Champion Of Lust: Gods Conquer's Harem Paradise!

Chapter 352 Baby Steps In

Nysa had never been one for deep sleep. Even before finding herself in this strange new world, rest had always felt more like a fragile truce than a true necessity. And after countless ages trapped within the labyrinth's endless slumber—a stillness so profound it felt closer to death than sleep—she had come to view it as an enemy she could never truly conquer.

So when Ruin awakened, she felt it instantly.

A ripple through the fabric of existence. A shift in the balance of power that sent a silent tremor through her very soul. She just didn't quite put her fingers to it!

Unlike the others Pyris shared bonds with, hers was different. Older. Deeper. Something woven beyond the reach of fate or the grasp of destiny. A tether so absolute that no divine decree, no cosmic law, could hope to sever it.

By the time she stirred and slipped from her bed, the echoes of his ascension had already settled. She moved with quiet grace, gliding through the grand halls of the estate, her presence a shadow against the stillness of the night.

And then, she found him. Not in the house, but beyond it—vanishing into the heart of the forest.

So she followed.

And she watched.

Silent. Unseen. Observing his every movement with an intensity that never wavered.

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She did not miss a single thing.

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Pyris had just finished another flawless motion, his blade cutting through the air with razor-sharp precision, when a voice—smooth yet commanding—cut through the silence.

"Your footwork is off."

He didn't flinch.

Instead, he exhaled slowly, lowering his sword as the presence he had already sensed finally stepped out from the shadows.

Nysa.

She moved effortlessly, like a specter, the moonlight draping her in a soft silver glow. Her piercing gaze locked onto him, sharp and evaluating, like she had been watching long enough to pick apart every flaw in his technique.

"You're relying too much on your upper body," she continued, arms crossed, voice laced with a mixture of amusement and authority. "A swordsman doesn't just swing their weapon. They flow. Every strike should come from the whole body—feet, waist, arms—one continuous movement. Right now, you're powerful, yes, but also wasteful."

Pyris arched a brow, turning to fully face her. He should've known she was watching. After all, his bond with Nysa wasn't like the others. It ran deeper. Older. Beyond fate. Beyond destiny. Something even the gods wouldn't dare try to define.

Still, he smirked. "You sound disappointed."

She took another step closer, her golden eyes gleaming under the dim light. "I am. You move like someone who's never been taught properly."

"I haven't." True Pyris has never learnt real swordsmanship only learnt a few things and even when he used to train with Arabella. Her gaze narrowed.

Then, without warning—she moved.

Faster than thought, her fingers brushed against the hilt of his sword—then snatched it away in a blink. Pyris barely had time to register the shift before—

SHING!

The blade whistled through the air.

Nysa twisted her wrist, the sword moving in a seamless blur of motion—striking, feinting, cutting—her feet pivoting so smoothly, so perfectly, that the ground beneath her didn't even tremble.

Not a single wasted movement.

Not a single unnecessary breath.

It wasn't just skill.

It was perfection.

Pyris let out a low whistle. "Damn.".Nysa stopped, rolling her shoulders as she turned the sword effortlessly in her palm before tossing it back to him.

"Now," she said, grinning for the first time that night, "try again. And this time—move like a warrior, not some overpowered brute swinging a weapon around."

Pyris stared down at the sword in his hands, his grip tightening as he considered what had just happened. This weapon was supposed to respond only to him. The moment it had come into his possession, it had bonded with him, its power meant to be wielded by his hands alone.

Yet, when Nysa had taken it, the blade hadn't resisted her. But she hadn't used it as a sword—that why it had not resisted. She had wielded it like a mere conduit, an extension of her mastery, nothing more. She didn't need the sharpness of the edge, the weight of the steel, or the craftsmanship of the hilt—she had simply made it work because she was Nysa.

That realization settled deep in his mind. So it wouldn't have mattered if she had picked up a different weapon. Hell, even a piece of wood would have worked.

As if reading his thoughts, Nysa suddenly turned, her eyes scanning the battlefield. From amidst the scorched earth and shattered remains of his power output, she plucked a long, dry stick—one of the few things that had miraculously survived his destruction.

She spun it in her grip once, then took a stance, the brittle wood transforming in her hands—not physically, but in presence. Pyris' brows twitched. That was no longer a simple branch.

It looked like a sword—not because it had changed, but because Nysa had willed it so.

"Come," she said, motioning for him to attack.

Pyris exhaled, gripping his sword and dashing forward in a flash of speed. He struck fast, his blade slicing through the air with a force that could cleave steel like butter.

CLACK!

The stick met his sword with perfect precision, stopping his attack dead in its tracks. Pyris barely had time to blink before—

THWACK.

Something smacked him in the ribs, fast as a viper. The damn stick had just hit him. Pyris narrowed his eyes, taking another step and launching a rapid barrage of strikes, moving faster now, his sword a blur of deadly arcs. Nysa blocked every single one—

Effortlessly.

Each time his blade met her stick, the impact should have snapped it in half—but instead, it held firm, moving with an almost playful ease. Pyris gritted his teeth.

Fine. She wanted to toy with him?

He'd wipe that smug look off her face. With a burst of superspeed, he twisted mid-air, angling for her exposed side—

THWACK.

Something cracked against his shin.

His balance faltered.

He barely had time to register what happened before—

THWACK.

Another hit, this time against the back of his head. "Shit—" Pyris cursed, stumbling. He heard Nysa hum in amusement.

"Your footwork is sloppy," she noted, twirling the stick lazily, like she wasn't even trying.

Oh, she was absolutely toying with him.

Pyris growled, lunging at her again. This time, he was going all out. He swung, faster and sharper than before, unleashing a storm of strikes meant to overwhelm her completely.

THWACK.

Pyris' entire body twisted as the stick hooked behind his ankle, sweeping his legs out from under him. He hit the ground with a hard thud. For a moment, he just lay there, staring at the sky. Then, he turned his head to find Nysa crouching next to him, casually twirling the damn stick between her fingers.

She smirked. "Are you learning yet?"

Pyris groaned. "You know, this feels less like a training session and more like you just beating the shit out of me session."

Nysa tapped the stick against her shoulder, looking entirely unbothered. "Maybe if you actually listened, you'd get hit less."

Pyris rolled his eyes, but he was grinning now. Alright. She wanted serious? She'd get serious. With a burst of strength, he flipped back onto his feet.

This time, he was ready.