Chapter 364
Michael turned to Spartan and spoke with a calm authority. “Drop the spear. We’re throwing hands and spells.”
Spartan, clad in armor, responded with a bow of the head. “Yes, Master.”
The spear clattered to the ground with a resonant clang.
Michael took a quick glance at his summon.
Spartan’s appearance was mysterious—completely concealed under his hood and black armor.
Even if his face were revealed, none would suspect anything.
In this Kingdom, Michael was known as a Summoner to do some, those who mattered—and all his summons thus far had been undead. Spartan was just another shadow in that line.
A single breath passed.
Then they moved.
Master and summon.
Two high humans. One alive. One dead.
They charged Uga in perfect unison.
Their footwork mirrored each other, movements fluid and calculated.
Every punch Michael threw, Spartan followed with a mirrored strike. Their kicks landed within fractions of a second of one another.
And when Michael shifted into a magic stance, Spartan did the same, launching a barrage of fire arrows and thrusting up spikes of earth beneath Uga’s feet.
The pressure multiplied instantly.
Uga, who had just begun enjoying the battle, suddenly found himself in a whirlwind of attacks.
He roared.
His body twisted and bent at impossible angles to avoid strikes, but now—now it wasn’t just Michael’s relentless magic he had to worry about.
Spartan fought like a ghost—every blow calculated to land where Uga was forced to dodge into. And though he didn’t show it, Uga was struggling.
Michael noted it immediately.
Michael ducked under a wild swing.
Uga roared.
And then he lunged.
Spartan intercepted.
Fists collided.
The shockwave rippled out, shaking the arena.
The audience gasped.
Uga kicked off the ground, spinning into a low sweep meant to take both of them off their feet. Michael leapt over it. Spartan simply took it and retaliated with a vicious elbow.
“Fire Arrow!”
A bolt of burning mana struck Uga’s ribs and exploded.
He staggered.
The crowd felt it. The shift.
And then came the commentary.
“L-Ladies and gentlemen,” the commentator stammered, voice catching in his throat. “What we’re witnessing is a storm. A storm with fists and magic and fire and madness!”
He paused, blinking as Spartan launched another earth spike beneath Uga, causing the wild brute to roll to the side.
“Sir Mic… his summon… they’re amazing! This is a coordinated assault! A combination of martial prowess and magical destruction!”
“Is that summon… alive?” someone muttered.
“I don’t know,” came another voice. “It’s just magic… right?”
Most could not tell
Down below, Uga grunted, taking another blast of mana to the shoulder. He retaliated by slamming his fists into the ground, cracking the arena floor and sending both Michael and Spartan flying back slightly.
He panted, eyes blazing.
“I like friend!” he growled. “Strong!”
Michael exhaled slowly. “Glad to hear it.”
He looked toward Spartan, nodded once.
They moved again.
“Mana Arrow!”
“Fire Arrows!”
Another barrage of glowing arrows whistled through the air and struck Uga’s torso.
Boom. Boom. BOOM!
Smoke.
The arena trembled.
From the commentator’s booth, the stunned voice continued. “Never… never in all my years have I seen this level of coordination. It’s like fighting twins!” His voice broke.
Still, Uga stood.
Bruised. Burnt. Blood trickling down his forehead.
But smiling.
He threw back his head and roared.
The crowd didn’t cheer.
They watched. Spellbound. Terrified. Mesmerized.
Uga stood tall—but it was clear now. He was near his limit.
His chest heaved.
The fire in his eyes was still burning, but dimmer now.
Steam rose from his battered body, blood and bruises blooming across his skin like battle medals.
And yet…
He smiled.
Michael exhaled slowly. Then he moved.
Spartan followed.
This time, they didn’t explode forward with the same explosive speed. No. They walked.
Each step was deliberate.
Uga tilted his head, confused at first, but his instincts flared. He dropped into a stance again, arms raised, feet planted.
Then Michael raised his right hand.
“Blind Curse.”
A dark pulse shot forward and struck Uga clean in the face again.
Uga staggered. His breath hitched. He snarled and turned, fists swinging wildly.
Then—
“Slow Curse.”
A second pulse of magic latched onto his limbs, dulling his momentum, wrapping around him like invisible chains.
Uga roared in frustration. He could barely move now—every limb dragging like he was underwater. His legs quivered under the weight of the curse. His arms trembled mid-swing. The once-fluid movements of a beast were now sluggish.
Michael stepped to the side.
Spartan darted in.
He didn’t hesitate.
A flash.
Uga swung one last time, blindly—but Spartan slipped beneath it and launched himself forward, both arms wrapping around Uga’s midsection.
And then—
BOOM!
The ground cracked as Spartan tackled Uga to the floor with the full weight of an armored monster. Dust flew. The earth split slightly beneath the shock of the slam. The arena barrier trembled again, shimmering like water in the sun.
Spartan mounted Uga.
And began to punch.
Once.
BOOM.
Twice.
BOOM.
Each blow echoed through the stadium. The crowd felt it in their bones.
Three.
Four.
BOOM. BOOM.
Every strike was controlled—powerful enough to break stone, yet precise enough to avoid lethal damage. But the shockwaves were monstrous.
Each punch cratered the floor beneath Uga’s skull, pressing him deeper into the dirt like a nail under a hammer.
Michael didn’t interfere.
He stood still, eyes sharp, watching until the curses wore off.
Uga stopped struggling.
He lay there—bloodied, dazed, barely conscious. His fingers twitched.
But he smiled.
Even now, he smiled.
Michael exhaled, stepping forward. “Spartan. Enough.”
The undead knight halted mid-swing, fist raised. “Understood, Master.” He slowly pulled back and climbed off.
Michael walked over and looked down at Uga. “You good?”
Uga’s lips moved.
“Tired.”
A pause.
“Fun.”
“Mic…. strongest….”
“Mic…. strongest….Uga faced…”
“Mic…good friend…”
“Big sis…Uga…. sleepy..”
And the beast fell unconscious.
Or rather.
Looking at his snores.
It was more like he fell asleep than knocked out.