CHAPTER 135: MAYBE... A LITTLE MORE

"A... power disc," Razeal muttered under his breath, his gaze locked on Sylva as she calmly slid the strange object into the center socket of her earthen bow.

The moment the disc connected, the weapon came alive. A soft lavender glow seeped across its surface, flowing like liquid light along the carved edges. In a heartbeat, the glow deepened, pulsing once before sending out a faint pink ripple that washed over the surroundings. The ripple was carried on a gentle lavender-scented wind that swept across the battlefield, brushing past Razeal’s face.

Then another ripple appeared this one blooming directly from Sylva herself. It spread from her hands to the crown of her head, where the energy condensed and hardened into a delicate, flower-shaped headband. The petals shimmered faintly in the air, but what caught Razeal’s attention was the engraving at its center the exact same symbol etched onto the disc she had just placed into her bow.

He knew instantly what he was looking at.

A disc

In this world, such an item wasn’t a trinket or accessory it was an ancient, refined tool of war. A Disc was a compressed magical command, a physical embodiment of knowledge and power forged into a single object.

Discs were conduits for an ancient force known as Symbol Power a mystical, primal energy tied to the language of symbols. These symbols represented elements, abilities, or entirely unique effects. The right symbol could channel fire from thin air, shift stone beneath your feet, or bend the wind to your will.

The art of crafting these had been born in the Ancient era following the first rift storms when portals to unknown worlds tore the skies. The early masters, desperate to control this unstable force, discovered a way to trap commands into stable, physical forms: the Discs.

Over thousands of years, they had become essential to the most powerful fighters and mages in the world.

But their rarity made them treasures beyond anything. Crafting one required resources from multiple realms, expert craftsmanship in both magic and metallurgy, and the knowledge to inscribe a perfect, functioning symbol without flaw. The slightest imperfection during creation rendered it useless or worse, unstable. For most warriors, even seeing a Disc in person was a once in a lifetime event.

And when used...

They didn’t simply add more power. They focused it. Refined it. Simplified its complexity.

If Razeal were to explain it to a novice, he’d call a Disc both a magic battery and a precision lens. The symbol carved into it became the channel, feeding the wielder’s own energy through the Disc, mixing it with the ancient force stored within, and releasing it in a sharper, denser, and far more devastating form.

It was like forcing water through a pressurized steel pipe what came out the other side wasn’t just stronger, it was concentrated enough to cut through stone.

But the strength came at a cost. The greater the output, the more the Disc drained both from its own reserves and from the user’s stamina. The magic needed to handle such an item was not something an amateur could muster. A Disc didn’t make the weak strong it only made the strong stronger.

Still, the advantage was undeniable. Complex techniques became effortless. Limitations could be bypassed. And the results... were often catastrophic for anyone standing in the wielder’s path.

Razeal’s eyes narrowed. The symbol engraved on her Disc was one he recognized. His black shadow wings fluttered slightly as if responding instinctively.

Gale.

A Wind Element Amplification Disc.

"This is over reaction honestly," he muttered to himself.

Sylva didn’t reply. Her focus was absolute now. She raised the bow, her left arm extending in a steady line toward Razeal. Her right arm moved into position where an ordinary bowstring would be drawn though at the moment, there was only empty space.

Then, the Disc pulsed.

The symbol at its center glowed, sending a faint ripple of light racing outward along the limbs of the bow. As the ripple reached the edges, it shimmered, and something began to form in the air a bowstring, but not one of fiber or sinew. It was faintly visible, woven from pure light and motes of pink-tinted wind magic swirling together, almost transparent.

She drew it back.

With that pull, the air between her fingers began to twist. The wind itself condensed, spiraling inward with a soft hum. Slowly, a shape began to appear on the invisible string. At first it was nothing more than a spinning blur, but as more of the energy collected, the form became clear an arrow.

Not a mundane arrow, but one entirely forged of wind and speed.

Its shaft was smooth and sleek, glowing with a soft pink aura. The arrowhead spun at a blinding speed, like a miniature hurricane trapped in place, the rotation so fast it sliced the surrounding air into faint ripples. Tiny motes of condensed wind element magic bled off its edges, vanishing into nothing as they scattered.

Razeal’s eyes narrowed further. He could feel the air pressure around him shift. That thing wasn’t just going to pierce whatever it hit it was going to ripp through it.

Sylva smirked faintly. "Now," she said, her tone carrying just a hint of mockery, "try stopping this with your hand... like before."

And then, without hesitation, she released.

The string snapped forward with a whip-like crack, and the arrow blurred into motion, vanishing from sight almost instantly. The air it displaced roared in its wake, forming a visible shockwave that spread outward.

The instant Sylva released the bowstring, it was as if a beam of condensed light and wind exploded from her weapon.

The pink arrow didn’t fly it appeared. One moment, it existed between her fingers; the next, it was only centimeters from Razeal’s chest. The sheer speed made it feel like teleportation, as though the arrow had simply skipped the space in between.

Razeal’s instincts screamed before his eyes even registered the danger. His body shifted a fraction to the side a movement born not of conscious thought, but of his ridiculous, razor-edged perception. The arrow passed so close that he felt its wind shear against his ribs, a whisper of annihilation that chilled him to the bone.

If not for that instant reaction... he would be dead.

Gods... so fast. He didn’t dare blink, because even blinking might have been too slow.

And it wasn’t just speed that made it terrifying. This wasn’t a solid projectile to block or deflect it was wind itself, broken into countless microscopic blades, all spinning together at a speed that defied sense. Tens of thousands of kilometers per hour, each particle a cutting edge.

Even with his inhuman durability, the thought of intercepting it with his bare hand was laughable. His bones were strong, yes but this wasn’t the kind of force that struck once. It was constant grinding, billions of wind particles chewing through everything in their path. If he tried to block it, his flesh would vanish in an instant, stripped to bone. And while his skeleton might remain, his arm would be nothing but a grisly relic.

Even his shadow shield reinforced with killing intent and battle-hardened aura wouldn’t withstand that torrent. The particles would slip through, grinding away at the shield’s structure until nothing remained.

Maybe... maybe if I could forge a shield from Obsidian Agony, Razeal thought briefly. But I don’t know how. Not yet.

Sylva’s voice cut through his thoughts. "Ohh? You can still dodge that?" Her eyes widened slightly, a rare flicker of genuine surprise crossing her face.

For a moment, her gaze softened into something that almost resembled respect. "Your perception... and your movement speed... even I have to admit, honestly am jealous."

Then, her tone shifted back to its usual casual sharpness. "But you know... I don’t really care. If I want to, I can make it two times, ten times harder for you. And I won’t even have to try."

She raised her bow again, the pink energy already swirling to life. This time, as she pulled the string back, the glow intensified and the air around her shimmered.

One arrow appeared on the string. Then another... and another. In moments, there were ten identical pink arrows, each identical in form and spinning with the same hurricane force as the first. They floated in the air beside her, perfectly aligned, each one aimed at a different part of Razeal’s body chest, head, legs, throat.

"This time," she said, her smirk returning, "I’ll be impressed if you can dodge this too."

And then she loosed them all at once.

Razeal’s body moved before thought could catch up. His palms slammed together in a sharp clap, and shadows erupted beneath his feet. The world blurred and in the space of a heartbeat, he was gone. Teleportation. Out of range.

He didn’t even bother looking back. There was no time to track where those arrows would land. That wasn’t his concern ..survival was.

Sylva’s lips parted slightly as she saw him reappear at a completely different point on the battlefield. "Oh... right," she said flatly. "I forgot you could do that."

For a heartbeat, she lowered her bow. Then her smile returned smaller this time, sharper. "Well. Fine. Let’s do it your way, then. If you can dodge this, maybe I’ll be convinced you’re worth the effort."

Her irritation showed in the faint twitch of her lips, but her hands moved with unshaken precision. She drew the string again.

One arrow shimmered into existence. Then ten.

Then a hundred.

The air shimmered as more of them materialized a thousand now, each spinning violently, each glowing with the same lethal pink-lavender light. The sound of them was like a constant low howl, the hum of wind compressed into deadly points.

In seconds, tens of thousands filled the sky. They weren’t clustered in one direction they spread outward, covering every possible escape route. Above her, behind her, to her left, to her right pointing to front his direction.

If he moved forward, he’d be skewered. If he tried to retreat, he’d be torn apart. Even his teleportation couldn’t help him if every space he could land in was already saturated with death.

And still, Sylva’s bow remained steady.

She’s trying to trap me completely, Razeal realized, his wings twitching instinctively. If she can’t match my speed... she’ll make speed irrelevant.

Sylva’s gaze narrowed, and a faint flush of satisfaction touched her cheeks. "No... this isn’t enough," she murmured to herself. "I’m being far too light on you."

Her voice dropped to an almost playful whisper. "Maybe... a little more."

The Disc at her bow’s center flared, and the world responded.

Buzzzzz.

The air itself vibrated, the sound deep enough to rattle in Razeal’s chest. Out of nowhere, fresh volleys of arrows began appearing. Dozens. Hundreds. Then thousands more. They filled the sky in every direction, blotting out the sunlight in a lavender haze.

From a distance of kilometers, it would look like the heavens themselves had turned into a field of shimmering crystal spears.

Hundreds of thousands of Gale Arrows each one capable of stripping flesh from bone in an instant all pointed toward him.

Razeal’s eyes narrowed as he took in the scene before him.

The sky wasn’t just dotted with arrows anymore it was buried under them. Every patch of open air in front of him had been swallowed by a swirling, deadly tapestry of pink-lavender light. Each arrow spun with hurricane force, edges shimmering with compressed wind energy so sharp it almost made the air bleed.

And every single one... was aimed at him.

She’s Definitely pissed. he thought

Any one of those arrows, if placed right, could pierce through the hide of a high-ranked beast even the kind that took armies to bring down. And Sylva hadn’t summoned dozens. Or hundreds. Or even thousands.

There were hundreds of thousands.

If she turned this power toward a city right now, entire castle walls would look like sieves before the defenders could even rally. Kingdom fortresses proud stone giants that had stood for centuries would be nothing but ruins littered with neat, precise holes.

It wasn’t just an attack anymore. It was an execution sentence.

From where Razeal stood, it looked like a solid wall of densely packed pink particles, a storm front of death that was only waiting for the signal to break loose. And well the sound was worse the combined whine of each arrow spinning together, merging into an overwhelming, teeth-rattling roar.

It was like standing next to the eye of a hurricane, knowing you weren’t in the calm you were in the kill zone.

Down below, the crowd shifted uneasily. Even seasoned warriors felt their throats dry up. Somewhere among the spectators, someone gulped audibly.

Nancy wiped sweat from her forehead without realizing she was doing it, her gaze locked on the endless sky of light. "Monstrous... as always..." she muttered, her voice shaky.

Then her eyes narrowed slightly, as if the thought she had next hurt to even consider. "How... how is elder brother supposed to even be in the same generation as her?" she whispered, pupils trembling

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