Hand Of God

Chapter 63 Why hadn’t he blocked?

Normally, it was the seniors giving the newcomers a hard time — but this time, it was almost reversed.

Both fighters took a few steps back.

A layer of cyan energy armor materialized around Ford’s body, and in his hand appeared an ancient bronze sword.

“This is my Sequence Weapon — B-107, an ancient bronze blade.”

“You’re new here, so you may not yet know what a Sequence Weapon is — in that aspect, I do have an advantage.”

Ford smiled slightly, almost apologetically.

“No problem. Go ahead.”

“Then watch closely!”

With a sharp cry, he shouted:

“Blossom of Falling Leaves — Sword Style!”

Without further words, he launched himself forward in a dazzling arc, sword spinning like a falling leaf — light, unpredictable, yet swift beyond measure.

Clearly, he was using a martial technique. His movements became ghostlike midair, vanishing and reappearing in an instant.

Adam stood still, unmoving, seemingly frozen in place — like a man lost in thought.

Yet within his eyes burned a different light — cold, analytical, and utterly detached.

The whistle of steel rang out as the bronze sword shot toward Adam’s abdomen. It seemed the match was about to end before it even began.

But in the next heartbeat, pale cold light erupted — frost spread across the arena.

Adam’s hand snapped out, conjuring an Energy Chain that lashed around Ford’s waist, yanking him forward.

He didn’t even bother dodging the incoming strike.

Instead, he summoned a crystalline ice blade and drove it straight toward Ford’s throat.

Adam had entered battle mode.

He had forgotten — forgotten that this battle was merely a challenge round between students.

His blood roared with the instincts forged in the battlefield — the very battlefield of two days prior, where death reigned like a meat grinder.

He had never learned any superpower skill.

From that fight, he had only learned one truth:

“Trade wounds for lives — a profitable exchange.”

His strikes were pure instinct — killing blows by nature.

For a fleeting moment, perhaps only 0.01 seconds, Ford's shocked gaze met Adam's.

What kind of eyes were those?

They were calm yet tinged with brutality, and carried an indifference toward both his own life and that of his enemies.

Why hadn’t he dodged? Why hadn’t he blocked?

Why had his first instinct been to take the full force of the sword, only to counter with a stab of his own?

Ford had been at the university for over three years now, and he wasn’t unfamiliar with fighting Acolytes. But even when facing those frenzied zealots, none of them had ever acted like Adam.

Ford couldn’t stop Adam anymore. The chains around Ford's waist yanked him forcefully toward Adam, as if this strike wasn’t something Ford wanted to deliver but rather something Adam compelled him to do.

"Stop! Hold it!"

In the blink of an eye, Thomas hastily called off the match. Space warped around them, freezing Ford’s sword and Adam’s ice blade mid-air, unable to move another inch.

But the outcome was already clear: a bronze sword hovered just above Adam’s abdomen, while Adam’s ice blade was mere millimeters away from Ford’s neck.

Had Thomas been even half a second late, blood would have undoubtedly spilled—one injured, one dead.

"Adam wins!" Thomas declared the result.

Ford stood frozen on the arena, not daring to move, drenched in cold sweat, his horrified gaze flickering toward the ice blade hovering near his throat.

So close… so damn close!

Years of rigorous training, endless refinement, watching himself grow stronger day by day—all with dreams of becoming a guardian of the world.

But just moments ago, he realized how close death had been—just seconds away.

Too dangerous!

Hearing Thomas’ voice, Adam’s eyes slowly regained their clarity, returning to their usual state.

"Sorry, I got caught up in battle mode and couldn’t hold back."

Adam retracted his ice blade and gave Ford an apologetic smile.

It was almost like PTSD—a remnant of war. Once he entered combat, he reverted entirely to the state he’d been in during those three grueling hours defending Doyles Stadium alone.

That experience, a meat grinder of a battle lasting three hours, had been etched into his very genes.

Ford watched as Adam returned to his lazy, friendly demeanor within a second, leaving him speechless. He forced out an awkward, unnatural grin.

"It’s fine... I’m no match for you. You’re really strong."

With that, he naturally stepped backward, putting distance between himself and Adam, as if standing too close might be hazardous.

Looking at Adam’s relaxed posture now, compared to those cold, brutal eyes he saw during the fight, Ford couldn’t help but suspect Adam might have dissociative identity disorder.

One thought dominated his mind now—this guy is ruthless. Never provoke him.

Though the battle seemed long when recounted, it actually happened in a flash.

To the students watching below, Adam and Ford exchanged polite words before the clash ended in the blink of an eye.

Many hadn’t even seen what happened clearly, and the result was announced almost instantly. It felt anticlimactic.

They had hoped for a spectacular collision of superpowers, a dazzling display of colors—but it ended too quickly, leaving them disappointed.

Still, there were sharp-eyed observers among the crowd.

On the stands, many senior students had witnessed the entire fight. Now, they all felt a chill run down their spines.

"This guy is the top freshman? Seriously? Such intense killing intent."

"Where did President Freud find such a monster? Is he even a student? I’d believe it if you told me he’s a serial killer."

"Don’t provoke him, just stay far away."

All the seniors fell silent, engraving Adam’s laid-back face deep into their memories.

—This guy is a wolf in sheep’s clothing!

The crowd gradually dispersed, and this year’s freshman celebration concluded in a peculiar manner.

That final match was recorded by several students, and it would soon spread wildly across the university forums in the coming days.

Adam, the top freshman, had firmly secured his reputation. At this point, Edward approached him, exchanged a few words, and shook hands with him.

Of course, Henry, the oddball, tagged along too.

"Boss! You saved me that day! Wow, thank you so much! If you ever need anything, please feel free to command me!" Henry clutched Adam’s hand, tears streaming down his face.

Adam: "I hope you can act more normal—and stop calling me boss."

Henry: "Got it, boss! Anything you need me to do?"

Adam: "...Just go cool off somewhere."

Henry: "But boss, it’s scorching outside. The only way to cool off is to go back inside and turn on the AC."

Adam: "Then go back inside!"

Henry: "Alright, boss! Should I bring you breakfast tomorrow?"

Adam: "..."

Meanwhile, Vice President Alina Smith of Orienta University grabbed Thomas by the sleeve, her expression serious.

"What’s going on with this kid? What has he been through?"

"He’s still so young! How could he have such murderous intent? You said he accomplished something significant recently—what exactly was it?!"

Thomas paused for a few seconds before replying:

"Due to special circumstances, he was left to defend a location alone against the Acolytes for over three hours."

"At least a hundred bodies, mostly intact. That battle pushed him to level 5. I didn’t expect him to handle it so perfectly."

Upon hearing this outrageous number, Smith gasped, gritting her teeth.

"How could you let this happen! He’s still so young! His mental fortitude isn’t fully developed! How could you—"

"There was no other choice. None of us could stay there at the time. "

"You should have found another solution! You—" Before Smith could finish, Thomas suddenly glanced toward the crowd of students and quickly pulled away from Smith’s grip.

"We’ll talk later. I need to find someone—I’m worried she might stray onto the wrong path."