense. After all, the mist that made these puppets seemed very eerie and mystical.

He didn’t know what properties it had, and he didn’t have time to search through the Sage of Slaughter’s memories to see if he knew it as well.

The second and third puppets came at him from opposite sides, forcing him to split his focus. He ducked under one blade while parrying the other, his muscles screaming from the strain. The pain in his soul still throbbed, a constant reminder of the stakes. One wrong move, and another strike could cripple him.

He needed a plan.

Adrian feinted left, baiting the first puppet into overextending. As it committed to the strike, he twisted his body and slashed downward, cleaving through its mist-formed arm.

The limb dissipated, and just as before, the mist swirled and dispersed into the surroundings, leaving the mist puppet with one less arm. As if it were a normal cultivator.

But this time, he didn’t wait.

He pushed forward, driving his sword straight through the puppet’s chest. The blade pierced through its completely, and for a brief moment, the mist shuddered—then collapsed, dispersing entirely.

’Yes! One down.’ He celebrated internally.

But his victory was short-lived. The remaining two puppets adjusted instantly, their movements becoming sharper, more aggressive. It was as if they had learned from their fallen counterpart.

Adrian gritted his teeth and pressed on with the battle.

The next exchange was brutal. The puppets pressed him hard, their strikes coming faster, their coordination flawless. Adrian blocked, dodged, and countered, but he was being pushed back. His arms burned from exertion, and his soul ached from the earlier wound.

Then, he felt it again. That same searing pain that he was starting to dread.

The second mist puppet’s blade grazed his side, and another wave of soul-rending agony tore through him. His vision blurred, his knees nearly buckling. He barely managed to roll away before the third mist puppet’s sword could finish him.

His chest heaved up and down as he tried to calm himself down. He couldn’t afford to take another hit. His soul couldn’t handle much more.

Panting, Adrian forced himself to focus. If they were reflections of his own skills, then the key to defeating them wasn’t brute force; it was change.

He needed to fight unlike himself.

The next time they attacked, Adrian didn’t rely on his usual techniques. Instead of countering with precision, he improvised. He swung wildly, abandoning form, mixing slashes with unpredictable feints. He was no longer fighting like a proper swordsman.

The puppets hesitated.

Their synchronization faltered. For the first time, they seemed unsure, their movements slightly delayed as they tried to anticipate his erratic strikes.

’It’s working.’ He thought to himself.

Adrian seized the opening. He feigned a reckless overhead slash, then suddenly dropped low, sweeping his leg out in a wide arc. The motion was unrefined, something he’d never do in a real duel, but it caught the puppets off guard.

His blade flashed.

One puppet lost its legs, the mist below its knees dissolving. It staggered, off-balance, and Adrian didn’t give it a chance to recover. He drove his sword straight through its chest, dispersing it completely.

Only one remained.

The last puppet stood still for a moment, as if reassessing. Then, it changed.

Its stance shifted, its grip on the sword altering subtly. No longer was it mimicking Adrian’s style; it was adapting to his new erratic movements.

’Damn it. Just what is this thing?’

Adrian exhaled sharply. He couldn’t keep this up forever. His body was tiring, and his soul was already wounded. He needed to end this quickly.

He charged towards the puppet, abandoning all caution. His opponent was all alone now, so he didn’t need to be as careful as before. He was confident in his abilities in a one-on-one fight.

The puppet met him head-on, their blades clashing in a shower of sparks. His face was serious, but his mind had wandered off slightly.

’How the hell is mist making sparks?’ He asked himself internally.

Adrian didn’t retreat. He pushed forward, forcing the puppet back step by step. His strikes were no longer wild; they were calculated, precise, but unpredictable.

In a way, this fight seemed to be helping him train his sword. He was unknowingly learning an important lesson about swordsmanship. To never allow your opponents to know your next move.

He mixed feints with genuine attacks, never falling into a pattern. The puppet struggled to keep up. Adrian’s strikes were changing far too much for it to adapt quickly enough

Then, it happened. A tiny opening. A fraction of a second where the puppet’s guard dipped.

Adrian didn’t hesitate.

His sword pierced through the puppet’s faceless head, and with a final twist, he ripped the mist apart.

Silence.

The last puppet dissolved into the air, the mist around it fading. The corridor grew still once again.

Adrian collapsed to one knee, gasping. His body trembled, his soul aching from the strain. But he had done it. He stayed in that position for a while, using the time to catch his breath and relax his mind. After resting for a while, he decided to continue the journey.

The corridor was long, and he had only walked about a quarter of the way. As he pressed forward, he reached the halfway point before the mist, thick and suffocating, began to stir once more.

’Again?’ He thought to himself. He thought he had gotten through whatever challenge was present in this area, but clearly, he was wrong. frёewebnoѵēl.com

His fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword. The pain in his soul still throbbed, a dull ache that pulsed with every heartbeat. He couldn’t afford another battle like the last one. Not so soon.

Yet the maze cared little for his exhaustion. The mist swirled, twisting into three familiar figures. The same humanoid, sword-wielding, faceless figures.

But this time, something was different.

Their forms were sharper, more defined. Where before they had been mere silhouettes of mist, now their figures had more definition to them, giving a faint suggestion of musculature beneath their shifting forms. Their swords gleamed with an eerie, spectral light.

If one were to look at them from the neck down, they would think they were perfectly normal people.

And their cultivation, sixth level of the Foundation Establishment realm, same as him, same as before.

Adrian’s jaw clenched. He could tell that the fight wasn’t going to be as easy as before. Not that the previous fight was easy, but it wasn’t too difficult either.

The first puppet lunged without warning.

Adrian barely raised his sword in time. The force of the impact sent a jolt up his arm, and he staggered back. The puppet didn’t relent. It pressed forward, its strikes faster, sharper, more refined than before.

’It’s still using my techniques, but... better somehow.’

The realization sent a chill down his spine. These weren’t just mere copies anymore. If anything, they were more like improvements.

The second and third puppets joined the assault, their movements fluid, their coordination seamless. Adrian found himself on the defensive immediately, parrying frantically, his boots skidding against the stone floor.

A blade grazed his shoulder.

Pain, again.

Not just physical, this was deeper, sharper. A wound carved directly into his soul. He hissed through his teeth, his vision swimming for a heartbeat.

’No. Not again,’ he thought to himself.

He couldn’t take another hit like that.