Final Regression of The Legendary Swordmaster Chapter 54

Edward pointed his sword straight at the Duke’s chest, the tip hovering only a short distance away. Mana surged around him in heavy waves, no longer suppressed and restrained by the Duke’s domain. The pressure rolled outward, shaking the broken remains of the battlefield. The Duke could feel it clearly now.

The sword art Edward had used moments ago was not something meant for simple combat. ’7-Star Sword Art: Form Nine - Dimensional Lash’ was a killing technique aimed directly at the source of a mage’s power. It ignored distance and defense, cutting through space itself to strike the mana core. Once damaged, a mana core could not recover easily. The flow of mana would collapse, cultivation would halt, and the mage would be reduced to a cripple in everything but name. For an Archmage, whose entire existence revolved around absolute dominance over mana, this fate could be seen as something far worse than death itself.

The Duke felt it with terrifying clarity. His mana would not respond. No matter how hard he tried to gather it, nothing answered. The sea of consciousness that once felt vast and powerful was now silent and fractured. Pain radiated outward from his core, dull and constant, like something broken beyond repair. Sweat formed on his face and ran down his neck despite the fading heat of the shattered domain. His breathing grew uneven as panic crept into his chest.

Still, the Duke straightened his posture. He forced a smug expression onto his face, masking fear behind pride. His lips curled into a tight smile as he looked at Edward standing above him with calm, unreadable eyes. He refused to beg. He refused to show weakness, even now.

"You think you’ve won," the Duke said, his voice strained but still carrying authority. "But killing me will not bring you peace. I am the brother of the king. My blood ties run deep through the royal family. If you kill me here, they will hunt you. They will send Archmages, knights, and assassins until you are buried."

He laughed weakly, forcing confidence where none remained. He gestured around them at the ruined estate, as if pointing to the scale of consequences. "This will not end with me. You will become a wanted man across the entire kingdom. You will lose everything. You will never know rest."

Edward did not respond. His sword remained steady, his mana continuing to surge quietly around him. His eyes did not flicker. He did not show anger, interest, or doubt. That silence pressed down harder than any insult or threat.

The Duke’s smile twitched. He swallowed and continued, raising his voice slightly. "Think carefully. Killing me brings you nothing. But sparing me could bring you everything. Titles. Protection. Power. You want the Marquis seat, don’t you? You want recognition. I can give you that."

Edward remained silent, unmoved by the Duke’s words.

The Duke’s composure began to crack. His voice sharpened as desperation slipped through. "Step back," he commanded, forcing authority into his tone. "Lower your sword. I will overlook everything you have done today. Everything. In return, I will make you Marquis. You will gain land, wealth, and status beyond what you imagined."

He clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms. "This is your chance. Take it."

Still, Edward did not respond.

The Duke’s face twisted in anger. "Do you hear me?" he shouted. "I am giving you mercy. You should be grateful. Step back now, and I will forget this ever happened."

Edward’s silence continued, unbroken and deliberate.

The Duke’s voice rose, sharp and furious. He began to shout, spittle flying as fear and rage mixed together. He accused Edward of arrogance, of ignorance, of not understanding the world. He spoke of power structures, of politics, of how strength alone could not protect someone forever. His words spilled out faster, louder, more frantic with every sentence.

But far from the center of the battlefield, Valerius stood among the ruins, leaning heavily on what remained of his strength. His armor was damaged, his breathing uneven, but his eyes were fixed on Edward. He watched everything in silence, the weight of what he had witnessed settling deeply into his mind.

An Archmage had fallen. Not through trickery or numbers, but through direct combat. Edward had shattered a domain, crippled a mana core, and now stood above the Duke with complete control. And Edward himself looked almost untouched. There were no deep wounds. No desperate gasps. Only calm.

Valerius felt something shift deep within him, subtle but undeniable, like the slow cracking of stone under pressure. He had trained his entire life, enduring relentless drills and endless pain. He had fought countless battles, sharpened his blade through victory and loss, and pushed his limits again and again until exhaustion became familiar. He had always believed that strength was born from discipline and experience, earned only through years of blood, sacrifice, and effort. And yet, Edward had overturned everything he thought he understood, tearing apart those beliefs.

This was not raw talent alone. This was not luck. This was something deeper. Edward fought with certainty, not hope. Every move carried intent, not desperation. He did not hesitate. He did not guess. It was as if he already knew the outcome before the battle began.

Valerius clenched his remaining hand, his fingers tightening until his knuckles turned pale. A deep sense of admiration welled up inside him, mixed with something far closer to awe. Edward was not simply strong. He was terrifying in a quiet, controlled way, the kind of force that did not announce itself with noise or spectacle, but still reshaped everything it touched simply by existing.

Valerius let out a slow, steady breath as the weight of that realization settled in his chest.

The world he understood was changing right in front of his eyes.

And Edward Vistro stood at the very center of that change.

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A/N: I hope you enjoy what your reading! Some power stones and gifts would be Very motivational for me.