Atticus's Odyssey: Reincarnated Into A Playground novel Chapter 922

Chapter 922 No Need

Cold.

The kind of cold that seeped into the bones, clawing past flesh and skin as though it had been waiting for an invitation.

It was more than physical; it was a chill that froze thoughts, paralyzed instincts, and made even the boldest creatures forget how to breathe.

This wasn't natural.

It wasn't of this world.

The wind, once dancing freely through the forest, had vanished. The forest had become a graveyard of sound, a stillness so complete it felt as though the world itself had forgotten how to move.

Even the ground seemed to lose its warmth, as though life itself was retreating under Yorowin's suffocating bloodlust, leaving behind a frozen, metallic void.

The metallic scent of blood grew heavier, more oppressive, as if the bloodlust itself had condensed into droplets, hanging in the air, waiting to drown anyone foolish enough to inhale.

The world fell silent.

And yet, despite the overwhelming coldness, despite the bloodlust that threatened to swallow everything in its path, it did nothing.

Absolutely nothing to shake Atticus.

He stood as still as a mountain, unyielding, unmoved by the storm around him. His gaze remained locked on Yorowin, unwavering, as if the centuries of power pressing down upon him were nothing more than a passing breeze.

And while it felt to all as if time had slowed, stretching the moment into an eternity, the truth was far more unsettling:

No time had passed. Not a second, not even a fraction.

As soon as Yorowin spoke, Atticus responded, his voice cutting through the suffocating stillness like a blade.

"No need."

The world froze.

Atticus's katana trembled, the vibrations so intense they rippled into the earth, cracking and fracturing it under the weight of an unseen force.

With a calmness that betrayed the chaos about to unfold, his hand reached for the hilt.

Then, an explosion of wind erupted from his body, tearing the ground apart in a violent display of raw power. The very air recoiled, as if afraid to come too close.

He moved.

Not through the air. Not like a streak of light. No.

That would imply he could be followed, tracked, or even seen.

To the blood shadows, to Cadence, to every Resonara present, Atticus simply vanished.

But to Grand Elder Yorowin, the world slowed to a crawl. His centuries-old instincts barely managed to keep up as his gaze flickered, straining to follow the boy's movement.

Then came Atticus's voice, echoing like a divine decree:

"Vorpal Nova."

The third art of the katana was a technique blending an uncountable number of slashes into a single, devastating crescent arc.

Executing it required unimaginable speed, each slash merging seamlessly into the next before they could even be seen.

But Atticus had transcended even that.

In his movements, there were no afterimages, no traces. His katana ascended and descended in one seamless motion, birthing an arc that screamed toward Yorowin like the scythe of a vengeful god.

The forest trembled. The earth split. The sky seemed to darken as the crescent surged forward, its edges slicing through the very fabric of existence.

Trees were reduced to splinters before they could even fall. The ground beneath the arc parted as if cleaved by the hands of a deity. _{freewebnøvel.coɱ}

Yorowin's eyes shot open, his entire being jolting in alarm. His centuries-honed instincts screamed one thing: danger.

The shock that surged through him was planetary in magnitude. A 17-year-old boy? Impossible.

But survival had been Yorowin's creed for centuries, and those instincts had never failed him. They wouldn't fail him now.

He raised his arm, summoning a blood shield that materialized in an instant.

This wasn't just any shield. It was a fortress of crimson energy, so dense it could have withstood the combined might of armies.

The air around it warped, trembling under its immense weight, as if reality itself struggled to accommodate its existence.

The world braced for impact, awaiting a blinding, earth-shaking collision that would obliterate everything in its path.

But it didn't come.

Atticus's gaze flickered. Then it happened.

As the arc reached the blood shield, the space around it twisted unnaturally. Reality folded in on itself, and the attack vanished, disappearing into the void as though consumed.

Yorowin's gaze wavered, disbelief creeping into his expression. Even his centuries of experience hadn't prepared him for this.

It teleported.

The arc reappeared in an instant, bypassing his impenetrable shield, now mere inches from his chest.

His eyes widened in utter shock, a profound disbelief that even a paragon would struggle to comprehend.