Dyon's scythe weaved in and out of attacking and defensive positions as though a rotating blade. It twirled around his palms and wrists with a flexibility that exceeded its rigid body.

Compared to his 109th lifetime, his skill was on a complete other level. Even despite never having used a scythe in his life before this, his foundation in wielding weapons was beyond what anyone could imagine. How many times had he discarded a weapon he had reached the top with, only to choose another and build himself back up once again?

He tread along the path of the sword, the saber, the spear, the rod, the bow, the knife, the ax He had touched upon the profundities of so many that he was an enigmatic existence no matter which was being spoken about.

Tapping into this knowledge, his pace of progress with the scythe was blinding.

Above him, the Soul Tome floated, wafting out with beautiful pleasing yellow lights every so often.

"We'll call this [Disguised Gale] Call this one [Hidden Depths]. And this one, name it [Last Call]"

Every time Dyon's indifferent voice fell, the movement of his scythe would change that another glow would light the tome as it flipped to a new page.

First his scythe seemed to blend into the air, leaving a faint trail of grey fog in its wake. Even with it flickering before Aritizia's eyes, she found it hard to grasp.

Despite this, her palm struck out, calmly deflecting it. But, with each parry, the pressure mounted on her. It felt like Dyon was growing more skilled with each passing moment, slowly increasing the gravity around her until her knees grew weak.

But, just when it seemed that she would be forced into a corner, the atmosphere changed once again.

This time, the movement of Dyon's scythe became ethereal. No, that wasn't how it should be described. It was very real. It was right before her eyes and carried a 'mystery' so simple that it felt as though she could reach out and touch it. Yet, whenever she tried, it would pull back just that little bit more, causing her to have to reach further and further, only to never touch upon the goal she was looking for in the first place.

The blade of the scythe no longer hid in the shadows. Aritzia's palm continued to descend, but every time she blocked a strike, her arm would shudder.

Toward this, her beautiful eyes couldn't help but tremble slightly. She was certain that her strength was still beyond Dyon's. Not only was it still beyond, she felt that it was by an unimaginable margin. She couldn't for the life of her understand why it was that despite their apparent gap, their collisions seemed unable to decide a winner or a loser.

The pressure continued to mount. As though following a pattern, strikes that had been easy to parry in the beginning became more and more enigmatic.

After several exchanges that lasted no more than a couple breaths of time, Aritzia finally understood. Every time Dyon sent an attack forward, she would subconsciously react with what she felt was the perfect amount of strength. However, somehow, that strength would always fall short by a small margin, causing her to be on the losing end.

Once again, just when she was about to be forced into a corner, Dyon's movements suddenly changed.

This time, his attack frequency slowed to a crawl. Despite the speed of the attack remaining the same, it was as though Dyon had suddenly decided to pour his everything into single strikes instead of trying to send out combinations. His style had suddenly become eerily reminiscent of someone using a weapon far too heavy for them.

Yet, with this heaviness came an inescapable, suffocating experience. It felt as though the world itself was collapsing atop her head, drowning her out.

Despite her frequency of attack not dropping the way Dyon's had, she could somehow only attack when Dyon attacked. If she didn't take the same amount of time to prepare her next strike as Dyon did, she could tell that she would be blown away without suspense.

"Ha"

Artzia couldn't stop her own laughter. Even though she wasn't injured in the slightest, she felt a deep sense of respect, the kind that burrowed deep into her soul.

Dyon continued to name off techniques. Each time, his style would change again, applying a cycle of pressure onto Aritzia.

How could she not understand what was happening by now? Her First Brother was actually creating new techniques as he fought, filling the pages of the Soul Tome with an all-new doctrine. Maybe if he survived today, the nine ancient weapons would gain a tenth companion, yet he had forged this path all on his own and seemingly without much effort.

Realizing this, let alone despair, Aritzia didn't even frown. Her eyes glittered with the same battle intent Dyon's own gained when he stepped on the battlefield. Her ample chest swelled as she straightened her back like a mighty warrior.

"My First Brother indeed! In that case, I will no longer hold back!"

In truth, though Aritzia very much respected her First Brother, the fact of the matter was that he had reincarnated. He didn't have his former strength. However, she decided to battle him because while she was currently being suppressed by the Heavens, he was not. Like this, she felt it was fair.

But, even then, she still subconsciously held back some of her strength. Maybe in some ways, she didn't want to see the undefeatable legend that was her First Brother come crashing down here at her hands despite the words she had spoken previously.

Her previous thoughts were not frivolous. She really had come to the mortal plane to exact revenge for her First Brother. Even if she would kill him today, the place he held in her heart was not small.

But now, she had no reservations. If she continued to hold back, instead of protecting the legend that was her First Brother, she would be tarnishing him instead. In that case

BANG!

An overwhelming pressure shot from her body. Golden qi wiggled around her body as though the tendrils of a fiery sun.

The battle between two Peak Immortal Gods could rage on for months, years, decades, even. However, when one reaches a certain point in strength, maybe only several moments are necessary to decide a victor.

Unfortunately, Dyon no longer had that level of strength. And, his Junior Sister, even after awakening to her true strength, was still inferior to his true peak, a truth she seemed to still be oblivious to.

Deciding this battle in a short time for them was an impossibility

"[Infinite Palm]."

Aritzia's delicate voice entered Dyon's ears, a single dainty palm pushing slowly through the air. However, this singular palm carried the same momentum as Dyon's recently created [Last Call]. It felt as though it carried the pressure of a world.

Dyon's fighting intent blazed as well. He swung his scythe forward in a simple strike that combined everything of his recently created techniques.

BANG!

Their first collision was slow beyond compare. It felt as though they were each struggling against the pressure of the other's strike, walking through a wall of wind to reach their destination.

Their steps couldn't be paused, the light in their gazes only growing more and more furious with each passing moment.

The instant a small palm met the blade of a scythe, it was as though all the sound in the world had been sucked into a single point, unable to escape the singularity and painting the illusion that not a single thing had happened.

Then, it began.

Their slow strikes suddenly accelerated.

To one side, there was a blazing sun. Only every so often would one catch the profundity of a palm that seemed to slow one's concept of time, leaving one completely engrossed in its mysteries.

On the other, there was an abyss of darkness. From within it, a rainbow chain and scythe would occasionally snake outward, meeting the profundities of the palms with an overwhelming simplicity. It almost felt like watching a toddler practice their first set of martial techniques, putting all their effort forward and just barely coming to a point of being able to imitate their seniors.

Yet, these simple strikes seemed to carry the weight of the world.

However, as time went on, it really did seem like it was impossible to meet simplicity with complexity. The palms were simply too overwhelming.

It was impossible to tell when their exchange of strikes seemed to always take center stage, but a world had long since appeared around them.

When one looked at this world, it seemed obvious why one would avoid looking at it. Even a simple glance toward an ordinary flower would leave one with a splitting headache as though their souls had been drained in that very moment.

It felt as though too much information was coming all at once without any reprieve.