Lancelot's eyes swept the ruined field, his senses sharp, searching for the boy who dared wound his pride. Then, without warning, shafts of light began to form in the air around him. Dozens of them, spheres that pulsed like miniature suns.

His eyes widened.

The orbs detonated into a storm of beams. Pew. Pew. Pew. The blasts tore through the ground, the force shaking the earth as dust and rubble filled the air. For a moment, the battlefield disappeared beneath the violent barrage.

When the barrage ceased, silence lingered. The dust swirled, thick and suffocating.

Then came a single motion.

Lancelot's arm swept outward. Black aura erupted in a crushing wave, shredding the dust cloud and flattening everything within a hundred meters. The ground cracked and crumbled beneath the force, the air itself trembling. His blue eyes burned, veins bulging with rage.

But Leon was nowhere to be seen.

"I didn't know you were such a coward," Lancelot snarled, his voice echoing over the fractured land. He scanned the area, his lips curling. "All that confidence earlier, was it just noise? Is this all you amount to? Pathetic. Beyond pathetic."

He had no time for more words.

With a metallic scream, a massive spike erupted from the ground, angling straight for his jaw. He twisted aside, dodging effortlessly. But no sooner had his feet touched the ground than another attack came, a blade of aura whistling through the air. Then a laser beam. Then another spike.

Attack after attack rained down, relentless.

Lancelot's face twisted. He could block. He could dodge. But no matter how sharp his senses, he couldn't find where the strikes originated. The boy was gone, only his fury-laced tricks filling the space.

Not a single attack pierced his guard, but the sheer persistence grated on him.

'Has he grown desperate?' Lancelot thought as another blade glanced off his aura. 'Is he flinging whatever he has left, hoping one might land?'

Yet, even as he thought it, doubt gnawed at him. Something didn't fit. Leon wasn't frantic. This pattern… wasn't sloppy.

'What is he planning?'

Prepared for the next strike, Lancelot braced himself, only for nothing to come.

The sudden silence was louder than any blast.

The tempo shifted. Subtle, but sharp enough to cause the slightest hesitation. A single, fatal beat of delay.

"on your right."

The voice came like a whisper from the void.

Lancelot's head snapped. His gaze collided with eyes so deep and violet they seemed to burn with a regal fire. Eyes that screamed of something beyond mortality, eyes that claimed dominion.

****

Leon already knew what he was dealing with. Lancelot was a tank in human form, unyielding and immovable. No barrage of blades, beams, or spikes would matter. The man would shrug them off as if they were nothing more than falling leaves.

So Leon didn't aim to break through. He aimed to disable.

Since the moment he became a Void Spawn, his eyes had changed. They were no longer just eyes, they were a window into the void itself. A terrible abyss that pulled in the foolish, luring them into a trance they couldn't escape.

But Lancelot wasn't just anyone. He was a bona fide Rank 7 warrior, and the weight of that meant something. Leon knew it. Getting him to look into the abyss wouldn't be easy. That was why the storm of earlier attacks wasn't to kill, but to distract. To force the guard's attention to splinter until his focus would inevitably return to Leon.

Even so, it was a gamble. Until now, his hypnotic gaze had only worked on those weaker than him. Lancelot was not weak, he was stronger, faster, and he had been driving Leon into a corner since the fight began.

Which was why Leon doubled down.

The instant Lancelot's gaze locked with his, Leon whispered words that rolled like an echo through the night.

"Extreme Art—Primordial Dragon Art."

The atmosphere shuddered. Dragon's might, ancient and suffocating, slammed into the unsuspecting guard. Layered with Leon's void-born hypnotic gaze, it crashed down like two worlds colliding.

And for a heartbeat, it worked.

Lancelot froze, caught between the abyss and the crushing weight of draconic majesty.

Leon didn't waste a second. His domain snapped inward, condensing. His blade thrummed as Tier IV Force coated every inch of steel, power screaming to be unleashed. He dashed, body flickering forward in a blur. In the next moment, he swung, a strike aimed to finish it once and for all.

Steel carved the air—

And then, Lancelot's blue eyes flared.

The dull glaze vanished, replaced with cold, piercing clarity. Time itself seemed to hesitate in that instant, the forest holding its breath.

"Black Star Art… Form Seven—Singularity."

The words fell like a divine decree.

Then the world detonated.

A star was born in the heart of the Tyrant Forest, light so violent it erased everything. White brilliance devoured trees, stone, and sky. The explosion drowned out thought, leaving nothing but raw power that seared through existence.

And just as suddenly as it came, it was gone.

The battlefield was silent, yet scarred beyond recognition. The earth was cratered, trees reduced to ash, and the very air hummed as if reality itself had been torn and stitched back together. It looked less like a forest and more like a place where gods had crossed blades.

Now, the silence stretched, heavy and suffocating.

Only one question remained.

Who was still standing?

****

As the blinding brilliance of the art receded, even Shantel had not been spared from its radiance. For a moment, the city had been swallowed in white, every alley, every rooftop, every frightened pair of eyes painted by the false sun that burned in the distance.

When it finally faded, silence spread like a shroud.

Inside the manor, Racheal's eyes were shut tight, her breathing steady despite the tremors beneath her skin. Her clairvoyance talent carried her sight far beyond the walls, through smoke and dust, to the battlefield itself.

Her eyes snapped open.

"He's still alive," she whispered.

But her voice didn't carry relief. It carried dread. Because even as she said it, she saw more than just survival, she saw the faint, flickering light that wrapped around him, dwindling like a dying ember.

Her throat tightened. "But the light… it's fading fast."

She didn't give herself time to think. In the next heartbeat, she was moving, her bow slung over her shoulder as she bolted for the door.

"Racheal!" James shouted after her, panic lacing his voice. His instinct was to follow, but she threw the words over her shoulder, sharp and final.

"Don't follow me. Look after the people!"

James froze in place, torn between duty and desperation. His hands clenched into trembling fists as he forced the words out, his voice breaking into a plea.

"Please… help our Lord."

Racheal didn't answer. She didn't need to. Her silence was its own vow. Her figure vanished into the forest, leaving the manor heavy with fear, hope, and the weight of a city Lord's survival.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.