The devastating decollate kick struck Amon square in the head, instantly knocking him unconscious as blood pooled rapidly behind his head. But Zephyra offered no respite. Snapping out a hand, she seized his leg and twisted it until the bone shattered with a sickening crunch.
The white-hot agony forcefully tore Amon back into consciousness, a rare scream escaping his throat.
Riesling through the blinding pain, Amon twisted his upper body and lashed out with his sword. The blade sliced through the air with a blinding velocity that fractured temporal boundaries a thousand times over.
Zephyra was forced to leap backwards to avoid being cleaved in two, granting Amon just enough breathing room to trigger a high-tier restoration spell—knitting his bones, stopping the bleeding, and restoring his physical form in a flash of radiant Magium.
"You really are a pain to deal with, Senior," Amon chuckled melodiously, spitting a mouthful of crimson onto the arena floor.
"You brought this upon yourself, Amon Von Crown," Zephyra declared, her tone icy and merciless. "You could have gracefully accepted defeat like a sensible boy, but you insisted on dragging this out."
She raised her right arm and spread her fingers wide.
"Final Technique: Ring of Champions."
The atmosphere instantly inverted, plunging into absolute darkness as space contorted violently. When the light snapped back, the vast colosseum had completely vanished. In its place stood a vintage boxing ring, surrounded by a roaring, phantom crowd whose cheers echoed like thunder.
Amon glanced down. His razor-sharp sword had disappeared, replaced by tight, black leather boxing gloves.
"Ah. Using your Final Technique to force an engagement where your inherent advantage is maximised," Amon remarked with unfazed, polite grace, sweeping his blindfolded gaze across the shifting environment.
Opposite him, Zephyra assumed a tight guard, her hands clad in fiery red gloves. She blitzed across the canvas, unleashing a lethal combination of fast jabs and hooks. Amon moved fluidly, evading the barrage through precise side-steps, subtle slips, and clean, high-guard blocks.
"It is quite a terrifying thing," Amon said smoothly, bobbing past a left hook. "A Final Technique that completely seals all external Magic, Skills, and passive Techniques, stripping both combatants down to a pure boxing match."
He snapped a counter uppercut straight toward her chin, but despite his immaculate mathematical calculation, the strike inexplicably grazed empty air.
"And if I were to hazard a guess," Amon continued smoothly, "the phantom audience acts as a passive modifier—granting augmentations to the combatant they favour while applying debuffs to their opponent."
Before he could pull back into guard, Zephyra's right hook buried itself deep into his midsection. Even stripped of raw magical amplification, the blow landed with absurd, unnatural force, entirely driving the oxygen from his lungs and driving home the truth of his deduction.
"You've done well, Amon Von Crown," Zephyra purred, an edge of pure, sadistic pleasure lacing her voice as she continued to rain a relentless barrage of vicious strikes down on his guard. "You are the very first person who has ever forced me to draw my absolute ace. You ought to take immense pride in your strength."
Gathering every ounce of her momentum into a single, devastating right cross, she drove her fist full into his face. The impact echoed like a thunderclap, instantly knocking him out cold and bringing the brutal contest to a definitive close.
A moment later, the phantom audience dissolved into lingering wisps of smoke, the boxing ring shattered, and the natural atmosphere of the mirrored dimension snapped back into place.
Zephyra took a slow, deep breath, relishing the sweet taste of a hard-won victory. But before she could even wipe the sweat from her brow, a sharp, blinding agony flared through her right hand.
She gasped, looking down in absolute horror.
The glowing, starlight blade of False Visionary was driven clean through her palm—pinning her arm in place despite Amon's battered, unconscious body still lying on the stone floor a few feet away.
"You really shouldn't believe everything your eyes feed you, Senior," Amon's smooth, unbothered voice drifted casually from directly behind her.
Zephyra whipped her head around, her heart hammering against her ribs.
There he stood. Spotless, completely uninjured, and dusting off his collar with refined grace. His blindfolded gaze was fixed directly on her, a faint, dangerous smile playing on his lips.
"Though I suppose discerning fact from fiction becomes rather difficult," Amon added softly, his tone dripping with quiet condescension, "when your mind has been driven so thoroughly mad that you mistake mere hallucinations for reality."
"How?!" Zephyra roared. Ignoring the searing agony in her right palm, she tore her hand free from the blade, whipped around, and delivered a desperate roundhouse kick straight to Amon's head before leaping backwards to create distance.
Amon barely recoiled, absorbing the impact and casually steadying his posture. A fresh trail of crimson trickled slowly down the side of his forehead, yet his demeanour remained effortlessly poised.
"It is quite simple, really," Amon replied softly, his voice smooth and untroubled. "Everything you experienced up to this moment was nothing more than a succession of vivid hallucinations generated entirely by your own mind."
"That's impossible! Your Magium doesn't work on me!" Zephyra demanded, her voice crackling with frantic frustration. "So how in the world—"
"It is my sword," Amon cut her off, offering a calm, serene smile. "The exact moment I uttered the true name of my blade was the moment your psyche succumbed to total madness."
DraconicSoul: "Holy fuck, this guy has gotten way too op..." | (Donated 9000 SCs)
VillainEnjoyer: "Hold up, what is the Streamer even talking about?" | (Donated 10000 SCs)
MachineDeus: "Wait... I think I get it. His sword has similar properties to his Personal Magic, if not greater. When he called the name of his sword, he introduced the 'idea' of his sword to his opponent, and that 'idea' drove his opponent into madness. Unlike his Personal Magic, which stopped affecting Zephyra after she used her Inherent Skill, his sword is different. If I had to deduce, his sword has greater properties of madness if it can affect someone who had an Anti-Magium inherent skill, with the skill being likely SS-Rank." | (Donated 9000 SCs)
ChunkyPie: "I didn't understand any of it... But I did understand that the streamer is crazy op now!" | (Donated 10000 SCs)
FangirlingIsMyPassion: "I would've crashed tf out if he lost this. Because this would literally undermine the power of my Prosecutor husbando!" | (Donated 10000 SCs)
ForestHuntress: "Chill out, bro. We get it that you like Amon..." | (Donated 7000 SCs)
FangirlingIsMyPassion: "I am talking about Velzoyr, not Amon." |
RandomDude69: "I kinda agree with @FangirlingIsMyPassion. We were introduced to the Prosecutors being the Chosen Ones Of The Heavens, whose task is to maintain peace and order while fighting extremely powerful threats. If Amon lost to Zephyra, it would mean that the Prosecutors aren't that special if someone like him could join their ranks. But then again, it would also imply that Zephyra is on the level of a Prosecutor." | (Donated 6900 SCs)
Amon caught the rapid flow of chat messages out of the corner of his eye.
"Yeah, absolutely not," he thought, letting out a silent, amused chuckle. "I'm not letting the prestige and reputation of the Prosecutors take a hit here."
"What is so funny, Crown?" Zephyra spat, her posture tense and thoroughly agitated.
"The sheer disparity between us," Amon answered with polite, chilling grace, completely ignoring the blood dripping past his temple. "It is so vast that it borders on the absurd. I will concede that your Personal Magic and Inherent Skill present a minor nuisance. However, such gimmicks become entirely irrelevant the moment I choose to unleash my full power... or rather," he paused, clearing his throat with a slight, mocking cough, "half-power, to be precise."
"Using [No Longer Human] wouldn't yield any tangible benefit," Amon reasoned silently, his mind rapidly mapping out the tactical architecture. "Her Inherent Skill would neutralise the skill almost instantly. And resorting to [Mad Mind] against an opponent like her would be nothing short of an insult to my own experience in navigating unfavourable variables."
With measured, elegant precision, Amon raised his sword. He levelled the gleaming blade directly at Zephyra, her crimson blood trickling down the serrated tip and pooling on the cracked floor.
"Time to tame you, Senior~" Amon spoke softly, his voice maintaining its usual polished, polite grace, though the playful, dangerous edge lingering beneath his words was impossible to ignore.
. . .
Amon lay on his back atop the smooth stone roof of the Observatory Tower, his hands resting behind his head as he watched the evening sky shift from bruised purple to deep crimson. Below him, the quiet hum of the academy grounds was a stark contrast to the sheer pandemonium that had defined the earlier hours.
Defeating an upperclassman in a sanctioned duel was already more than enough to stir up the student body. But taking down Zephyra Valkaress—a third-year whose reputation made her a walking nightmare—had sent shockwaves ripping through the entire institution. The cheers, the awe-struck whispers in the hallways, and the sudden, overwhelming shifts in how the faculty and students looked at him had made the rest of the day an exhausting blur.
Between finishing his mandatory lectures and dodging the influx of starry-eyed onlookers, he had been summoned directly to the Headmistress's office. Headmistress Jacqueline had briefed him on her current administrative duties before presenting him with an unexpected reward for his victory—a proposition pushed heavily by Victoria. Without having to climb the tedious ranks match by match, Amon had officially been vaulted straight into fifth place on the R.S. Advanced Academy Duelling Leaderboard.
A cool evening breeze swept over the tower, catching the edge of his blindfold. Amon closed his eyes beneath the fabric, letting out a long, quiet breath as he finally savoured a moment of peace.
A blue, translucent window shimmered before his eyes, breaking the stillness of the evening air.
{Hidden Quest: The Final Boss's Return}
Primary Objective: Defeat Zephyra Valkaress (Completed)
Secondary Objective: Sustain As Little Damage As Possible (Completed)
Hidden Objective: Use False Visionary In Your Fight Against Zephyra Valkaress (Completed)
Rewards: [Elixir of Vitality], Reputation Increase, Significant Plot Deviance
"Guess my intuition wasn't wrong," Amon thought, a faint smile touching his lips as he swiped the floating system interface out of existence. "There won't be any major narrative events until the Field Trip. At least, nothing that would require my direct intervention."
"I don't understand, Amon Von Crown."
A quiet, even voice drifted from the shadows near the rooftop entrance. Amon shifted his blindfolded gaze to the side, leaning on his elbow to look at Tia Denver. The quiet student stood near the ledge, her eyes tracking him with the cold, analytical focus characteristic of a fellow reincarnator.
"Why did you take the fight with Zephyra?" she asked flatly.
"Isn't it obvious?" Amon sat up smoothly, resting his wrists on his knees as he offered a polite nod. "I wanted to force the plot to deviate as heavily as possible. I assume you, of all people, are fully aware of Zephyra's significance in the original timeline?"
"You could have ignored her entirely," Tia stated, her voice completely devoid of emotion. "You have already altered the trajectory of the original narrative far beyond recognition through your previous actions. Seeking out a confrontation with Zephyra Valkaress was completely unnecessary."
"My, your words almost give me the impression that you are upset on her behalf," Amon chuckled, his tone light and playful. "Did my brief demonstration offend your sense of narrative order?"
"I am not upset," Tia replied, her expression remaining entirely neutral despite his teasing. "I am simply questioning your logic. I want to know why you deemed it necessary to engage her right now."
"Hmmm..." Amon tapped his chin lightly, looking genuinely thoughtful for a beat before his smile widened into something effortlessly serene. "Perhaps... simply because I could?"
Tia remained still at the precipice of the roof, the evening wind whipping strands of hair across her stone-cold face. She refused to bite at his lighthearted provocation, her gaze locking onto his infuriatingly serene smile with an icy intensity.
"Simply because you could," she repeated, her voice dropping into a chilling, monotonous hum that cut through the whistling wind. "I understand your desire to rewrite the narrative of this world, given how thoroughly twisted the original plot was. But have you ever truly paused to calculate the collateral of your interference? What becomes of this reality now that you have shattered its foundation beyond recognition?"
Amon let out a soft, melodious chuckle. Sweeping his legs over the edge of the stone ledge, he settled into a posture of effortless grace, casually resting his chin against his palm as his blindfolded gaze met her empty eyes.
"I hold a remarkably clear picture of what comes next, as a matter of fact," Amon answered smoothly, his voice laced with absolute conviction. "None of those horrific tragedies scripted for the original timeline will ever come to pass."
"You do realise Seraphina is nowhere near prepared for the recalibrated threats your interference will trigger?" Tia countered, her cold logic cutting through the evening air. "The upcoming Field Trip next month was crafted as the fundamental stepping stone for her growth. In the original plot, the Aimus butcher a portion of her friends—a necessary tragedy meant to steel her resolve and force her evolution as the protagonist."
"Yet because of your grand disruption, the Aimus will undoubtedly deploy far more lethal assets," Tia added, her neutral gaze locked onto him without a flicker of doubt. "Seraphina may not even survive the descent."
The temperature atop the tower plummeted. Though Amon's smile remained delicately carved upon his face, a suffocating aura of malice and killing intent began to bleed into the quiet space between them.
"You speak as if I am already six feet under, Denver."
Amon rose from the ledge in one fluid, terrifyingly graceful motion, stepping onto the smooth stone floor.
"Do you truly entertain the absurd delusion that I would permit so much as a single hair on her head to be harmed?" His tone was utterly serene, yet the bloodlust cascading from him was becoming apparent.
"Tell me, Denver—" Amon paused, stepping closer, his blindfolded gaze pinning her to the spot, "—did you genuinely believe I rewrote the script just to stand by and watch her bleed?"
Tia remained completely motionless, her expression locked in a mask of rigid neutrality, though internally she knew she had stepped directly onto a landmine. She had observed Amon meticulously ever since their very first encounter, carefully analysing his patterns and acknowledging his clear affection toward Seraphina.
Yet, she realised with stark clarity that she had profoundly underestimated the depths of that devotion.
The suffocating wave of pure malice and terrifying bloodlust rolling off him made one thing abundantly clear: Amon was prepared to cross any boundary, break any rule, and slaughter anyone necessary to ensure Seraphina's safety.
Amon leaned down, his lips brushing inches from her ear as his voice dropped into an icy, velvety whisper.
"Let me make something exceptionally clear to you," He purred, the quiet sound sending a shiver through the ambient air. "I have dismantled and shattered the original trajectory of this world entirely for her sake. And should any unexpected variable dare to manifest, I will erase it before it takes a single step."
Stepping back, Amon smoothed the front of his casual t-shirt, a dark, possessive affection coiling tightly around his heart.
"I will never allow a single shadow to touch Seraphina," He thought, his smile returning—refined, elegant, and dripping with madness. "She belongs to me. And because she is mine, I will grant her absolute happiness, even if I must drown this entire world in blood to achieve it."
. . .
The loud, rhythmic blare of the bedside digital alarm clock shattered the morning silence, violently dragging Amon out of his sleep. Groaning softly, he extended a hand and slapped the button, cutting the noise short.
He sat up on the king-sized mattress, extending his arms to stretch out the lingering stiffness of sleep. But mid-stretch, his arm brushed against an unfamiliar, soft warmth beside him.
Frowning, Amon pulled back the heavy blanket.
His composure completely shattered. For the first time in either of his lives, Amon Von Crown was so utterly shocked that he lost his balance, tumbling entirely off the side of the bed and landing on the hard floor with an ungraceful thump.
"ZEPHYRA VALKARESS, WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN MY BED?!" He demanded loudly, his voice a frantic mixture of genuine shock and confusion as he scrambled up, staring wide-eyed at the sleeping figure.
At the sound of his raised voice, Zephyra stirred beneath the sheets, slowly sitting up and rubbing the sleep from her eyes with a surprisingly adorable drowsy grace.
She was dressed in a simple white tank top and fitted black trousers. The minimalist attire clung to her sculpted form, accentuating her curvaceous, lean physique and undeniable "muscle-mommy" charm.
"Geez... Quit shouting so early in the morning... Dear..." she mumbled with a long, lazy yawn, stretching her arms above her head without a care in the world.
"HUH?!"
Amon's usually pristine composure didn't just crack—it disintegrated entirely. He froze on the spot, his jaw practically hitting the floor as the word Dear echoed off the walls of his dorm room.
He stared at the third-year powerhouse in unadulterated shock. The woman who had tried to brutally dislocate his limbs and crush his skull just twenty-four hours prior was now lounging on his mattress, using terms of endearment like they were a long-married couple.
"What in the world are you talking about?!" Amon demanded, regaining his voice as his mind raced to calculate what conceivable delusion, curse, or absurd plot twist had taken effect overnight. "Why are you here, and why did you just call me that?"
"You... managed to beat me..." Zephyra stretched her arms wide, letting out a satisfied sigh as the lingering stiffness of sleep melted from her toned frame. "As a reward, I am yours. My sole requirement for love has always been simple: my husband must be stronger than me. And since you proved your absolute superiority, you are now my husband."
"Do not simply go around deciding my marital status on a whim," Amon said, his voice forced into a rigid calm, though the twitch in his brow made it glaringly obvious that maintaining his composure was taking every single drop of his willpower.
"Don't worry, Dear. I am not unreasonable," Zephyra assured him smoothly, sliding off the edge of the mattress and taking a step toward him. "I hold no objections whatsoever should you decide to take multiple wives."
"That is entirely beside the point!" Amon snapped, backing up half a step as his mind scrambled to process the absolute absurdity of the situation.
Yesterday, she was a battle maniac intent on snapping his limbs; today, she was casually setting up house in his dorm room based on some barbaric, strength-worshipping logic.
"I never agreed to any such conditions," Amon continued, adjusting his blindfold with a rare, frantic gesture. "The terms of our duel didn't say anything about marriage!"
Zephyra tilted her head, watching his unusually frantic reaction with a faint, amused smirk playing on her lips. She stepped closer, closing the distance between them without a single hint of hesitation.
"A deal is a deal in my book, Crown," She purred, leaning down slightly to bring her face level with his. "You broke my pride, broke my defences, and tamed me just as you promised. You think I'm just going to let a man like you walk away?"