Re-Awakening: I Ascend with a Legendary class

Chapter 532: Hexer Cursed Swordsman

The crowd of Regalons below the great living tree buzzed with restrained tension — the aftermath of Marcus’s overwhelming victory still rippled through the branches like thunder in slow motion.

Noah landed gracefully upon the wooden platform.

Before him stood Lorak, the second Quasic Demon brother. His body shimmered faintly like glass polished to perfection, wings woven from translucent crystal, horns curling backward in jagged arcs. His weapon, a curved saber forged of shifting, mirrored metal, reflected not just light, but intent.

“Another young one?” Lorak asked, tilting his head. His eyes gleamed silver.

Noah drew his sword from the air. A sleek, double-edged greatsword crafted from exotic steel, its edge faintly glowing blue as it hummed with wind and lightning.

Then he moved.

A flash of azure light tore through the arena as Noah lunged, cutting the distance between them in less than a heartbeat. His greatsword swung in a tight arc, the air behind it roaring.

Lorak’s mirrored saber rose to meet it.

The clash erupted with a burst of refracted light — shards of rainbow radiance spinning outward like broken glass.

“Fast,” Lorak said, sliding back slightly. “But predictable.”

Noah pressed in again, lightning bursting beneath his feet, each step leaving an afterimage of crackling energy. He unleashed a second strike, heavier and sharper, followed by a spinning slash that howled like a cyclone.

Lorak met every blow effortlessly. His body shimmered, splitting into faint translucent copies — reflections moving half a second ahead of him.

Noah’s sword struck one of them cleanly — only for the blade to pass straight through.

The real Lorak appeared behind him, whispering, “Your edge doesn’t cut where I exist.”

The saber struck.

A clean, slicing impact across Noah’s shoulder sent him skidding backward, boots carving grooves into the wood. Blood flickered briefly before turning to sparks of blue lightning that dissolved into air.

Noah grimaced, wiping his mouth. “You bend space with reflections.”

“Perception is my domain,” Lorak replied. “I fight in every angle but the one you see.”

Noah charged again, this time drawing the storm into his sword — a pillar of light and wind gathered along the edge.

“Storm Fang—!”

He swung.

The explosion of force split the sky, cleaving the branch’s edge clean in two. The lightning flash engulfed Lorak—

—but when it faded, the demon stood untouched. His mirrored wings had curved inward, refracting Noah’s own power back at him.

The shockwave hit Noah’s chest like a hammer, hurling him back through splintered bark.

He coughed, his grip loosening as his sword’s glow dimmed.

Lorak lowered his weapon.

Noah tried to stand, knees shaking, but the demon was already in front of him. Lorak’s power was straining and restricting him, essentially overpowering him.

“Yield.”

Noah gritted his teeth but said nothing. His fingers tightened once more around his sword’s hilt, a faint spark of wind flickering.

And vanished.

He fell to one knee, breath ragged, eyes clouded by pain.

Lorak turned away. “Next.”

Before anyone could speak, the entire battleground quaked.

The air turned dense, heavy.

A single step echoed across the platform.

Lorak turned, confusion flashing across his face as every reflection of himself froze — every shimmer locked in place like glass turned to stone.

“Old bat, if you lost, I’ll fight you.” Silvesters snorted. He wanted to fight, but Hiroshi won the dice roll.

The air around the battleground thickened, vibrating faintly with the echo of a presence — calm, sharp, and impossibly still.

Lorak turned, his many reflections flickering like glass under pressure. Every mirrored copy of him wavered, then froze, cracks running through their translucent forms. His silver eyes narrowed.

Someone had arrived.

A man stepped through the trembling air, hands tucked neatly into the pockets of a long black coat that brushed against his ankles. His hair — deep black, with subtle streaks of grey at the edges — was tied back loosely, allowing thin strands to fall near his sharp, composed face. He wore a crisp, dark shirt beneath the coat, sleeves folded to his forearms. Around his waist rested a lacquered katana with a silver guard shaped like a crescent bloom.

Each of his movements carried precision — effortless, measured, like a man who had lived a hundred battles and learned to turn grace into lethality.

Hiroshi.

He paused just at the edge of the broken branch, gazing at Lorak with disinterest. “You made the kid kneel by controlling him.” His voice was low, even, the kind that carried without needing force. “I don’t like that.”

Lorak’s wings folded slightly, crystalline light bending around his form. “And you are?”

“Just an old man with some free time,” Hiroshi said, sliding his hand along the katana’s sheath. “Try not to disappoint me.”

Laughs and chuckles swept through the Regalons below.

“Old fart is putting on a show.”

“Look at him showing off.”

“He changed his looks fast.”

Hiroshi’s vein popped as he ignored the comments.

Lorak smiled thinly. ” I don’t see you beating me. I fight beyond reflection. I move between perception and truth.”

Hiroshi’s gaze didn’t waver. “Then stop talking and move.”

Lorak’s mirrored saber flared instantly — a prism of color bursting forth, filling the air with refracted afterimages. His body multiplied into eight luminous copies, surrounding Hiroshi from every direction.

In the blink of an eye, all eight struck.

The world split into mirrored arcs. Blades crossed, light bent, reality folded.

For an instant, Hiroshi was gone — sliced, carved, erased from vision.

Lorak smirked. “Another illusion shattered.”

Then, faintly…a click.

The sound came from right behind him.

“Too loud,” Hiroshi murmured.

Lorak’s body froze mid-motion. The mirror clones shattered like brittle glass, falling away into motes of dim light. A faint pink glow danced through the air — small, delicate, and entirely out of place amid the carnage.

Petals.

Hundreds of them, drifting soundlessly in a perfect spiral.

Lorak turned sharply, swinging his saber with panic — but his arm was already bleeding, the mirrored steel in his hand cracking. “When—?!”

Hiroshi’s hand rested calmly on his hilt, his blade still sheathed.

“You create reflections,” he said softly. “I cut cause and effect.”

Lorak’s face twisted. “You—!”

“Petal Draw: Falling Bloom.”

The katana moved — so fast it seemed still.

A ripple spread outward from Hiroshi, silent and devastating. The petals followed the wave, drifting lazily through the air — until they passed through Lorak.

For a heartbeat, nothing happened.

Then — shing!

Lines of silver light opened across the demon’s body. Dozens. Hundreds. Each one precise, effortless, final.

Lorak’s mirrored wings shattered. His saber fell in two pieces. His crystal body began to fracture, light spilling from within.

He stumbled forward, eyes wide. “That… blade— it infiltrates-”

Hiroshi slid his katana back into its sheath with a soft, almost dismissive click. “I told you not to disappoint me.”

The faint wind brushed past as Lorak’s form split apart — dissolving into fine, glittering dust. The battle ended before anyone could even exhale.

“That was good.” Vier clapped.

“Hiroshi, that bastard cooked something good.” Rudra chuckled.

Almond looked at Rudra. “That was…his power.”

“Who?” Lily blinked. “I know Hiroshi didn’t have that True Concept before. He just revealed it now. Did he get it during the mission?”

“It has the essence of senior Shiro-sen,” Almond answered.

“Him?” Lily’s eyes flickered as she visited the past in her mind, during the Grimworld Tutorial’s final phase, the war with three other worlds.

“Shiro was in the same realm of power as me in his field. Mysteries, curses, souls, and spirit. He had eyes that could see many things, and ideas utterly mystic,” Admiral Rudra said, a faint smile tugging on his lips. “Hiroshi just acquired a True Concept that has Shiro’s essence, his field, completely embodying it.”

“Let’s say that Hiroshi is now a Hexer Curse Swordsman.”

…

Lorak revived nearby, kneeling with utter shock in his eyes.

He was killed. Instantly.

’His power infiltrates into others by using perfect illusion that even convinces others that it is a part of it. But how…he needs to observe and copy everything, but how does he get all that?’

Suddenly, Vier’s voice rang in his ears. ’It’s a curse-based power. He cursed you three times during your conversation. If you had discovered them, they would have automatically nullified, but he is good. He can infiltrate your senses, and the curse is activated, giving him a blueprint of your power, which he just had to mold into his and infiltrate your body.’

’Brilliant.’

“He is rough on the edges, but it looks like he’ll get strong,” Vier said as he glanced at Hiroshi in a staring contest with Silvester.

“But now it will be difficult.” Vier turned his gaze towards the trio.

“The remaining five, including me, are a cut above the other three.”

“That’s good.” Almond grinned. “It’s not fun if it’s not challenging. My people get strong when they face stronger.”