Chapter 388

Chapter 388: Mirage Grass Poison

Midi had originally resolved to maintain his "direct combat" approach, but now he instantly threw that idea out the window.

A crystal of Radiance of Darkness!

Though the Shaded Realm’s Dark Magic contained Radiance of Darkness, those were merely microscopic particles invisible to the naked eye. Even after refining it, Midi could only gather dust-sized fragments at best.

Here, he had no access to natural veins of the substance—only his own laborious refinement and Absorption.

Yet Eighth Apostle Rot claimed purified Radiance of Darkness existed here?

This revelation shocked Midi to his core.

More than shock, fierce craving surged through him. Possessing this substance would drastically accelerate his level growth—slow by normal standards, but tenfold faster than his current painstaking progress. For someone separated from Fina and Alice, subconsciously anxious while bearing Death’s Pursuit Order’s pressure, this temptation proved irresistible.

The Mirage Grass poison would be his. No compromises.

Midi vanished like smoke.

Ghost Cry skill: Demon Shadow Flash.

"What?" Blood Hand’s pupils narrowed. How had his prey disappeared so abruptly?

Before he could process it, razor-sharp sword intent exploded behind him. Years of Experience saved Blood Hand—his instinctive block diverted Midi’s sharp sword from piercing his heart, but the sword light still carved bone-deep wounds across his body.

Precision. Agility. Speed. These defined Midi’s fighting style. Now, holding back only his psychic energy and flying skills, he unleashed his full might to claim the Mirage Grass.

Blood Hand struggled to track Midi’s blades. He tried suppressing through brute force, but Midi refused direct clashes—instead deflecting attacks and striking from blind spots. The dual swords "Eliminate" and "Kill" flowed like stormwater, their Trajectory erratic, their assault relentless. Blood Hand couldn’t predict movements, barely enduring each strike.

Within breaths, Midi’s swords dripped crimson while Blood Hand bled from dozens of wounds. Poisoned weapon counterattacks met empty air—when blades clashed, Midi twisted his Sword Edge to redirect the power.

Earlier battles showcased Midi’s overwhelming dominance. Now, he demonstrated absolute control. None escaped the deathly net of his sword light. The prey could only wait despairingly for judgment.

After several skirmishes lacking flashy maneuvers, Blood Hand’s Vitality plummeted. Even the Blood Dust potion couldn’t sustain him against Midi’s onslaught. The prey’s thinking dulled. Reactions slowed.

However, in Blood Hand’s resentful eyes, his anger hadn’t lessened at all – it resembled a volcano ready to erupt.

The moment had come.

Like the most seasoned hunters, Midi recognized the critical instant to determine the outcome.

"Die!" Blood Hand snarled through gritted teeth, unleashing his final desperate counterattack.

Ignoring his wounds and Midi’s strikes, he charged like a battering ram, a raging bull determined to gore the matador even with a pierced heart.

Witnessing this frenzy, nearly all dark elves expected the human famous for "head-on assaults" to clash violently with his opponent.

Just as Midi always did against bull-like foes.

But not this time.

Having entered a cold, calculating battle state, Midi rejected inefficient fighting methods.

He wasn’t training now – he fought for Victory.

Every move aimed to end things swiftly.

Eyes tracking Blood Hand’s charge, Midi stood statue-still.

Only when Blood Hand vaulted across dozens of meters, sword and body descending together, did Midi act.

Crossing his dual swords, he slashed upward in a perfect Cross.

Amid a sharp metallic clang, the magic sharp sword poisoned with Mirage Grass snapped cleanly at the hilt.

"What?" Blood Hand stared dumbly at the severed hilt in his grip.

Most spectators rubbed their eyes in disbelief.

Even the dark elf instructors tasked with training newcomers gaped alongside their students.

Sword-severing?

This brute-force human had targeted his opponent’s weapon?

A textbook swordsmanship technique from training manuals made real?

Impossible!

"You…" Blood Hand’s roar died in his throat.

The Demon Swordman froze, realizing how unfamiliar attacking felt without his weapon.

Punch? Kick? Shoulder charge?

While Blood Hand hesitated in Barehanded confusion, Midi’s blades struck.

One sword sliced both arms off.

The other plunged straight through the exposed heart.

From afar, their final pose resembled an embrace.

Only life and death’s great distance separated them.

Truthfully, Midi didn’t need such theatrics to kill.

The elaborate move merely concealed his targeting spell.

In the brief moment when they were pressed together, Midi activated his mind-related ability "environmental awareness," swiftly locating the Mirage Grass poison. Never having stolen before, he clumsily reached out, taking several seconds to finally fish out the small bottle before hastily tucking it into his chest.

After ensuring all the Mirage Grass was secured, Midi violently kicked the lifeless Blood Hand corpse dangling from his sword, sending it flying. Without Vitality to sustain it, the Blood Dust potion’s effects immediately dissipated. The swollen corpse began deflating like a punctured balloon, becoming grotesquely shriveled.

"What a waste. If he hadn’t drained the Blood Dust potion, I might’ve purified Dragon’s Blood from it to accelerate my bloodline awakening," Midi communicated regretfully to Rot.

"Human, do you understand the meaning of ‘insatiable greed’?" Eighth Apostle Rot remarked wryly.

If returning to them sooner requires insatiable greed, I’ll embrace it completely.

Midi thought silently, fingers brushing the poison vial beneath his clothes as a faint smile surfaced.

He’s smiling!

Actually smiling!

With such terrifying gentleness!

"Is this guy actually a monster?" whispered a Wolfspider warrior, voice shaking.

Accusing gazes turned toward the Level 62 old mage in the stands – the elder who’d first discovered Midi with the priestess. This same mage had preached that surface humans were frail creatures unfit for the Shaded Realm. For weeks, every dark elf had regarded Midi with varying mixtures of scorn and pity.

Now they realized their error.

This human had crushed a half-giant, obliterated an Ice Mage, and after slaughtering a peak-Level 60 Demon Swordman, wore the tender smile of one greeting a lover.

Bizarre. Horrifying.

Even if humans were weak, Midi Asreks embodied anything but frailty.

The discredited old mage endured waves of glares and muttered curses.

Humans ARE weak!

He screamed internally, lips twitching uselessly before bowing his head. Whatever the truth, this creature wasn’t to be trifled with. Perhaps the collective fear was… beneficial?

Unaware of his smile’s unsettling effect, Midi casually raised his longsword toward the priestess before exiting the arena.

Zaknavan approached as he descended – the dark elf swordsoul’s match was next.

"Your battle fired my blood. Leave the rest to me," Zaknavan grinned.

"Agreed." Midi nodded, understanding the unspoken resolve.

True to form, Zaknavan unleashed ferocious assaults upon entering the arena. His opponent – a roaming gunslinger partnered with Mason – had consistently defeated him in previous weeks’ tournaments, relegating him to third place. Not from inability, but caution toward top-ranked Mason.

Now, witnessing Midi’s power, Zaknavan saw hope of dethroning Mason.

Hesitation abandoned, the swordsoul fought unrestrained.