Hand Of God

Chapter 98 Sonic Blade

The sudden voice stunned Adam. He faltered mid-motion, certain he’d misheard.

But before he could react, the black sword was already at his throat.

He arched backward in a desperate *iron bridge* maneuver—barely evading the blade—but two fresh gashes ripped open across his back.

Though there was only one physical sword, its killing intent radiated from every direction like a storm of phantom blades.

Ignoring the pain, Adam called out, testing the connection:

“Your name’s Hadrian? Did you just speak to me? What do you mean?”

The figure in black gave no reaction. His ink-black eyes remained empty, unreadable—but his sword never ceased its lethal dance, tracing death at every vital point around Adam’s body.

Then, the voice echoed again—this time clearer, trembling with disbelief.

[Hadrian: You… you can hear me?!]

Adam thickened his ice armor, deflecting the crushing pressure of the sword aura, astonishment flashing through him.

This was the first time *Hearing of Everything* had ever picked up someone’s *inner voice*—not sound, but thought.

Judging by the man’s hollow eyes and mechanical movements, Hadrian was clearly under some form of control.

Dodging another flurry of strikes, Adam kept retreating, blood streaking his arms and chest.

Levin, watching from the edge of the ruined factory, frowned. “Kid, you holding up? I’ve gotta chase the others.”

“Don’t go dying on me.”

“Worry about your own gut wound,” Adam shot back. “You sure you can even run?”

In that moment, they weren’t master and disciple anymore. They were comrades-in-arms.

Levin stood, gave Adam one last look, then clenched his abdominal muscles—granite-like tissue sealing the wound shut, halting the blood flow. Without another word, he blasted through the debris and vanished into the city.

Dust swirled in the silent factory. Only Adam and Hadrian remained.

“I can hear you,” Adam said, baton raised, deflecting another lethal arc. “Are you being controlled?”

At the sound of his voice, Hadrian’s inner presence surged with raw emotion.

[Hadrian: I didn’t betray anyone! Hadrian Russell never betrayed humanity!]

[Hadrian: I didn’t—I didn’t—]

His mental voice frayed into static, overwhelmed by anguish.

“Is there any way I can help?” Adam panted, blocking a strike that nearly severed his arm. “When that big guy gets back, we’ll pin you down, get you free from this thing.”

He wasn’t holding back out of fear of hurting Hadrian—he was simply *losing*.

Adam had fought sword-wielders before: Acolytes, upperclassmen, even elite duelists. But compared to Hadrian, they were like children playing with sticks.

His blade carried the weight of *supremacy*—relentless, elegant, suffocating. Every strike felt like judgment itself.

Adam was certain: this was a legendary human warrior, somehow enslaved by the enemy.

But after his offer, silence.

Just as Adam wondered if the link had broken, a tidal wave of emotion crashed into his mind—hate, grief, agony, and beneath it all, bottomless despair.

Adam gasped, choking like a drowning man clawing for air.

[Hadrian: No… don’t save me. I don’t deserve to live.]

[Hadrian: Please… kill me. You *have* to.]

[Hadrian: My hands are soaked in blood.]

[Hadrian: I thought my Sonic Blade would protect this world… protect the people I loved…]

[Hadrian: But in the end… I killed my wife. My child. My comrades. My brothers.]

[Hadrian: AAAAAAAAH!]

Hadrian’s soul screamed—yet his body remained eerily calm, a hollow vessel executing perfect, emotionless s*******r.

As the psychic storm raged, fragmented memories flooded Adam’s mind:

*At twenty-seven, Hadrian Russell reached Paragon-tier, ascended to level-5. Dubbed the wielder of the world’s strongest blade, he traveled alone, fearless, unstoppable.*

*For over a decade, the Sonic Blade carved terror into every Acolyte’s heart.*

*“I don’t believe in Deities,” he once declared at thirty-eight, upon breaking into level-6. “Because if one existed… wouldn’t I be the Deity of Swords?”*

But brilliance invites darkness.

During a mission, he was captured by a Rampant-tier Deity—and turned into a living puppet.

From that day on, his blade turned on humanity.

The hero became a monster. His name erased from history, dismissed as a madman who “lost his mind.”

Years of torment had eroded his power—once peerless, now diminished.

*Thankfully.* Or Adam would already be dead.

Feeling the weight of Hadrian’s suffering, Adam’s chest tightened with sorrow—then ignited into white-hot fury.

So this man had been forced to watch, helpless, as his own hands slaughtered his family and brothers.

Now Adam understood the source of that oceanic despair.

*If it were me…* He couldn’t finish the thought.

No wonder Hadrian begged for death. He must have prayed for it every second.

Then—Adam noticed something.

Black-red tears began streaming from Hadrian’s empty eyes.

And in that moment, Adam sensed it: a flicker of chaos in the otherwise flawless sword rhythm.

*Now.*

He lunged through the storm of blades, taking dozens of cuts, and slammed his palm into Hadrian’s chest.

“Ice Tempest!”

A deafening explosion erupted. Black smoke and a foul stench poured from Hadrian’s body.

[Hadrian: Good… keep going.]

[Hadrian: Do it. Let me go.]

[Hadrian: Such a shame… the world’s greatest sword… won’t guard this world anymore…]

Hearing those final words, Adam’s resolve hardened.

He seized Hadrian’s shoulders—and activated *Hand of God*.

“Probability,” he whispered fiercely, “help me out for once!”

“After all these days of failed copies…

**Let me keep his power!**”

For the first time, Adam didn’t just *want* an ability.

He *needed* it—to honor the sword that chose to die rather than serve evil.