Sanctuary: Safe Haven

Chapter 267 Best of Warriors

A loud thunderstrike split the air, signaling the start of the clash between Canna and the saint. The atmosphere was thick with tension, the storm raging overhead, as the two warriors collided with raw, unrestrained power. Find more to read at empire

Canna's speed was blistering—far beyond what he had shown in his previous bout with Varya. The crowd, which had been able to catch glimpses of his movements before, was now completely overwhelmed. Canna moved too fast for their eyes to follow, his white hair barely visible as he became a streak of motion across the arena.

All they could see were the sparks and flashes that erupted every time the scythe in Canna's hand met the fists of the saint.

The saint stood his ground, his movements precise and deliberate, despite the chaos unfolding around him. He fought without weapons, relying solely on his fists, which were as hard as steel. Each punch carried a shocking force, sending shockwaves rippling through the air. Canna's scythe met these fists again and again, and each time, the sound was like a hammer striking an anvil.

Canna noted the strength behind each of the saint's punches. It wasn't normal—not for a man of flesh and blood. After a few clashes, Canna realized the saint was using some kind of enhancement skill, hardening his fists to the point where they could rival the sharp edge of a blade.

The fight was brutal—each strike, each block, sending tremors through the ground beneath them. The arena shook with the intensity of their battle, and yet, neither of them had unleashed their full power. This was merely an exchange of raw strength and skill, and even so, it was overwhelming.

Canna, wielding his scythe with deadly precision, fought with a unique style—one that blended agility and strength. His movements were fluid, and with each swing of his scythe, he commanded the hundreds of water arrows hovering in the air behind him.

Each time the saint would dodge or block, one of Canna's lightning-charged arrows would dart in, perfectly timed with his attacks, keeping the saint on the defensive.

The crowd watched in awe as Canna demonstrated a level of control that seemed impossible. Not only was he engaging in a high-speed, high-stakes duel, but he was also maintaining his water arrows, each one charged with enough mana to crush stone.

It was a display of incredible multitasking—the arrows firing off at precise intervals, forcing the saint to defend against both close-range and long-range attacks simultaneously.

A red portal appeared behind Canna, swirling with ominous energy. The sight of the portal sent a ripple of shock through the saint. He recognized the power emanating from it—it was the power of a domain. But that made no sense. Domains were reserved for beings who had reached the rank of demigod or higher. How could someone like Canna have access to such a thing?

His confusion deepened as the portal began to shimmer, and from within it, a figure emerged.

A towering, red-skinned figure stepped through the portal, his massive form radiating strength and power. His face was framed by sharp tusks and piercing red eyes, his expression one of pure dominance. He wasn't wearing armor, but his muscular form was adorned with tribal markings that swirled over his skin, each line telling a story of battle and survival.

The crowd looked on in stunned silence, many of them unfamiliar with the Voragon—an extinct race of warriors.

This was Vorgrim, Canna's second born and the general of Canna's shock troops.

He knelt before Canna, his head bowed in respect. "Thank you for hearing my request, my liege. I shall take it from here."

Canna gave a small nod, stepping back as Vorgrim rose to his full height, his eyes locking onto the saint.

The saint, still reeling from the shock of seeing a domain portal, narrowed his eyes at the new challenger. He could sense it immediately—this wasn't just some ordinary fighter. This was a being of incredible power.

Vorgrim, unfazed by the saint's gaze, stepped forward, cracking his knuckles as he prepared for battle.

The saint clenched his fists, his golden aura flaring around him. But for the first time in a long, long time, he felt something unfamiliar—a feeling he hadn't experienced in decades.

Fear.