Final Lord

Chapter 303 Cat God

Pietro's boots sank deep into the soft, decaying leaves of the Sunset Mountains, each step accompanied by a subtle rustling sound, as if the entire forest held its breath, listening to his intrusion.

He gripped the hilt of the Crimson Flame Longsword tightly in his right hand, his knuckles turning slightly white from the force. The flame runes inside the scabbard faintly glowed with a dark red light, ready to burst forth at any moment.

The forest was eerily quiet—no birdsong, no insect chirps, even the wind seemed still. The shadows of the towering ancient trees stretched out like ghosts, and the sunlight filtering through the twisted branches appeared deliberately extinguished by some force, leaving only dappled, cold spots of light. Pietro's Adam's apple bobbed, and a fine layer of cold sweat broke out on his back.

Something is watching him!
He could feel that gaze—cold and sharp, like a blade slicing through his skin. But no matter how intently he tried to sense it, there was nothing around him except for the lifeless ancient trees. This oppressive feeling of being completely seen through yet unable to pinpoint the other person's presence stretched his nerves to the limit.

Sudden--

An invisible pressure surged from behind like a tide, causing Pietro's pupils to contract sharply and his muscles to tense instantly. He whirled around, his crimson longsword flashing half an inch from its sheath with a clang, flames dancing on the blade and illuminating his taut face—

Three meters away, on a decaying tree stump, a pure white cat was sitting quietly.

It was small in size, yet exuded a suffocating majesty. A single, crystalline horn on its forehead gleamed coldly in the shadows, and its golden, vertical pupils, like molten gold, stared icily at Pietro.

Pietro's breath hitched for a moment. As a level 6 Crimson Flame Swordsman, he felt an instinctive tremor in front of this cat—like the deep-seated awe he felt when he first faced his father's sword as a child.

"A cat?" Pietro's throat tightened involuntarily, and his right hand instinctively gripped the hilt of the Crimson Flame Longsword. His knuckles turned slightly white from the force, and the flame runes inside the scabbard faintly glowed with a dark red light.

Although the creature before him resembled a house cat, the oppressive aura surrounding it was so real that it made his skin involuntarily tense up.

Its snow-white fur gleamed like pearls in the sunlight, and its golden vertical pupils seemed to flow with molten gold, cold and profound. Most unsettling of all was the single, crystalline horn that grew on its forehead, its surface covered with ancient runes that flickered with its breath.

Pietro's pupils contracted slightly. As the most renowned young swordsman in the capital, he had seen countless rare and exotic beasts, but he had never seen such a peculiar existence.

This was definitely not a feline creature; it was a new species he had never seen before!

however--

As he focused on sensing the other party's rank, his tense nerves suddenly relaxed.

The opponent is only at the fourth level of the Extraordinary Realm!
Pietro's taut shoulders relaxed slightly, and his slender fingers gently caressed the hilt of his sword, the knuckles showing thin calluses from years of sword practice.

He was not careless.

As the direct disciple of the Crimson Flame Sword Saint and a recognized leader among the younger generation of swordsmen in the capital, he deeply understood the principle that "even a lion uses its full strength to hunt a rabbit." Although his opponent's strength was not high, the oppressive aura was definitely not fake.

However, surrendering without a fight was not in Pietro's nature. When faced with a tough situation, he always wanted to test the waters.

“Excuse me,” Pietro murmured, the tip of his boot tracing an elegant half-circle on the decaying leaves.

The morning light filtered through the trees and fell on his embroidered stand-up collar, making his angular face appear even more noble.

Before drawing his sword, he even bowed slightly, as was customary in noble duels. The scabbard, covered in mithril patterns, became a blur, precisely piercing the empty space three inches from the white cat's throat.

This "Dawn Greeting" is a probing sword technique passed down through the Stans family. It appears fierce but actually leaves room for maneuver, so as not to actually hurt the opponent, but to force out the instinctive reactions of most enemies.

A calculating glint flashed in Pietro's emerald eyes. He had already mentally rehearsed seventeen possible responses, even calculating exactly how to gracefully sheathe his sword when the opponent panicked and fled.

however--

Just as the scabbard was about to touch that snow-white figure, Little Fufu's figure suddenly became ethereal, rippling outwards like a reflection in water shattered by a pebble. Pietro felt the scabbard pierce into nothingness; his fierce attack hadn't even touched a single cat hair.

"Impossible!" Pietro's pupils suddenly contracted to the size of pinpoints, and his heart pounded violently in his chest, almost breaking his ribs.

Pietro was very strong, but precisely because he was strong, he couldn't believe what he was feeling.

Pietro's wrist trembled slightly as he gripped the sword, the calluses from years of sword practice sending a burning pain through him.

Just as his sword was about to touch his opponent, he clearly felt thirty extremely subtle vibrations travel along the blade, as if thirty attacks were landing on his blade in succession.

When he looked closely, the one-horned white cat had already gracefully crouched back in its original spot, slowly licking its front paws.

“A hallucination…it must be a hallucination!” Pietro muttered to himself, a fine layer of cold sweat beading on his forehead. But when he looked at his sword, his breath caught in his throat.

On his sword, which could cut through iron like mud, a simple cat face made of fine carvings suddenly appeared: three whiskers were symmetrically distributed, and the wide-open eyes even had a hint of mockery.

“Compared to its speed,” Pietro’s Adam’s apple bobbed laboredly, cold sweat trickling down his temples, “I feel like an insect trapped in amber, frozen in time.”

His trembling fingertips traced the engravings on the sword. Each line was so precise, as if measured with a ruler, and the uniform depth of the scratches revealed the terrifying control the opponent had over power.

Little Fufu slowly licked its paws, a hint of mockery flashing in its golden, vertical pupils. Its voice floated lightly into Pietro's ears, yet carried an undeniable air of authority:
“I sensed that you didn’t intend to kill me just now, otherwise you would be a corpse by now.” It paused, then flicked its tail slightly. “I’ll remember your offense. You’ll have to find a way to make amends.”

Pietro's Adam's apple bobbed laboriously, as if he were swallowing a piece of burning coal.

His mouth was as dry as a desert, and even the tip of his tongue was slightly numb from shock. His right hand, which was holding the sword, trembled uncontrollably, and his knuckles turned bluish-white from excessive force—these hands, which had won the crown in the royal capital's swordsmanship competition, could barely hold the hilt of the sword.

He still had many trump cards and special skills he hadn't used, but faced with the opponent's terrifying speed, all his methods were like a joke.

The terrifying sense of oppression emanating from the other person was something even his teacher couldn't provide.

He slowly sheathed his crimson longsword, the sound of metal scraping against leather jarring in the deathly silence of the forest. With a perfect noble curtsy, his embroidered stand-up collar fell onto the decaying leaves, stained with dirt and morning dew. This usually proud young swordsman lowered his head to an unprecedented angle, even his breathing deliberately becoming softer.

(End of this chapter)