Published at 3rd of November 2026 6:32 am

Chapter 2164: Sword Dance

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Moonie stood silently among the trees, her gaze following the two figures in the distance.

She had been secretly trailing Adam and Genevieve for the past week, ever since they left Davos.

This was her duty, after all.

On the surface, her position was little more than that of a glorified maid. But in reality, she was Genevieve’s protector, guardian, teacher, and anything else the young lady needed her to be.

Her loyalty to House Fortuna ran deep. Naturally, that loyalty extended to Genevieve.

And yet... her gaze shifted toward the young man wielding the black whip-blade.

Constantine.

She had been curious about this man for quite some time. The student of Hannibal. The man who had somehow managed to win Genevieve’s heart.

Although she did not care much for Genevieve’s personal life, Moonie would be more than a little concerned if she were in a relationship with an unworthy man. After all, she knew better than Genevieve how people tried to take advantage of their relationship with a Fortuna.

Moonie was still trying to figure Adam out. In her eyes, his greatest merit was that he was Hannibal’s student.

So that was the Flowing River, she thought with narrowed eyes.

She had heard countless stories about this legendary sword style. Across the battlefields of the Imperium, its name had become synonymous with unpredictability.

But until today, she had never witnessed it firsthand.

And now, she finally understood.

Incredible...

The Flowing River was truly formless.

Adam’s weapon transitioned seamlessly between a whip and a blade. One moment, it was a rigid sword, striking with precision. The next, it became a flexible whip, bending around the opponent’s guard and attacking from seemingly impossible angles.

There was no fixed rhythm. No predictable sequence. No pattern that could be reliably memorized. And that was what made it so terrifying.

An experienced swordsman could analyze an opponent’s movements, identify their habits, and develop countermeasures. With enough exchanges, even the most complicated fighting style could eventually be understood.

But the Flowing River was different.

No matter how many permutations and combinations an opponent considered, the style seemed capable of answering every counter with another unexpected movement.

A blade became a whip. A whip became a blade.

An attack that seemed to have been countered suddenly changed its trajectory, forcing the opponent to defend against an entirely different strike.

It was like having to predict the course of a river. One could study its currents, observe its direction, and calculate where it might flow. But the moment they thought they understood it, the river would change course.

And when it mattered, the current could become powerful enough to sweep everything in its path.

Moonie couldn’t help but praise the beauty of Adam’s sword dance.

She finally understood why so few Magi and Paladins had ever managed to analyze the Flowing River and develop reliable countermeasures against it.

The problem was not that the style had no weaknesses. It was that by the time an opponent identified one, the style had already changed. And the man wielding it would never give them enough time to adjust.

Hannibal had once famously said:

The only way to counter my Flowing River is if you have the ability to see the future.

No one dismissed his words. Hannibal’s reputation preceded him.

But for someone like Moonie, who had never witnessed the great glory of Hannibal, she couldn’t help but secretly dismiss those words.

Watching Adam fight, however, had cleared away her doubts.

Perhaps seeing the future really was the only reliable way to overcome a style that constantly changed its own future.

Her gaze lingered near Adam, though not directly on him. The boy had offensively sharp senses for someone so much weaker than her. There were times when he had sensed her gaze. So Moonie never looked directly at him.

The Flowing River was only half the reason why Adam had defeated a Transcendent Paladin. The other reason was his monstrous regeneration ability.

Moonie was aware of the Oath of Vitality.

But wasn’t Adam’s ridiculously strong?

She didn’t know how much mana the youth had to expend to invoke such strong healing abilities, but she was certain it was no small price.

Adam had healed himself dozens of times in his battle with Aramen, yet he didn’t seem like he had run out of mana.

So that begged the question: just how deep were Adam’s mana reserves?

Stranger still, his blood mysteriously returned to his body. This was something Moonie had never witnessed before.

So many secrets he has, she thought.

Amid her thoughts, she noticed Genevieve slowly moving toward Adam’s battlefield.

Moonie sighed and disappeared to make sure there were no further dangers lurking in the forest.

Genevieve arrived near Adam’s battlefield.

The destruction surrounding her was startling, to say the least.

Trees had been broken in half, crates lay scattered across the ground, the walls of the building had crumbled, and deep gashes scarred the foliage. Sword marks crisscrossed the terrain, while blood splatters stained the ground in several places.

It was evident that a fierce battle had taken place here.

Then she saw Adam. He stood before a corpse, his shoulders heaving as he struggled to catch his breath.

The corpse lay in a gruesome state, its limbs severed and its head separated from its body. Numerous cuts covered what remained of its torso, a testament to the intensity of the battle.

Adam’s clothes had been ripped to shreds. Sweat glistened on his exposed skin, and his chest rose and fell with every labored breath.

Yet, strangely enough, there wasn’t a trace of blood on him. Only deep exhaustion. And a complicated look in his eyes as he stared at the corpse.

Genevieve remained silent. She simply walked up to him, her footsteps quiet against the bloodstained ground.

She arrived beside Adam and gently clasped his hand. She glanced at the corpse of the Transcendent blankly. But when she noticed the severed head, her body trembled.

Her hand involuntarily clutched Adam’s tighter, and she murmured, "Isn’t that..."

Aramen had been the source of her nightmares.

He had been the reason she had endured so much misery as a prisoner in the Vampire King’s castle.

And now, seeing him dead, his body mutilated so brutally, Genevieve found herself overwhelmed by a whirlpool of emotions.

"Yes," Adam said softly, gently squeezing Genevieve’s hand.

"Sorry, I meant to deliver him to you alive. I got a little carried away."

Genevieve stared blankly at the corpse. At last, she inhaled deeply as she steadied her emotions.

"You don’t have to apologize," she whispered.

Her lips parted. She wanted to say so many things. But in the end, she simply said:

"Let’s get you inside. You’re worn out to the bone."

She gave a series of commands to her cranes, instructing them to keep constant surveillance over the vicinity.

Then she led Adam into the building.

Aramen’s corpse remained outside, mutilated like that of a slaughtered animal.

But Adam had already decided to secretly give the old man a proper burial.

He had been a worthy foe.

A burial was what he deserved.

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