Because Rossard was trapped in a state of paralysis, he had no way to defend himself. This punch coming down would be enough to smash through the spiritual fire cloaking his body and blow his head apart.
Yet just as the fist was about to strike home, the medal pinned to his chest suddenly flashed. A sharp jolt of pain pierced Covington's mind, causing his movement to lag by a beat.
The moment that flash flared, Rossard broke free from the psychic suppression. Rather than trying to retreat, he took a deep, powerful breath. His body swelled outward by a visible margin, his head jerked up, and his mouth fell wide open. In a brilliant flash of light, a powerful spiritual impact erupted from his jaws!
Due to that dazzling glare and the razor-thin distance separating them, Covington had no time to dodge. He took the brunt of the impact square on, his entire body swallowed by the radiance.
Riding the recoil of the spiritual impact's exhalation, Rossard hurled himself backward in a violent retreat, putting tens of meters between them in a flash. As soon as his mutated tissue recovered slightly from its lethargy, he leaped back once more.
The medal fashioned from a relic could protect him for only a few brief seconds, so he had to swiftly escape the range of the other man's psychic suppression.
As for how to fight going forward—now that Covington had replenished his psychic power, even if Rossard found an opening to cripple him again, he would recover in no time. Continuing to fight head-on was exceedingly unwise. Just as his thoughts spun through options, he suddenly sensed something amiss. He cast his gaze down, only to see an abnormally long, slender arm shoot out from the lingering light, grabbing his ankle with a swift snap.
This arm was thin yet remarkably supple and tough; the instant it seized him, he knew he could not shake it off.
He knew that if he delayed for even a split second, once the man opposite caught his breath from the spiritual impact, he would swiftly deal him a fatal blow.
*Boom!*
A distant roar echoed through the air, accompanied by waves of radiant light and turbulent currents surging toward them. That was the site of another battle—Mr. Weiss of Liberty College had already engaged that otherworldly entity.
Rossard knew full well that once he fell, the other side would likewise be unable to hold out. Relying solely on the remaining power of the ritual would accomplish virtually nothing. He could not afford to fall.
Without the slightest hesitation, he mobilized his mutated tissue and ripped his own lower leg apart, tearing himself free and retreating violently to the rear.
After hurtling back several hundred meters, he flipped over, spiritual radiance unfurling from his body as he hovered in midair.
At the spot where he had just stood, his spiritual visage finally regained mobility, spreading its arms wide to block the path ahead.
His response was both timely and correct. Moments later, more slender limbs surged out from the glow, but the colossal frame of the spiritual visage blocked them all. The appendages slammed relentlessly into the visage, their respective spiritual fires clashing violently. The brilliance covering the spiritual visage waned at a rate visible to the naked eye. Finally, with a thunderous roar, the spiritual visage collapsed and dissipated, turning into a blast of spiritual-fire-laced air that swept toward Rossard.
Inside the White Rock Long Hall, the management, including Ryan, saw that Rossard had been reduced to a single leg, followed instantly by the collapse of his spiritual visage. Stunned disbelief crossed their faces, followed by a surge of panic deep within their hearts.
Just moments ago, they had watched Rossard pummel Covington, assuming this front was stabilized. Who could have thought that in what felt like a single instant, the entire situation would completely reverse?
Yet failure could not be permitted in any of the three directions. If a single point broke, the entire defense would crumble.
Veia State Center City was not truly devoid of Throne martial artists, but the individual was currently in the capital, participating in high-level summits with major nations—including the Great Shun Delegation—and major corporations.
The West Coast Council could never afford to miss an international exchange of this caliber, or they would suffer significant losses to their vital interests.
Even though they had immediately telegraphed a distress signal once the crisis arose, and that person was likely already on their way back, the current situation was far too urgent. Without anyone to stall them, it might take only a few minutes for everything to be over. Even if reinforcement arrived, it would be too late.
Nor could they count on the West Coast Council. Under normal circumstances, Throne martial artists were stationed to guard the Ring of the World; redeploying one on such short notice was simply unrealistic.
Then the only trump card they could play right now was probably that one...
At the severed stump of Rossard's leg, mutated tissue was rapidly proliferating, extending muscle and bone. Given a little time, he could clearly regenerate it. But even so, it would do nothing to change the situation.
Gazing at the gradually dimming flames of light ahead, he tapped the implant by his ear to establish contact with the White Rock Long Hall. "I will stall for time at all costs," he said. "Release Free Stars Academy's active conscious entity. Stop holding it back."
Receiving the message, Ryan turned to the management. "Gentlemen, you see the situation. We need to make a decision quickly."
The managers exchanged glances. One of them said, "Ryan, you know this is difficult—"
If Free Stars Academy's active conscious entity was deployed, it could indeed hold off one front. However, the Federation's system was built on checks and balances; Stars Academy was relatively independent and answered only to direct orders from the West Coast Council. The Veia State administration could usually do no more than make recommendations.
Not only that, but to keep them in check, the Council had obliged Center City to sign an international agreement stipulating that, short of a maximum-level crisis, activating the academy's active conscious entity required notification to the consulate. Furthermore, the high-energy nutrients required to activate the entity, along with all subsequent maintenance costs, fell entirely on them.
In other words, even if they mobilized the active conscious entity, all losses, consequences, and public backlash incurred along the way would be borne solely by them, while the academy and the Council remained completely unburdened.
This made the management hesitate immensely. One member voiced his doubts: "Is this truly necessary? The Federation has already promised us support... Perhaps we can wait a little longer?"
Ryan looked around. He knew they were still wavering, clinging to wishful thinking. In his judgment, even if the Federation's reinforcements rushed over immediately, it would still be too late. However, rather than calling them out directly, he adopted an advisory tone. "We don't necessarily have to deploy the active conscious entity right away, but I believe we can make preparations first and supply the entity with enough high-energy nutrients for activity. The academy will surely cooperate with preliminary preparations like that."
The managers looked at one another. That seemed acceptable; at most, it would only consume some high-energy nutrients, an expense Center City could easily absorb.
Thus, they swiftly passed the decision and sent an emergency preparation notice to the academy.
Meanwhile, in front of Blockade Hall, the light cloaking Covington dissipated completely. It was clear his body had not emerged entirely unscathed from the blast, yet the damaged areas had already healed rapidly. The numerous arms behind his back lashed like long whips, stirring flickering flames of light that appeared eerie and menacing against the backdrop of the night.
Even more shocking was his completely transformed appearance. Abnormally thick hair now fell near his shoulders, and his exposed muscles and skin were taut and full, glowing with vibrant vitality. Nourished by the influx of energy, he had reverted to his youthful state.
Yet at that moment, he frowned and glanced up at the sky. When he tried to draw more energy into his body, he encountered a powerful resistance.
Was it the lingering power left behind by that being? Or was it the effect of the ritual?
Even though he remained some distance from his peak condition, and the ritual was still interfering from the outside, dealing with martial artists below the Throne level presented little challenge.
He strode toward Rossard. To avoid psychic intimidation, Rossard chose to maintain distance, immediately flying backward and consciously or unconsciously retreating toward Stars Academy.
Yet no sooner had he begun to move than an arm from Covington's back thrust forward like a spear. Rossard's psychic senses detected the danger a fraction of a second ahead, compelling his body to dodge instinctively to the side.
Yet while he evaded the first strike, he could not avoid the second. As another arm shot forth, it struck him in midair with a resounding boom. Fortunately, he was seasoned in battle; before the attack connected, he had concentrated the vast majority of his spiritual fire onto the impacted area. Even so, the blow nearly shattered his spiritual fire and sent him hurtling backward.
At the same time, from the corner of his eye, he caught a cruel grin spreading across Covington's face, accompanied by a flash of light blooming in the palm of his hand.
An overwhelming sense of mortal danger gripped Rossard's heart.
*Damn it!*
With his body still reeling under the momentum of the impact force, he was powerless to dodge. In his haste, he could only muster the dregs of his spiritual fire in front of himself.
Yet he knew it was utterly futile. The most likely outcome was that the impending impact would reduce him to a cloud of bursting sparks and ash.
Just as he braced himself for the final moment, a hand reached across from the side. An open palm interposed itself before him, awash in flowing platinum-gold flames of light, stopping the thunderous spiritual impact dead in its tracks!
The two distinct spiritual flames collided, relentlessly clashing and eroding one another, yet the pale white radiance from the opposite side could not break through.
"This is..."
Once Rossard regained his balance and looked up, he saw a tall, straight silhouette standing not far ahead. One hand was extended across, shielding the front, while the other held a long saber. A red sash fluttered ceaselessly from the pommel, and the turbulence kicked up by the impact whipped violently against his overcoat.
The piercing, brilliant radiance illuminated his figure with dazzling clarity, like a lone sentinel standing upon a rift in the world.
Chapter 1150