Wednesday: The Strongest Psychic

Chapter 242 – Fruits of training

Luke used Shambles and appeared just one meter away from Mortimer. There was no sound, just an abrupt shift in space.

The old man barely had time to open his eyes and take a step back, but it was already too late.

Luke had already unleashed the slash. He moved Eclipse in a straight line, as if executing a clean cut through the air.

The runes on the blade glowed briefly. Condensed telekinetic energy, ten tons, was projected forward.

A visible, razor-sharp wave sliced through the air at high speed toward Mortimer.

“Tsch,” Mortimer clicked his tongue, reacting as fast as he could. His instinct saved him from being killed on the spot.

Raising both hands, he formed a telekinetic shield with 35 tons of resistance. He couldn’t summon his most powerful shield, this was the best he could muster in under a second.

The shield appeared as a transparent, tense dome, curved and formed just inches in front of his body.

Just enough to intercept the slash.

However, the shield was not enough.

Luke’s slash hit with full force. Eclipse was a conduit of absolute precision.

A relic designed to channel telekinetic force perfectly, with no dispersion or loss.

Mortimer had formed a telekinetic shield with roughly 35 tons of raw resistance.

Luke had unleashed a 10-ton slash.

Mathematically, it seemed unbalanced, the shield had over triple the force.

But the problem was something else.

This wasn’t a battle of strength versus strength. It was a matter of energy concentration.

Luke had condensed ten tons into an extremely thin and controlled edge. A projected slash, not as a wide impact, but as a blade of pure pressure.

And in physics, concentrating force into a tiny area (the sharp edge of the slash) massively increases pressure.

Mortimer’s shield absorbed part of the blow, yes. It slowed it. Reduced its final strength, but the pressure was too high.

The shield lasted barely a second. After that, it cracked like glass under direct puncture.

It didn’t explode.

It split, and the slash, though weakened, passed through.

The remaining energy wasn’t full, but still had enough power.

At the last second, Mortimer managed to create a telekinetic burst to push himself away, but his arm was grazed by the slash.

It wasn’t severed, but a deep, clean wound was left behind.

Mortimer immediately retreated, launching himself backward with telekinesis, clutching the wound with gritted teeth.

“That sword…” Mortimer muttered through clenched teeth, eyes fixed on Luke, “The Poe Soul Weapon.”

His expression darkened. He had thought killing Luke would be easy.

He knew Luke had three auras. That alone was exceptional.

But even with that combination, Mortimer had assessed him as a manageable target. He estimated Luke’s telekinetic strength at ten tons, maybe twenty at most.

He, on the other hand, could handle over seventy tons. He had even brought a mid-level demon with him, in case Luke tried to escape.

Everything pointed to a swift victory.

And yet… in their very first clash, he had been wounded. He hadn’t imagined Luke possessed the Poe Soul Weapon. The same weapon that had killed Elliot’s father, an artifact whose attacks were deadly.

As for the battle between Luke and Elliot, no one believed Luke had killed Elliot. The credit was given to Fester and Gomez.

Luke, instead, was praised for surviving, an admirable feat, but he had ended up in a coma for over a week. That’s why he didn’t attend the trial that marked the fall of the Spellmans and the start of the war.

Thus, Mortimer and the other high-ranking members of the Spellman family did not consider Luke a serious threat. Only he, along with the demon capable of tracking Luke by scent had been sent here.

“What’s wrong, Mortimer?” said Luke with a slight mocking smile, resting Eclipse on his shoulder, “You looked like you came here to kill me, but now… you’re scared.”

He walked forward calmly, as if strolling through a school hallway, not a battlefield.

‘Mind reading…’ Mortimer thought, frowning, blood still dripping from his wounded arm.

“Shut up, brat. That arrogance… it’s exactly what will get you killed,” Mortimer growled, raising his staff, “Every second you talk… is precious time you’re wasting.”

After saying this, he extended the staff forward, and the ground trembled.

Seventy tons of compressed force surged forward in a vortex, dragging with it chunks of concrete, twisted steel, and scalding vapor toward Luke.

A frontal, brutal onslaught with a velocity Mortimer believed impossible for Luke to dodge, given the distance and the full force put into the strike.

However, Luke had already activated his future vision and had seen the attack coming, allowing him to react.

A second before the strike began, his expression changed and he moved, “Shambles.”

And just as he vanished, the attack struck his previous location, obliterating everything in its path.

Mortimer’s attack didn’t just carry immense destructive power; its speed was extreme. Had Luke not used his future vision, dodging it would have been impossible.

Luke reappeared just a few meters away from Mortimer. Eclipse was already charged. Telekinetic waves began to flow once more along the blade.

The spatial shift was minimal, but Mortimer felt it, a subtle disturbance in air pressure.

He turned instantly. His reflexes were far sharper than Luke had expected.

Mortimer acted without hesitation, “Die!” he roared, channeling his entire telekinetic force onto the spot where Luke had just appeared.

Seventy tons of pure pressure.

Not like a strike, but like a downward force, direct and brutal.

Absolute crushing.

Anything caught in that spot would be turned into an unrecognizable mass.

And so it happened.

Luke’s body was crushed by the invisible force, collapsing in on itself as if a mountain had fallen on him.

Mortimer lowered his staff, exhaling violently, his breathing ragged, “Heh, that’s the end of you, brat,” muttered with a faint smile.

But no. That wasn’t the end.

The body began to fall apart.

Not into blood, but into crows.

A black swarm burst from the point of impact, flying in erratic directions, feathers scattering with sharp, dry sounds.

“What…?” Mortimer muttered, frozen in place.

It had been an illusion.

A mental projection that had altered all his senses: sight, sound—even his energy field.

Luke hadn’t just manipulated his perception.

He had left Eclipse stabbed into the exact spot of the illusion, which had further convinced Mortimer of its authenticity.

It was too late for Mortimer to react.

Luke was already behind him. Before Mortimer could turn his head, he felt two firm hands grip his arms, one on each side.

Without hesitation, Luke pulled with force. His body, trained for months under the Green Aura, possessed two tons of raw strength.

Both arms tore from Mortimer’s shoulders with a brutal, dry snap.

Mortimer dropped to his knees with a hoarse, guttural scream.

Blood gushed from his empty shoulders, soaking his black robes in scarlet within seconds.

And yet, he reacted. One final, desperate action.

With a scream of rage, Mortimer activated his telekinesis.

Not from his arms, they were gone, but directly from his mind.

A brutal wave of energy was unleashed backward, aimed straight at Luke, who was still behind him.

Even weakened, with his body collapsing and his aura trembling, he was still capable of moving several tons with that burst.

Enough to crush anyone, or launch them into the air like a ragdoll.

But once again, Luke was no longer there. He had vanished again.

Once more, Mortimer sensed the shift in space before he could understand it. The air grew denser to his left.

And when he turned, his face twisted in pain, he saw him.

Luke was standing beside Eclipse, pulling it from the ground, and then he looked at him.

A look without urgency, without contempt, one that made Mortimer shudder.

“This is the first time I’ve fought a telepath to the death… I have to say, it was a good fight, even if it didn’t last long. That last shield of yours must’ve been over thirty tons, right?” said Luke, as if talking about a friendly sparring session.

He spoke as if they weren’t in the middle of a battlefield.

As if Mortimer weren’t bleeding out on his knees before him.

Mortimer could barely breathe. The pain was constant, overwhelming. Blood soaked his robes and the ground around him.

“Although fighting Elliot… and killing him… was way more exciting,” Luke added, now looking at Mortimer with a sneer of disdain.

“What…? You…” Mortimer murmured in shock, but before he could say anything, or even attempt another futile counterattack, Luke snapped his fingers.

The dry sound echoed near the old man.

And the Mental Pain Induction was activated.

Thousands of invisible needles pierced Mortimer’s mind in an instant, shredding his thoughts, crushing his senses.

They didn’t make him bleed. There were no visible wounds.

Only unbearable pain, indescribable agony, as if his very soul were being torn out from inside his skull.

Mortimer screamed, or tried to, but only a strangled gasp left his throat.

Luke stepped one pace closer and snapped his fingers again.

The mental assault repeated.

Mortimer’s mind shattered once more. The old man’s eyes began to roll back.

First, his eyes lost focus, then they turned dull.

His thoughts stopped being thoughts.

They became fragmented reflexes, disjointed images, aimless impulses.

He no longer knew where he was, nor what his purpose was.

Luke snapped his fingers again. A third time, and that was it. Mortimer didn’t react anymore. His body collapsed forward, falling to his knees.

Then, with a burst of telekinesis, Luke crushed the old man’s body into pulp.

As for Mortimer’s staff, Luke decided to keep it. He might sell it, or it could be useful for something.

‘Good. Only the demon remains,’ Luke thought, now with a new target to bring down.

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