Absolute King Chapter 16.

Chapter 16: Blades against sorcery.

The morning was meant to be quiet and normal, the kind of silence that wrapped itself around a neighborhood like a blanket. But in Mark’s home, that silence was shattered. The sharp crashing of plates, splintering wood, and the metallic clatter of utensils echoed violently through the small house. Each sound was a punctuation mark in the chaos of battle, a reminder that this was no ordinary day.

Mark stood at the center of the storm, his body moving with instinctual precision as he deflected wave after wave of flying debris. His crimson eyes narrowed, the blade in his hand flashing like a streak of lightning in the kitchen. Across from him, with an expression of twisted amusement, stood one of the most dangerous magicians alive—Felix Faust.

“Child,” Faust’s voice oozed with mockery as he raised a hand, fingers dancing with violet sparks of eldritch energy. “Just give me the Grail, and I promise I won’t harm you… or your dear mother.” His smirk deepened, fangs of cruelty showing.

Mark’s grip on his weapon tightened. He had no intention of wavering. His answer was not words, but the gleam of steel.

In his hands rested Clarent, the sword of betrayal—a noble phantasm gifted by Artoria. It was no Excalibur, but its edge carried history and deadly versatility, consuming far less mana with every strike. Mark raised the blade and leveled its tip at Faust, his gaze never breaking.

The older mage chuckled, his eyes burning with arrogant certainty.

“That little blade? It won’t even scratch me.”

Mark finally spoke, his voice calm but firm. “We’ll see.”

The confidence in that short reply cut sharper than the sword itself.

Faust’s grin faltered, giving way to irritation. His hands lifted high, purple flames dancing between his palms.

One by one, intricate magical circles began to form around the room, their sigils glowing brighter with every heartbeat. The air thickened, heavy with ancient malice.

“Don’t you dare mock me, boy,” Faust growled, and at his command, the circles ignited. Beams of condensed energy shot forth, ripping through the kitchen like artillery fire.

Mark moved. His sword sang in arcs of silver, parrying and deflecting the blasts that threatened to tear him apart. Some struck home, slamming against the mystical armor Artoria had blessed him with. The magic rippled across the armor’s surface, nullifying most of the damage, but still knocking him back with brutal force. His boots slid across the tiles, carving friction burns into the floor.

Too confined. The walls were suffocating him.

Without hesitation, Mark burst through the doorway, retreating into the open backyard. The sky opened above him, but Faust’s wrath followed. The magician’s circles twisted and curved, their beams bending unnaturally to hunt their target like serpents. Mark dashed, rolled, and leapt, deflecting with Clarent while weaving between the trails of light.

Faust strode through the wreckage of the kitchen wall, stepping into the yard with disdain. Rubble crumbled beneath his boots as his lips curled into a sneer. “That armor of yours is a nuisance… Let’s see if you can cancel this!”

Mark glanced briefly at the demolished wall and muttered under his breath, “Mom’s definitely going to kill me for that.”

Faust raised his hands again, tripling the number of glowing circles in the air. They pulsed with malevolent energy before unleashing another storm. The first beam struck the ground just a breath behind Mark, the explosion gouging a crater into the earth. The rest rained down like comets, each one strong enough to vaporize him if it connected.

“Now… nullify THIS!” Faust bellowed.

Mark became a blur. Clarent spun in controlled arcs, his movements refined into a deadly dance. His eyes flared as he called upon a king’s gift. His perception shifted—time itself bent. For two precious seconds, he could see beyond the present. The guidelines of every incoming attack glowed in his vision, weaving paths through the air.

He no longer dodged blindly—he moved with certainty.

Replica swords shimmered into existence, forged mid-battle by the flow of mana through his circuits.

They streaked forward, intercepting Faust’s beams, their summoned steel colliding with eldritch fire in a clash of willpower.

Faust’s eyes widened. The boy wasn’t guessing. He was anticipating. Calculating. It unsettled him.

One of the phantom blades grazed his cheek, leaving a thin crimson line. His smirk evaporated, replaced by a snarl. Blood trickled down his chin, mocking his pride.

“You—!” His fury boiled over as he conjured levitating circles beneath his feet, lifting himself above the battlefield.

Mark pressed forward, his eyes gleaming with determination. He strengthened his legs with a surge of mana and launched himself like a bullet. Faust tried to overwhelm him with sneak attacks, but every beam was parried, dodged, or cut apart. Two seconds into the future kept Mark always a step ahead.

He vanished from Faust’s sight, only to reappear at his back. Clarent swept horizontally, the strike fueled by momentum and intent to kill.

Faust barely managed to throw up a defensive ward, but the blade shattered it like glass. His chest split open in a shallow wound, pain burning into him as blood seeped through his robes. He snarled but didn’t falter—because his trap had sprung.

Ice engulfed Mark in an instant, freezing him in crystalline chains. Faust smirked, breathing heavily. “Caught you.”

But the triumph lasted only seconds. Mark’s magical circuits flared with raw energy, bursting outward in a violent explosion. The ice shattered into shards that glittered under the sunlight as Mark broke free, his eyes blazing.

Faust stumbled back, retreating behind five layered defensive circles. “Stay down!” he shouted desperately.

But it was useless. Mark cut through the defenses one by one—each barrier crumbling like fragile paper before the relentless edge of Clarent. He surged forward, his blade an unstoppable force.

“It’s over,” Mark declared, his voice like a verdict.

The sword struck true. With a brutal upward slash, Faust’s arms were severed, his scream piercing the night. The follow-up thrust sank deep into his gut, blood spilling as he coughed violently. His body collapsed, lifeless in the dirt.

Mark exhaled sharply, the weight of battle sliding off his shoulders. For the first time in minutes, he let himself feel the flicker of victory,

And then, pain.

A guideline flashed before his eyes. He twisted, barely in time to intercept a beam that threatened to pierce his chest. Sparks cascaded off Clarent as he deflected the strike. His arms trembled under the force, the heat of the attack searing his blade.

He lifted his gaze. Faust still stood,untouched. The body on the ground dissolved into mud.

“Ha! Ha! Ha!” The magician’s laughter tore through the night. His figure shimmered among the shadows, dozens of replicas forming around him until the yard was crawling with Fausts.

“You thought you killed me?

Pathetic. If it were that easy, the Justice League would have ended me long ago! No, boy… the odds are not in your favor.” Each clone raised its hands, magical circles igniting in unison. The air buzzed with impending devastation.

But Mark… dropped his guard. His stance eased. His eyes softened.

Faust faltered. Confusion rippled through him. “What are you doing? Have you given up? Are you trembling at the sight of my power? Well, it’s too late—even if you beg”

His words choked into silence.

A wet cough burst from his throat.

Blood spilled from his lips as his body convulsed. One by one, the clones crumbled back into mud. The glowing circles winked out of existence. Even the levitating disk beneath him collapsed.

Faust’s organs burned from within, seared by an unseen force. His magic with very essence—was unraveling.

His screams split the air, a mixture of fury and terror as he plummeted into the dirt.

Mark stood unfazed, Clarent steady at his side. His eyes glowed faintly, the shadow of unseen kings watching through them.

Faust’s reign of arrogance had ended.