The Great Medical Saint

The moment Allen's blade left its sheath would be Matthew's final moment.

Allen gripped the hilt tightly, his muscles tensing up. All he needed was a single thought to unleash the first strike of the Swiftblade Division technique.

He advanced carefully toward Matthew, his presence building with each step. "I need just one strike to kill you!"

As he finished speaking, he had reached striking distance. Suddenly, he shouted, "Kill!"

With a thunderous roar, Allen's muscles tightened. He unleashed tremendous strength as he drew his blade. The gleaming steel caught the light, briefly illuminating the room as if it were daylight.noveldrama

The light suddenly vanished. The room dimmed again as if a flash of lightning had just struck and disappeared.

When normal lighting resumed, Allen and Matthew stood facing each other. Allen still held the hilt, frozen mid-draw. Matthew remained completely still.

Observing from the side, Darius was baffled. He was certain Allen had drawn his blade. Recalling Allen's speed in slicing through hair in an instant, Darius was convinced Matthew was as good as dead.

He examined Matthew from head to toe, but he couldn't find any injuries. Finally, he gave Allen a thumbs-up.

"Impressive. Not a drop of blood and not a visible wound-you were so fast in killing him that your blade didn't even touch him."

Allen's face twitched. He clenched his jaw, and his eyes flashed with fury. He roared again, "Kill!"

Another flash lit the room, followed by another clang. The room fell silent after the flash faded. Allen remained in his stance with his blade half-drawn, facing Matthew.

The room fell utterly silent.

Darius furrowed his brow in confusion. Allen had struck a second time. Yet Matthew still stood there, unscathed.

His gaze flitted between the two, and he noticed something amiss.

Matthew looked perfectly calm. He stood with a relaxed stance, as if he hadn't been attacked at all.

Meanwhile, Allen's forehead glistened with sweat. His eyes were full of terror, like a cub confronting a tiger.

His hand gripping the hilt was trembling. The sheath rattled against the blade with a relentless tapping sound.

How could this be?

Darius then noticed a trace of fresh blood on the oval of Allen's hilt. Why would there be blood on the hilt?

He inspected Matthew again, searching for any sign of injury-from his head, down to his neck, chest, waist, thighs, ankles, and even to his shoes.

When he got to Matthew's soles, he spotted traces of blood beneath them.

Following the trail, he saw two lines of bloody footprints behind him. It dawned on Darius that Matthew had entered with blood on his shoes-it wasn't from Allen's blade.

As Darius felt puzzled over this, Allen's voice trembled. "H-How can you be so fast that I can't even draw my blade?"

Twice now, Allen had attempted to strike. Each time, as the blade nearly left the sheath, Matthew's swift kick sent it back into the sheath with force.

Matthew said nothing, but his eyes glinted with icy resolve as he struck with Pulverizer Fist. The sound of Allen's larynx shattering was enough to make one's teeth ache.

Allen's blade fell to the floor as he clutched his throat, trying to scream in pain. Yet he was unable to make a sound. Blood gurgled from his mouth.

Matthew's voice was cold. "You can't even draw your blade before me, and you thought you could kill me?"

Allen's face twisted in agony as he struggled to say something. Yet not a single word came out. He fell to the ground, thrashing desperately. His convulsions soon stopped.

Turning to Darius, Matthew said, "Now, it's your turn!"