Biocores: The Legendary Weapon Designer-Chapter 93: The 4 Squires

His eyes swept across the stands, pausing only to let the weight of his next words settle like iron.

"Bring out your third-years."

"Or your fourth."That sharp, amused smile that never quite reached his eyes.

"Maybe then... you’ll stand a chance."

No one moved.

No one spoke.

The silence that followed was total domination the kind that wounded not the body, but the pride.

It was an embarrassment. For the Warden Hall. For its legacy.

And from within that hush, a name broke the air like glass.

"That’s the Absolute Command," Neil muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

"He really is the son of Inanov Glev... The Absolute Monarch."

His voice, though calm, carried weight. Even standing on the outskirts, he could feel the faint pull of that same divine pressure.

He wasn’t alone. The other monarch descendants felt it too.

A realization settled among them like falling ash:

A new contender had arrived.

He wasn’t there yet... but at this rate?

He soon would be.

Then, as if in synchrony,four voices rang out as one:

"Go."

Four monarch descendants each seated in separate balconies,issued the same command at the same instant.

And so, the four squires of nobility, silent observers until now, rose at last and made their entrance.

The first was Nuggart, squire of Lithaa, the War Matron of Titans.

She strode forward carrying a titanic suit of living armor, each step a thunderclap in steel. Her stature matched her master’s tall, broad-shouldered, and devastatingly fierce. Her amber eyes glinted beneath a warrior’s helm, and her armor bounced in rhythm with her stride, echoing both power and pride.

Next came Rupert, the noble fencer a man of poise and precision. A long silver rapier rested at his side like a whispering serpent, and his aura carried the calculated coldness of Aquilla, the descendant of wind and grace. Every step he took felt choreographed, as if battle itself were a ballroom.

Beside him walked Neil’s squire Emilio the Arcanist. Dressed in elegant robes laced with spell-thread, he held no sword but only a wand pulsing with blue flames. His gaze was calm, detached, but dangerously intelligent.

And last—A familiar face.

Uncle William.

The buttler of the Gold family, now stood fully armored, his golden shield emblazoned with the sigil of House of Gold. A calm smile played at his lips, but there was no doubt in his posture.

"Pardon me, Young Master," William said with a courteous nod.

"I was sent to confront you."

The four squires stood shoulder to shoulder. Their expressions betrayed no hostility, only intent. This was no longer about entertainment.

This was a test of heritage and dignity.

The noble houses had changed the stakes.

Nioh stood alone, but his expression bloomed with life.

His fur cloak drifted from his shoulders like a single autumn leaf, weightless, discarded.

He cracked his neck. Flexed his fingers. Spread his palms like a martial artist poised for war.And then he grinned.

"Now this..." he said, voice brightening with anticipation,

"This is more like it."

He rolled his shoulders back and dropped into a low stance.

"Come."

His gaze sharpened. His aura swelled.

"This prince hasn’t had his morning workout yet."

The coliseum erupted—a frenzy of cheers, stomps, and gasps that shook the foundation itself. The people had come for entertainment, but what they were witnessing was something greater.

Royal bloodlines were moving.

The nobles—those who usually sat behind veils and silk-draped balconies—had stepped into the light.

To fix the Warden Hall’s disgrace... personally.

It wasn’t just a duel anymore.

It was a feast.

And the first to serve the course... was Nuggart.

Without warning, she vanished—displacing air with a thunderclap—and reappeared high above Nioh like a descending war goddess.

Her hammer swung down, glowing with crushing force.

The sheer weight behind it should have cratered him—

But Nioh didn’t meet force with force.

He twisted. Shifted. And let the hammer pass—

—using the sound pressure of the incoming strike to deflect the force ever so slightly, redirecting its path with a martial artist’s grace.

BOOOM!

The hammer struck the ground behind him with a devastating explosion, debris erupting skyward.

But before the dust could settle—

Rupert was already there, rapier gleaming in a flurry of precise, surgical thrusts.

Cling. Cling. CLANG.

Nioh’s hands danced, coated in biocore energy, his movements like calligraphy—parrying each thrust with minimal motion, turning death into wind.

But the storm wasn’t over.

From above—a trap.

Blue runes shimmered, drawing sigils in the air.

Streams of conjured water spiraled down like spears, locking onto his vitals.

Nioh backflipped into the air, spinning mid-air—and let out a sharp whistle.

BOOM!

A sonic barrier exploded outward, scattering the water like mist just before impact.

But the moment his feet touched the ground—

CRASH!

William was waiting.

The golden shield slammed into the sound barrier with brutal finality, shattering it like glass—and the follow-up bash was already mid-swing.

Before Nioh could stabilize, Nuggart’s hammer came again. A second strike.

No time to evade.

Instinct took over.

He crossed his arms just in time—boom!

The blow struck him head-on, sending him flying off the stage like a meteor launched from a cannon.

He was airborne, bleeding momentum, until—

Thud.

A pair of arms caught him.

Akron.

He grunted under the impact, but kept them both steady.

Nioh’s shoulder was twisted, hanging at an unnatural angle.

"She hits hard," he muttered, expression tight as he jammed the joint back into place with a sickening pop.

"Of course." Akron replied. "She’s the squire of the next monarch. What did you expect—mercy?"

Althea appeared beside them, her gaze fierce, charged with unspoken intent.

Nioh rose again.

His lips curled into a grin, his eyes sparking like wildfire.

"Okay, Fangs..." he said, breathing slowly, the fur cloak torn and fluttering behind him like a war banner.

"This is the test we’ve been waiting for."

He cracked his knuckles.

Biocore energy surged around him again—denser, wilder, refined.

"Let’s tear through them."

With a grunt, he kicked the edge of the stage, causing one of the massive floor tiles to tilt up. In the same motion, he slammed his palm against the underside—

WHOOOM!

The slab launched like a cannonball, hurtling toward the group of noble squires with deadly force.

They had no choice but to scatter.

Just as Akron intended.

Divide and conquer.

He’d read the battlefield perfectly. Against a balanced and disciplined squad like theirs, disruption was key. Break the formation—**isolate the links—**and crush them one at a time.

The Fangs fell into place.

Akron rushed Nuggart, shoulder-first like a juggernaut.

Althea pivoted, gliding toward Rupert, her blades already singing.

And Nioh—he took the heaviest load.

Uncle William and Emelio.

Two-on-one.

Didn’t matter.

His brain kicked into overdrive—spinning at 200%, calculations forming, collapsing, and reforming with each breath. He wasn’t just thinking ahead—he was dancing through the timeline.

Both his hands stretched wide.

And then—

He roared.

A sound that cracked the air like thunder, enhanced by his biocore.

it was a war cry.

Althea’s eyes widened. Akron’s muscles flexed with renewed purpose. ƒreewebηoveℓ.com

Their biocores pulsed in resonance.

Strength. Focus. Reflex. All of it—enhanced. Elevated to the next level.

Nioh lunged forward, feet hammering the ground as he charged toward his opponents. Emilio raised his wand with practiced grace, eyes narrowed, lips whispering incantations.

In a flash, dozens of blue runes ignited across the ceiling.

Streams of pressurized water burst forth jets of liquid spears that howled through the air, converging on Nioh like a tidal execution.

But he was ready.

A precise series of concentrated sound waves erupted from his lips sharp, bursts that collided with the water in midair. Each note hit like a sniper’s shot, disintegrating the incoming projectiles into harmless mist.

As the remnants of water hissed against the arena floor, Emilio shifted gears. His wand traced an arc in the air, and in the next moment, frost erupted from the ground, sweeping toward Nioh in a jagged crawl.

Ice crept with malicious intent, freezing the arena tiles underfoot.

Nioh didn’t retreat.

Instead, he tilted his head back—and screamed.

A sound cannon—focused, and fatal ripped through the battlefield, aimed directly at Emilio. The blast carved a path through the frost, shattering shards mid-growth.

But Uncle William was waiting.

With a grunt, he raised his golden shield, meeting the sound head-on.

BOOM.

The sonic impact slammed against the shield, energy waves cascading outward—but the barrier held. Impeccable defense. Not even a crack.

Impenetrable.

But Nioh didn’t stop.

He dropped to one knee, then unleashed another scream—this one untamed, erratic, a banshee’s cry let loose across the field. No rhythm, no pattern. Just chaos.

The battlefield shuddered under the weight of his voice.

Walls trembled. The frost distorted. Runes flickered.

Even seasoned fighters faltered with the balance stolen by the dissonance.

Nioh had turned the arena into a soundscape of war.

And he was the composer.