CHAPTER 383: SPEED IS GOOD

Speedy gritted his teeth, blood spraying from his right shoulder where his arm used to be. His steps faltered for just a second, but even wounded, he moved like lightning. He blurred out of the black chains, spinning around to escape, but the Earth Grandmaster was already stomping forward.

"Sink," the man said coldly. "[Grave Seal – Final Lock.]"

The ground cracked again, and more chains burst upward—these ones weren’t just black; they shimmered with deep brown earthen runes, pulsing with a dull, heavy glow. They surged toward Speedy like serpents, coiling around his waist, ankles, and even his neck.

"No—!"

Speedy tried to vibrate his body fast enough to slip free, but the chains pulsed with something else, an anchoring force, like gravity wrapped in stone. His speed didn’t matter.

Just twenty feet away, the Wind Grandmaster watched from above. His eyes narrowed as wind spiraled beneath his feet, keeping him aloft. Then, he raised both arms.

"Time to pin him down. "

A roaring tornado of cutting air spiraled downward, dense and sharp. It looked like a corkscrew made of wind, aimed straight for Speedy’s chest.

Rocky moved fast. He slammed both fists into the ground, causing a pulse of crystal to erupt outward like a shockwave.

Slippery conjured a burst of distorted color—a wave of illusory heat that blurred reality and made everything shimmer. Three identical versions of himself appeared, running in opposite directions. One reached Speedy’s side and conjured a dome of flickering light around him.

"Cover him!" Slippery shouted. "Get him out!"

But Edgar was already gone.

He melted from the battlefield like fog, disappearing into the cracks of shadow that had spread since the fight began. For a moment, it seemed like nothing happened.

Then, he was behind Speedy.

Just the flash of a blade.

"Shadow Sever."

The edge of Edgar’s dark weapon glowed with layered runes as it tore through Speedy’s left side. The man twisted with all his remaining speed, and the blade missed his heart. But it didn’t miss entirely.

Blood erupted.

A long cut tore across his ribs, deep enough to sever muscle and part of his spine. Speedy shrieked, his voice hoarse from pain.

He vanished, only for a second, reappearing twenty meters away, breathing heavily. He was barely standing now, his movements jerky and unstable.

Slippery narrowed his eyes.

"I’ll buy time. Rocky, we need to regroup—"

But the Earth Grandmaster wasn’t done.

He slammed his heel down again.

"Grave Seal: Collapse."

The earthen chains that had been hunting Speedy all along suddenly pulled, downward. The battlefield cracked and then liquefied beneath the injured man’s feet. With a panicked shout, Speedy began to sink. First his boots vanished, then his shins, then his knees. The more he struggled, the more the ground seemed to consume him.

"No no no—!"

He tried to blur again. He tried to rush. But his Essence flared out weakly, not enough to escape the chains. They weren’t just holding his body. They were sealing space around him.

Cassian stepped forward now.

Sunlight began gathering in his palm. Slowly, steadily, it hardened into a sword of golden flame. The light burned with the intensity of a volcano before erupting.

He didn’t speak a word at first. He just walked forward, past the illusions, past the shimmering dome, and looked at Speedy’s half-submerged body.

Then his voice rang out, low and sharp.

"For the Empire."

"[Solar Judgment.]"

The blade in his hand shattered into five golden arrows, each one glowing like miniature suns.

They rose into the sky, then dropped, screaming through the air like meteors. They punched through the weakened illusion barrier like paper and impaled Speedy—one in the chest, one in the forehead, and three in the limbs that were still visible.

Speedy’s head had snapped back from the force of the attack. His eyes wide, stunned, mouth open but no sound.

When the light faded, his body was gone.

Ash. Smoke. A scorched crater where he sank.

The wind quieted for a moment.

Then Slippery whispered, "No..."

Rocky’s face twisted with rage. "You bastards!"

The battlefield didn’t stop.

From my place near Arkas, I could feel the shift in pressure, like something final had broken. The Holt Grandmasters were cornered now. Two against many. No more games. No more defense.

The Empire’s Grandmasters had just begun the real hunt.

Cillian stepped forward, a frost-lined spear forming in his grip. The ground around him turned brittle and white, cracking with every breath. He didn’t need words. The frost was already spreading toward Rocky.

Wind swirled from above again as the Wind Grandmaster hovered, one hand behind his back, the other raised, holding a crescent of compressed gale-force energy. His cloak flapped slowly. Controlled. Calm.

Edgar vanished again, his body falling into the darkness beneath the crater.

Cassian tightened his grip on the sunlight forming in his hand again.

Only Slippery and Rocky remained.

And neither of them had the speed to run anymore.

Slippery turned and whispered something to Rocky.

His illusion clones melted around them. His hands shook slightly as he reshaped the battlefield with a prism-like distortion field. Rocky slammed his fists together, coating his entire body in crystal. His face was unreadable—anger, grief, and focus all mashed together.

The five Grandmasters of the Empire walked forward slowly, silently, like wolves closing in.

Arkas, still bleeding beside me, chuckled faintly.

"That’s one down," he murmured. "Two to go."

Cassian swung his blade, and the light around him surged past its limit, flooding the area in a blinding wave.

Slippery hissed and staggered back as the light from Cassian’s blade faded. His illusion field had collapsed completely now—no more clones, no more warping light to hide behind. His breath came in short gasps as he clutched a wound across his ribs. Speedy’s death had shaken him.

"This is madness," he muttered. "You’ll regret this. The Holt name will—"

"Be ash," Edgar said coldly. "Soon."

The Wind Grandmaster lifted a single finger, and a whispering cyclone spiraled into existence around Slippery’s feet.

The illusionist darted back, his fingers weaving, scattering decoys into the air again—five identical Slipperys blinked into place, each one running in a different direction.

"Split them!" Cillian barked. "Real one’s second from the left!"

Cassian responded first. He drew a line through the air with his palm.