MIGHT AS WELL BE OP

The atmosphere shifted, and the battlefield stilled in an unsettling silence.

The air itself seemed to tremble as a new, unfamiliar presence began to saturate the space around them.

It was not mana.

No, this was something else. Something just as profound.

The sensation was different, more primal and ancient, as if the very fabric of reality had momentarily bent to its will.

A heavy, intangible weight pressed down upon all who stood witness.

For those who were attuned to the subtle currents of energy, they knew immediately what it was.

It was spiritual energy.

Those who had encountered it before recognized its intensity, its overwhelming potency.

It was not like mana, the fuel of magic.

Spiritual energy was far more elusive, far more refined.

It radiated a purity and power that could rival mana itself, a force that came from the very essence of one's soul.

This was an energy that could shape and control the very threads of existence itself, transcending mere physical laws.

For the elves, it was a gift of the highest order, one that only their most gifted could harness.

It was said that the most talented of their kind could channel this energy to perform feats that could defy the natural world, bending it to their will.

It was an energy of the spirit, the mind, and the soul, the essence of life itself.

And now, it flowed freely across the battlefield.

For those who had never encountered it, there was no mistaking its presence.

The air grew still, and time seemed to slow as if the world itself held its breath.

The warriors who had fought with ferocity and power now found themselves frozen, caught in the grip of something far greater than themselves.

The energy swept over them like a tidal wave, both awe, inspiring and terrifying in its potential.

For Kaelthar, it was a warning, a sign that something monumental was about to unfold.

The spiritual energy rippled through the ground beneath them, the force of its presence a quiet yet undeniable force.

It was as if the earth itself was trembling in response to the power that was being called forth.

The world had shifted.

A new power had entered the fray, and nothing would be the same again.

Vahalin had refrained from drawing upon his spiritual energy until this very moment.

It was not out of necessity, nor weakness, but rather a deliberate choice to withhold its power.

He had kept it sealed, guarded as a last resort, an ultimate trump card to be played only when the stakes reached their peak.

He understood the magnitude of this energy, a force so potent that it could reshape the fabric of existence itself.

To wield it was to invite consequences far beyond the immediate battle, consequences he was not willing to face unless absolutely required.

Now, however, with the pressure mounting and his options dwindling, Vahalin had no choice but to unleash the power he had kept dormant for so long.

A wave of spiritual energy enveloped Vahalin's being as he raised his sword, pointing it toward the heavens.

His body lifted from the ground, weightless as the sky itself seemed to brighten, warping under the force of his will.

Space twisted, bending to his command as he pushed every ounce of his energy into the spell.

The very air shuddered as he invoked it.

[Forbidden Spirit Magic: Summon: Kytheralys]

A blinding radiance erupted as a world destroying aura swept across the battlefield, suffocating all in its wake.

The souls of those present quivered beneath its weight, and the land itself seemed to recoil.

For a moment, the aura grew overwhelming, as though the world itself sought to defend against the impending calamity.

Then, as if the land had accepted its fate, the pressure subsided, revealing the roots of a massive tree emerging from the cracked space.

The tree descended, but it did not reach the earth in its entirety.

Its vast crown was withheld, an ominous force bound by unseen restraints.

Vahalin's body merged seamlessly with the trunk, drawing deeply from the power of the summoned entity.

This was no spell found in this world, nor was it one that could be wielded by any being of ordinary power.

It was a forbidden art granted to Vahalin through communion with the spirits.

As the roots of the Kytheralys tree spread, a terrible drain began.

Mana and vitality, once abundant in the surrounding plane, were siphoned toward the tree with brutal efficiency.

Kaelthar, his energy already taxed by the battle, found his mana rapidly depleted.

He felt his life force slipping away, his vitality drained with cruel haste.

Anthony and Taeron, too, were not spared.

Both felt their life force slowly being leeched away, the rapid aging of their bodies marking the onset of irreversible loss.

For a moment, Anthony's calm demeanor faltered, his usual control slipping as he realized the depth of the danger before him.

He was losing ten years of his lifespan with every second.

Taeron, already drained from his earlier attacks, struggled in vain against the onslaught.

His vitality evaporated, consumed by the relentless roots, and within moments, his body exploded as he was swatted aside by the tree's power.

The ground beneath them was littered with the fallen, their energy drained and their lives claimed in an instant.

Even the spectators were affected.

The crowd, once confident in their distance from the battle, found themselves unable to escape the draining effects of the spiritual force.

Their faces betrayed a mixture of shock and horror as they too began to feel their vitality ebb away.

Some fought back, activating protective artifacts or relying on their own skills to resist the pull.

Others, helpless, could only watch as the scene unfolded before them.

Mitchelle, standing in the distance, prepared to intervene.

Yet, she hesitated, watching closely, hoping for Anthony to find a solution before she was forced to act.

Anthony, his mind racing for a way to counteract this overwhelming power, moved with precision.

The very space around him seemed to bend and fracture as he used his control over the void to escape the pull of the Kytheralys tree.

In a heartbeat, he disappeared, his body vanishing into the rift he had created in space.

Kaelthar and Taeron sensing his disappearance, presumed he had simply teleported.

Only the spectators could see the truth, that Anthony had melded with the void itself, evading the draining force with ease.

Taeron, now completely drained, struggled one last time against the roots, but it was hopeless.

Another root, enormous and relentless, swatted him from the sky, his body disintegrating upon impact.

In mere moments, Taeron was gone.

Kaelthar, resigned to his fate, looked to his family.

His voice, soft but clear, echoed through the chaos.

"Thank you for everything... until now"

And with that, his body aged rapidly, his vitality vanishing as he turned to dust, his life extinguished in a single, irreversible moment.

Sorrow filled the hearts of those watching, but no one moved to intervene.

From the ashes of the champions, only Anthony remained, watching from the void with steely determination.

Vahalin, exhausted but victorious, allowed himself a brief moment of respite.

The energy he had absorbed from the tree had returned him to full strength, healing his injuries and replenishing his mana.

Only his spiritual energy remained low, but he had a solution for that.

He activated the next step in his plan.

[Energy Conversion: Vitality to Spiritual Energy]

The surplus vitality he had absorbed swiftly replenished his Spiritual Energy.

This was yet another gift bestowed upon him by the spirits, a remarkable ability that allowed him to convert Mana, Vitality, and Spiritual Energy into one another at will.

Anthony stood, paralyzed with shock, as he witnessed this phenomenon unfold before him.

Vahalin had regained his full strength.

A thought flashed across Anthony's mind with terrifying clarity.

'Is this guy using a bug?'

The synergy of this conversion ability, combined with the forbidden magic, constituted a monumental advantage, an overwhelming anomaly.

Vahalin could simply exhaust his mana, summon the tree with spiritual energy, then replenish it, utilize the energy conversion skill, cancel the summoning, and repeat the cycle indefinitely.

'I must end this charade'

Anthony thought, watching the scene unfold.

Who could say this was Vahalin's final trick?

Anthony was unwilling to gamble on that possibility.

Despite the wealth of abilities at his disposal to evade death, he was keenly aware, from the countless novels he had read in his previous life, that there were skills so absurdly powerful that they could obliterate an opponent in an instant.

How could he be certain that Vahalin did not possess one such ability or skill?

Anthony was not one to take reckless risks.

He knew when to put on a spectacle, and when to end it.

The time for a spectacle had passed.

As Vahalin canceled the summoning and the tree began to recede, a smirk tugged at his lips.

Vahalin, secure in his victory, stepped forward.

His gaze was filled with arrogance as he allowed himself a moment of triumph.

But before he could revel in his success, a sword materialized out of thin air, streaking toward his neck with impossible speed.

Vahalin, caught off guard, instinctively tried to dodge.

But it was too late.

His arm was cleaved off in a single, swift motion, blood spilling across the battlefield.

Eyes wide with disbelief, Vahalin's gaze shifted toward Anthony, who stood before him, a cold resolve written across his face.

"How?"

Vahalin managed, his voice shaking with shock.

But Anthony did not answer.

Instead, he pressed his advantage.

With unrelenting precision, Anthony struck again.

His blade moved in a blur, slicing through Vahalin's defenses and severing his forearm before the elf could even react.

Before Vahalin could do anything else, the world around him spun into chaos.

Everything twisted and distorted, as if time and space itself had fractured.

Then, as quickly as it had begun, it ended.

Vahalin's body was sent into eternal rest, his final breath a mere whisper against the overwhelming power of Anthony's strike.

Silence descended upon the battlefield.

The spectators had watched with bated breath, fully aware of Vahalin's formidable prowess in battle.

His strength was undeniable, and many believed he would emerge victorious from this brutal contest, his skills too overwhelming to be stopped.

They had also observed Anthony, who, despite his opponents' relentless attacks, had remained untouched, his movements seemingly flawless.

All eyes were now on the inevitable confrontation between the two, as Vahalin stood revitalized, at his peak, poised to strike.

Yet, in a stunning turn of events, Anthony ended the clash before it even had the chance to begin.

With a quiet sigh, Anthony sheathed his katana, his expression one of calm resolve as he eliminated an unknown threat.

The representatives, ready to declare him the victor, were cut short by an unforeseen presence.

Out of nowhere, a blade came into existence and, with deadly precision, pierced through Anthony's chest.