Mushoku Tensei: The Fool Magician

Heathcliff shook his head and chuckled softly. His piercing gaze locked onto the young man before him as he spoke again.

"There's no such thing as whether a skill is 'enabled' or 'disabled.' Even if I did 'enable' it, what could you possibly do about it? If anything, you should be grateful that I'm willing to fight you within the rules."

Roy fell into silence, realizing the truth in Heathcliff's words. He had to admit, it was a stroke of luck that Heathcliff had chosen to engage in a fair fight.

If not, he'd have no chance against an overpowered GM.

"Of course," Heathcliff continued with a wry smile, "I did tweak your unique skill a little."

Roy's expression stiffened, his pupils narrowing as he barked in anger, "You bastard!"

Heathcliff laughed lightly. "You're mistaken again. It seems you still don't understand me. All I did was transfer what was supposed to be your skill to Kirito instead."

Roy frowned, his voice steady despite the tension. "The skill that was originally mine?"

Heathcliff's tone grew casual, as though discussing trivial matters. "In this world, aside from my own Divine Sword skill, which I granted myself directly, I designed ten unique skills with specific conditions for acquisition. The skill known as Dual Blades is one of them. Its prerequisite is having the fastest reaction speed among all players."

Roy raised an eyebrow, quickly grasping the implication.

Both he and Roy possessed reflexes far superior to the average player. Roy's original body as a caster and swordsman endowed him with unparalleled agility and mental sharpness. Even a fragment of his essence could never lag behind others in terms of neural response.

Yet Roy felt no resentment. While Dual Blades was undeniably powerful, raw strength wasn't everything. For Roy, the quick draw style suited him far better.

Roy scoffed, his voice cold. "There's no need to waste more words. This battle between us is inevitable, isn't it?"

Heathcliff's smile faded, his gaze intensifying. "Very well. Show me your strength."

The tension thickened. Roy gripped his sword, Evilblade, in reverse, his aura sharpening to its peak.

A faint blue glow began radiating from his body.

Heathcliff observed with an unflinching expression. "Every skill in this world was given to you by me. Your Berserk skill is no exception—it exists only because I allowed it. Now, let me recall its traits... Ah, it boosts all your attributes. But maintaining such a state during our fight will deplete your stamina rather quickly, won't it?"

Roy's preparation took little time. His mastery of the Sword God Style had reached the level of Sword King in this world, and with the addition of the unique quick draw skill, his moves required minimal wind-up.

Or perhaps, he had already begun preparing the moment Heathcliff started speaking.

The pressure building around him was overwhelming—destructive, unstoppable, absolute. Behind Roy, a massive, shadowy figure seemed to manifest from thin air, towering ominously.

Heathcliff allowed a faint smile. "Then, I'll relinquish my GM privileges. Let the boss battle commence. If I win, you die. If you win, I die."

Roy exhaled slowly. The ground beneath his feet began to crack. In a flash, he closed the distance, Evilblade slicing out of its sheath. The violet blade crackled with lightning, moving faster than anything Heathcliff had faced before.

But Heathcliff's Holy Cross Shield glimmered with a radiant white light, absorbing the blow with an ear-splitting clash.

Heathcliff grinned. "You know," he said, "I've been looking for a hero—a true warrior to lead their party, defeat the final boss, and bring peace to the world, just like in the stories."

Roy offered no response, drawing Evilblade back for another strike. The blade slashed again, its lightning arc deflected by the invulnerable shield.

The opponent's defense was impenetrable. This was, after all, the same man who had single-handedly held off the 70th-floor boss for thirty minutes. As long as that shield remained intact, no meaningful damage could be dealt.

Roy's thoughts sharpened. If overwhelming speed couldn't penetrate the defense, the only option was an attack so swift that Heathcliff couldn't react. No—speed alone wouldn't suffice. Only raw, unrelenting power could end this fight.

Determined, Roy's aura transformed. The blue glow was replaced by a violet hue, and a surging energy coursed through his body. For the first time, he felt weightless, his mind clear and his movements unburdened.

He unleashed another strike. This time, the sheer force of his energy condensed into a tangible blade of destruction. Roy and Evilblade became a single, blinding streak of violet lightning.

The sound of thunder filled the Ruby Palace, its floor cracking beneath the intensity of his charge.

Heathcliff retaliated, activating his unique skill, Holy Cross Sword. His blade transformed into a brilliant white arc, hurtling toward Roy with overwhelming force.

Roy's instincts screamed danger. That attack was unstoppable. But in a desperate moment, he activated his Sword Ruler skill, slowing Heathcliff's movements just enough to dodge.

Sidestepping the strike, Roy's counterattack landed on Heathcliff's shield with devastating force. This time, even Heathcliff couldn't escape unscathed, his HP dipping slightly.

Roy, however, wasn't unscathed either. His body burned from within, strained beyond its limits by the immense power he wielded.

There was no time for a prolonged fight. If the battle dragged on, death was certain.

With a final surge of energy, Roy's body began radiating violet lightning and emitting a faint mist. His speed spiked once more, reaching a level beyond comprehension.

He struck out, driving his foot into Heathcliff's shield.

Caught off guard, Heathcliff's eyes widened as his body was thrown into the air.

Heathcliff couldn't hide his astonishment. His opponent, abandoning his signature sword techniques, had opted for a kick instead?

What was even more baffling was that the kick had sent him hurtling through the air.

To someone clad head-to-toe in armor like Heathcliff, this was unthinkable. The weight of his armor alone, combined with the massive Holy Cross Shield and Sword, made him an immovable fortress. These weapons, so heavy that only players who maxed out their strength attributes could wield them, should have ensured his steadfastness. Yet here he was—flung skyward by that single strike.

It was then that realization struck him.

Suspended midair, he was utterly vulnerable, unable to evade and with no leverage to counter. The best he could do was brace himself and try to block the incoming assault.

Roy's breathing grew ragged, each exhale laden with the intensity of his resolve. His figure disappeared in a flash of violet lightning, only to reappear as three strikes came slashing at Heathcliff from all directions.

Forced to use his Holy Cross Shield to block, Heathcliff was sent hurtling backward by the sheer force of the blows. He slammed into the crimson palace walls with such power that the stone fractured under the impact, embedding him within the debris.

For the first time, Heathcliff was truly dazed. His HP bar plummeted into the perilous yellow zone, teetering on the edge of red.

He struggled to rise, but before he could find his footing, Roy stood before him.

"Time to end this," Roy rasped, his voice hoarse but unwavering.

Heathcliff's eyes widened as he instinctively raised his shield to block. Mōyé, glowing with fierce violet lightning, clashed against the Holy Cross Shield with a deafening screech. The sheer impact nearly wrenched the shield from his grasp. Gritting his teeth, Heathcliff dug deep into his reserves of strength, barely holding his defense together despite his plummeting HP.

But then, a faint cracking sound echoed—a sound that made Heathcliff's heart sink.

The shield shattered.

He stared in disbelief at the fragments in his hand, unable to comprehend what had just happened. But there was no time to mourn its loss. Desperately, Heathcliff extended his left hand, gripping Mōyé mid-swing in a last-ditch effort to stop the relentless blade.

Amidst the crackling sound of electricity and the sharp sting of lightning, Heathcliff roared in disbelief, "Impossible! My shield—my skills—none of this should be possible! How do you have such stats?!"

Roy, however, had no intention of entertaining his questions.

Both their HP bars were plummeting rapidly. But for Heathcliff, the moment his hand grasped Mōyé, the terrifying truth became clear: his HP had plunged directly into the red zone.

Roy wasn't faring much better. His heart felt as though it would burst from his chest, and every inch of his body throbbed with unbearable pain. His skin screamed in protest, his muscles strained to their absolute limits, and his mind teetered on the brink of collapse.

Yet he endured.

Every fiber of his being burned—his body, his spirit, and even his life force itself were being consumed to fuel this fleeting moment of overwhelming power.

Heathcliff, on the other hand, could no longer hide behind his unique skill's overpowered mechanics. The shattering of his shield signified the collapse of his seemingly invincible defenses.

For the first time, the balance of this battle hung precariously, tilted toward a final, decisive moment.

Unique skills are undeniably powerful, some might even describe them as borderline bugs.

But even the mightiest of skills have their conditions.

For example, Kirito's Dual Wielding requires him to equip two swords simultaneously.

Roy's Sword Draw can only be executed when the sword is still sheathed.

Likewise, Heathcliff's Holy Sword can only be used when both the Holy Cross Sword and Shield are equipped.

And now, with the shield shattered, Heathcliff could no longer access his signature skill.

It was for this reason that Heathcliff had to rely on his own flesh and blood to intercept that deadly blow.

What appeared to be a reckless decision was, in fact, the turning point of the battle.

At this moment, Roy's HP was nearly exhausted, not to mention his stamina, which was almost completely depleted.

The burst of power that had carried him so far lasted less than ten seconds. His once-glorious golden hair had already turned ashen, and the brilliance in his eyes had begun to fade.

Heathcliff noticed this shift immediately, but his focus remained on one thing: how to overcome his opponent.

As long as he could hold onto that sword, victory was assured.

But little did he know, his hope would soon be dashed.

Once again, Roy delivered a powerful kick. This time, Heathcliff's entire body went numb from the impact, and he was sent flying once more. This time, he tumbled dozens of meters before finally crashing to a halt.

Roy's kicks were no small matter. That strike had knocked away nearly one-tenth of Heathcliff's remaining HP, pushing him dangerously close to the brink.

But there was no follow-up thunderous strike. No agonizing pain. The absence of the expected was enough to momentarily confuse Heathcliff.

He pushed himself up and glanced back toward where Roy had stood.

But to his shock, Roy's form was now reduced to little more than charred remains.

Had he… died?

That was Heathcliff's first thought, but it was quickly replaced by confusion and disbelief.

He hadn't dealt a single blow to his opponent—yet Roy had somehow perished.

There was no joy in his survival, only a strange sense of melancholy.

The hero hadn't defeated the demon king, and so the world would continue, waiting for a new hero to rise.

But then, something strange caught his eye: the sword that had been in Roy's hand—where had it gone?

The bloodstained blade was nowhere to be seen.

A purple longsword descended rapidly from above, and Heathcliff, sensing the danger, attempted to roll to the left. But with his stamina completely drained, he couldn't react quickly enough. All he managed to do was shift slightly out of the sword's path.

The dazzling blade pierced Heathcliff's body effortlessly, pinning him to the brickwork with an unyielding force.

"A throwing skill?" Heathcliff muttered in confusion.

This was Roy's final trump card—an attack not belonging to any sword technique.

It was a move inspired by something the late Roy had often scorned: a simple trick from the North God Style.

But even this final blow was not enough to end the fight.

At the critical moment, a faint green glow appeared around Heathcliff.

That green glow was the key to the battle's outcome.

Heathcliff's fully mastered skills were four in number: Holy Sword, Battle Heal, Damage Reduction, and Light Shield Defense.

And it was Battle Heal, the green glow, that kept him hanging on, preventing his imminent defeat.

With just a sliver of HP left, that last thread of life sustained him, keeping him from falling.

A smile tugged at Heathcliff's lips. He murmured, "Then, it's my win—"

But before he could finish, he sensed something was wrong.

There was something still attached to the purple longsword. What was it?

In the next instant, a searing wave of heat exploded behind him.

In that moment, Heathcliff recognized the item attached to the sword. It was an S-rank item dropped by a level 90 boss—the Dragon Breath.

Heathcliff's HP hit zero, and he was consumed by purple-black flames, his form dissolving into the fire.

***

Bonus Chapter:

100 Power Stones = 1 BC

300 Power Stones = 2 BC

500 Power Stones = 3 BC

700 Power Stones = 4 BC

1000 Power Stones = 5 BC

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