Chapter 26

Hakon was as good as dead. He certainly didn’t feel very alive. His breathing was labored and painful, and the mana mass within him was almost empty as well. The most he could do was use a few mana-based Skills, but nothing as expensive as [Discharge].
Not even [Circulation] appeared to be a viable option.

Hakon pulled back, adjusting his stance, and saw a glimmer to the side. Astrid. She was there, probably had been there for a while now. How long, Hakon couldn’t tell. He just knew that she was there, watching, waiting. But she would not join the battle. Astrid knew him better than anyone, and she trusted he would defeat Ulfar.

But even if I lose… Worst case, Astrid would crush Ulfar. That was the best part.

Hakon could focus on himself and weaken Ulfar if push came to shove. Even if he didn’t win the Battle of Generation–

What am I thinking about? I have to show Father. The tribe. EVERYONE. Hakon let out a guttural growl and kicked the ground to propel his body forward.

The pain meant nothing. Not if it allowed him to emerge victorious. Pain was temporary. Winning the Battle of Generation…eternal.

[Natural Regeneration]’s effect diminished to the lowest possible level. All it needed to do was to make sure Hakon could keep fighting. As for the rest, he could figure it out on the go.

Then the fight resumed. Ulfar was still as angry as before. He roared and thrashed, yet he hadn’t lost his reasoning entirely. The Behemoth Blood warrior tried to hold onto Hakon and grapple him. That failed as Hakon shifted and twisted, constantly using and refreshing [Combat Awareness] and [Evasion]. He added [Running] in bursts since he could no longer waste mana on repetitive uses of [Dash], and executed a few kicks and punches whenever he located a weak point.

More and more flaws revealed themselves before Hakon’s eyes, but only some were owed to Enhanced Comprehension. He noticed Ulfar falling victim to his Ancient Power the longer the fight continued. And the more it did, the fewer times he tried to grapple Hakon. Ulfar punched him more often instead.

Alas, the Behemoth Blood warrior was not yet completely lost. Even his Ancient Power was cautious after what happened with [Discharge]. That was not what Hakon expected, but it played into his plan.

As yet another punch landed on him, Hakon could no longer suppress his pained groans. He was beaten black and blue, more bones than he could count had cracked or broken, yet it was his chest that hurt the most. It felt like he was on the verge of exploding. As if something was about to erupt at any moment.

His Runeskin was waiting.

But Ulfar used his first. A confident, smug smile crossed his features as he snapped yet another bone. It grew wider when Hakon punched him only to see blood splatter everywhere – Hakon’s blood.

His skin burst when his fists came into contact with thick, rough scales. Scales that spread across Ulfar’s chest and arms. And Ulfar just stood there as Hakon punched him again and again, unmoving. Towering like the gargantuan figure he was. Instead of getting hurt, it was Hakon who hurt himself, his knuckles exposed, and the strength of his body fading slowly.

“Spikescale is not a meagre Minor Runeskin like yours, weakling.” Ulfar snarled, excitement glimmering in his eyes. “No matter how flashy your Runeskin looks, it can only absorb so much of my attacks. It is at its limit – you are.”

Hakon immediately realized what his rival was trying to do. The Battle of Generation was nothing more than a show to him. A demonstration of his superiority. Because that was what he was: superior. Or so he felt.

But the worst was that he wasn’t even wrong. Not entirely. His assumption was partially correct. Hoard Impact did absorb some of the impacting force, after all. It was not an exceptional amount, yet it was enough to keep fighting when others would have collapsed or died. But Ulfar was also wrong, thinking Hoard Impact could only absorb his impact. And that the Runeskin was at its limit.

More! Hakon roared inwardly, pushing the Major Runeskin further. His chest was set ablaze, or it certainly felt like that.

“Minor?” Hakon tilted his head, blood flowing down the lacerations on his forehead and skull.

He could barely see Ulfar at this point, but he swore to himself to wipe that smug smile off his face.

Moving was a struggle. It was worse than his experience with the Colossal Terror, yet something other than his Runeskin burned in his chest–anticipation.

Who said it’s a Minor Runeskin? Hakon thought but didn’t say it out loud when [Weakness Detection] finally found what he’d been looking for. The prodding in the back of his head diminished ever so slightly and a Scripture popped open before his eyes. It disappeared in a moment as the last of his mana reserves were spent on [Dash] and [Circulation].

The distance to Ulfar was only a few steps. He crossed it instantly, weaving around Ulfar’s fist by a hair’s breadth as the Behemoth Blood warrior attacked instinctively, and… erupted.

For the first time since he acquired Hoard Impact, Hakon released it. Fully charged and prepared to take the recoil.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl as his chest burst. It certainly felt like it did as the pain grew worse with every heartbeat. And his heart was racing as a blinding light erupted. It surged from the majestic etchings on his chest, gathered at its center, and compressed before going off.

A beam, not unlike the Colossal Terror’s, shot out of Hakon. This one, however, felt much stronger. And it struck Ulfar square in the chest. There was no time to react, no amount of bestial instincts rescuing anyone. Ulfar’s smug smile cracked. His eyes widened, and a guttural roar escaped his lips.

Ulfar’s scales stood no chance. The beam burned through them on impact, and his chest followed shortly. Then came the force. A beam, shot from point blank, was not to be taken lightly. Not even the wielder of a legendary Bloodbearer Power could absorb it easily.

His body was pushed back, and his feet no longer touched the stone stage a moment later. Then Ulfar barreled across the stage and crashed into the crowd of spectating Barbarians.

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Is he–? …Of course he isn’t. Hakon grimaced when Ulfar twitched among the spectators.

He scrambled to his feet, eyes bloodshot and with smoke coming from his body.

Last but not least, there was a hole. A tunneling wound resembling a sinkhole spread across Ulfar’s chest, cauterized and not bleeding. It was deep but didn’t go all the way through, yet Ulfar was still standing.

“You pathetic cretin!” he roared at the top of his lungs, blood trickling from the corner of his eye.

Ulfar’s muscles bulged and his body expanded once more, cracking the conjuration of his Runeskin. The scales covering his body cracked and crumbled as he stepped forward, ready to return to the stage.

But the chieftain emerged before him in a flash, blocking Ulfar’s path.

“You lost,” he rumbled.

“Get out of my way, old man. You can no longer protect your wimpy child!” Ulfar roared as he dragged his feet across the ground.

His chest heaved heavily, and there was no doubt in Hakon’s heart that Ulfar was hurt and struggling, but that did not matter.

“The Ancestors watched you lose. Do not tarnish the sacred ritual further or–” The chieftain glanced back at the Shaman.

Their eyes met, and the Shaman muttered something incomprehensible before speaking out loud, “The Ancestors do not wish for his death.”

Ulfar smiled smugly and stepped forward. His hand shot out in an attempt to shove the chieftain aside, but Hakon’s father was faster.

“Do I really have to say this three times? You lost.” The chieftain’s growl reverberated across the arena, followed by the sound of a sword leaving its scabbard.