CHAPTER 68: BLUE LIGHTNING AWAKENS

"It’s either he improved his sword skills way too quickly... or he’s been hiding his real abilities all this time. Either way, that makes him a monster," a senior student muttered from the stands, his voice trembling with disbelief.

On the arena stage, Michael was being forced to defend desperately, unable to break free from Aaron’s relentless assault. The clash of steel and sparks echoed with each exchange, and though Michael’s strength was immense, Aaron’s precision pressed him harder and harder.

"AAAHHHH!" Michael roared, his frustration and pride boiling over. His eyes flared yellow as lightning crackled violently across his body. His reflexes sharpened, his speed climbed, and in an instant his movements grew fiercer.

Aaron feinted for a stab, but this time, Michael didn’t stumble like before. He saw through the attack, slipping aside cleanly and regaining balance with smooth footing.

The blessed youth surged forward, lightning dancing across his skin. He hurled bolts of electricity at Aaron, each blast sizzling through the fortified arena floor. Aaron dodged with graceful steps, weaving through the storm like a shadow.

But Michael pressed harder, refusing to relent. Lightning after lightning tore through the air until Aaron was forced into a difficult guard. His stance faltered just slightly—an opening, and Michael pounced.

He lunged in, hand stretching to grab Aaron. Yet the grin on Aaron’s face, calm and almost mocking, sent a chill down Michael’s spine. Instinct screamed at him. He pulled back immediately, abandoning the attempt.

Too late.

Aaron had baited him deliberately, letting Michael set the rhythm after his transformation. The moment Michael’s guard loosened under the illusion of advantage, Aaron struck. His blade flashed.

Michael’s outstretched arm missed, and Aaron’s sword thrust forward with brutal precision.

"Kh—!"

The blade pierced Michael’s abdomen before he could retreat, blood laced with lightning spilling from the wound. The sharp scent of ozone mixed with iron filled the arena. Gasps erupted among the spectators.

"What...?!" Michael’s eyes widened in disbelief, pain mixing with confusion. Since receiving his blessing, he had never been hurt—not once. Even his father, a brutal man who murdered his mother, had left him untouched.

"You... how...?" he croaked.

Aaron withdrew his blade slowly, crimson dripping down the steel. His smile widened as he stared at the blood. "If you really thought I couldn’t hurt you... you’re in for a lot of pain."

Michael staggered, clutching his wound. Aaron tilted his head, curiosity flashing in his eyes. "This blood... what’s so special about it? Why does it carry lightning essence? And what’s with this tattoo on my hand?"

[Think about it, host. What happens to those who kill a blessed in truth?]

The system’s sudden words made Aaron’s brows knit.

"What is it?" he muttered, his tone shifting serious. Michael, seeing the frown instead of a victorious smirk, faltered in confusion.

[They inherit a curse from the will of the universe itself. That’s how the Cursed came to be. Though... in this world, I doubt such beings exist. After all, no one can kill a blessed—except another blessed, and even then not all inherit the curse. That tattoo on your hand... it’s incomplete. If you spill enough of Michael’s blood until he dies, the universe will brand you fully, and you’ll carry the curse.]

Aaron chuckled, shaking his head. "Great. Good thing I wasn’t planning on killing him then."

Michael, having steadied himself, launched forward again. His figure blurred with super speed as he aimed a crushing blow at Aaron.

Steel rang out. Aaron parried cleanly, redirecting the strike, then retaliated in the same motion. His blade sliced dangerously close—Michael barely slipped away, nearly losing half his torso.

"Come now," Aaron taunted, resting his sword lazily against his shoulder. "You should know better. Your speed isn’t enough to catch me off guard."

Michael exhaled sharply, his frustration mounting. "You’re right... guess I’ll just have to increase the pace."

The yellow lightning around him flickered, then dimmed. In its place, blue lightning surged—darker, fiercer, hotter. Flames tinged the edges, faint but terrifying. Above him, an elemental crown of crackling blue fire and lightning materialized, spinning like a divine halo.

His irises vanished, replaced by burning azure arcs. Even the air bent under the weight of his aura as a domain normally hidden to mortal sight became visible. The sharp crackle of lightning, the low roar of fire—it echoed across the arena.

"Blue lightning...!" a student screamed, almost hysterical. "Aaron is fucked—he’s so fucking fucked!"

Finally, the crowd erupted into chaos.

"He’s using it for real!"

"That’s the power that crushed the second-years last year—Michael’s untouchable now!"

From the VIP seats, Graham smirked faintly. "He’s finally getting serious. I was starting to wonder if he ever would." Everyone knew this ability—Michael’s infamous Blue Lightning. It was the same overwhelming force that let him defeat the academy’s strongest sophomore as a mere freshman.

Michael’s voice cut through the noise, calm but sharp. "I’ll advise you to use whatever trump card you have left, because from here on out... I’ll be ruthless." He stepped forward slowly, every footfall melting the reinforced ground into molten streaks.

Aaron smirked, beckoning him forward with a flick of his hand. "Trust me. If I use my trump cards, you’ll be dead."

"I warned you," Michael replied, his lips curling as adrenaline lit his veins.

Then—he vanished.

In the blink of an eye, he appeared before Aaron, fist cloaked in roaring blue lightning and flame. The punch tore through the air like a thunderclap.

Aaron blocked at the very last second. His blade intercepted the blow, but the impact was monstrous—he was blasted backward, body thrown like a ragdoll.

As he spun through the air, his instincts flared. He swung his sword in reflex, a flash of steel grazing Michael’s cheek. Blood trickled down as Michael appeared behind him, aiming for a brutal strike while Aaron was still airborne.

Aaron landed heavily, sliding across the floor before creating distance. His chest heaved once. His mind burned with calculation. Fighting a blessed was suffocating. His options were shackled—no tricks, no external tools, nothing but his blade. And yet...

"System," he muttered under his breath, "once this is over, I’m getting my own blessing." He forced himself upright, then froze. A hot wetness spilled from his abdomen.

"When... did you—?" Aaron looked down, stunned. A spear of condensed blue lightning protruded through him, its other end gripped in Michael’s hand.

Michael grinned, savoring the fight. "Don’t lose focus if you want to survive, Aaron."

Aaron’s teeth clenched. "That annoying prick... fine. He asked for this."

In that instant, he dropped his restraints. His D-rank strength and speed exploded, surging to B-rank instantly. His aura thickened, the air vibrating with raw pressure.

Fair fight? Equal battle? Sharing in the thrill of the struggle?

No. That was over.

Aaron’s gaze turned cold as he rolled his shoulders, holding his sword with the most casual air yet. "Forgive me, Michael... but from now on, whatever you do won’t matter. This will be one-sided from beginning to end. Exactly as it should be."

Skills and clever tricks were for equals. Against those below you?

You simply crushed them.

And Aaron was done playing around.