Previously on MIGHT AS WELL BE OP...
Anthony and Lucian have engaged in a duel of apocalyptic proportions, fueled by raw physical strength and absolute mastery of the blade. Their clash has escalated far beyond the limits of a traditional battlefield, shattering reality and obliterating entire planes of existence through the sheer force of their strikes. As they move through the void with terrifying speed, planets are cleaved apart and stars are detonated by the mere wake of their katanas. Driven by a primal obsession with the sword, the two combatants continue their relentless exchange across the galaxy, leaving a trail of cosmic devastation in their path.
Klaus set to work without delay. With a sharp snap of his fingers, he birthed a new, isolated plane from the void itself. Recognizing that Anthony and Lucian were no ordinary men—but literal monsters in human skin—he reinforced the foundations of this world, strengthening every law of reality within it. Once the construction of this fresh battlefield was complete, another snap of his fingers teleported both combatants directly into the heart of the arena.
Anthony and Lucian offered no resistance, aware that it was Klaus orchestrating their movement. The moment their feet touched the hardened earth of the new plane, they erupted forward like shells fired from opposing cannons. They collided with a violence suggesting two eternal nemeses who could not coexist; one had to be extinguished. Between them, there was no room for peace—only an endless, eternal cycle of violence.
A broad grin stretched across Anthony’s face. He had to confess that no opponent had ever exerted such intense pressure on him in a duel of sword and blade. Never before had his spirit been pushed so restlessly or so violently. Lucian Darkheart was the living embodiment of the katana. In terms of pure katanamanship, even Warlord Raelith seemed dull by comparison. As for Spectre, he was merely a flickering candle, while Lucian stood as an absolute, blazing sun.
And Anthony was relishing every second of it.
He had once believed his father, Raelith, and Spectre represented the peak of natural sword talent, but Lucian was ruthlessly proving him wrong. As a man who lived and breathed the blade, how could Anthony not be joyful? He was intoxicated by the clash, drunk on the sheer madness of steel and intent. To truly honor such a moment, he had to push harder, escalating the tempo of their mutual insanity. Whether Lucian could adapt to the impending storm was a question Anthony intended to answer immediately.
Furthermore, since Lucian was the one pulling this side out of him, he would have to take full responsibility for the consequences, wouldn't he?
With a predatory grin that mirrored his father’s, Anthony’s strength and speed exploded. Any limits he had felt earlier were shattered as he raised the pace exactly as he had planned. His katana vibrated in his grip, humming as if the weapon itself was enjoying the chaos, desperate to sing through both flesh and steel.
Anthony lunged.
His blade whipped in from the left, moving with the piercing, direct lethality of a rapier rather than a traditional katana. Though momentarily startled by the sudden surge in speed, Lucian’s adaptation was instantaneous and almost supernatural. He wasn't truly shocked by the rising intensity; he had expected this from Null Anthony. He had expected this from the protagonist—the one favored by ???.
Lucian’s katana blurred into a parry, but Anthony’s blade shifted its trajectory in mid-air. With a flick of his wrist, the katana redirected its path from Lucian’s ribs toward his spleen in a heartbeat. Lucian’s reaction was just as rapid. His blade altered its course as if he had read Anthony’s intent before the move even began, intercepting the strike with uncanny precision.
A deafening, thunderous clang rang out as the weapons met once more. By now, the blades were changing color, turning from polished silver to a glowing crimson due to the heat generated by their relentless friction. Sparks sprayed into the air with every contact, but the external world had vanished. Everything had narrowed down to steel, willpower, and instinct.
Without a pause, Anthony followed up. His movements flowed like a torrential river, his strikes raining down like an endless barrage of bullets.
Left. Right. Right. Left. High. Low. Side. High. High.
Angles were irrelevant now. Wherever a direction existed, his sword was already there. His hand became a hazy blur, filling the space as if a thousand hands were moving as one. Anthony had evolved into a sword demon, a madman entirely devoted to the katana, his very soul consumed by the edge of the blade.
Yet, within that ferocity, a burning expectation flickered in his eyes. He expected Lucian to block every blow. He expected Lucian to parry every strike. He expected Lucian to remain unharmed. He expected Lucian to...
Lucian failed none of those expectations.
He met Anthony’s frantic onslaught with an ease that was almost insulting. Lucian’s form dissolved into countless afterimages as he met every attack head-on. He did not retreat; he did not dodge. He met blade with blade, refusing to yield even a single inch of ground. In that moment, Lucian stood like an immovable mountain—unshaken and unfallen. He appeared as a man who had spent countless eons doing nothing but mastering the defensive arts of the katana.
Anthony’s eyes blazed with brilliance at the sight. Mesmerized by the display, a single word echoed through his mind.
