Chapter 61: Baron Laxin II

Laxin’s eyes burned with draconic crimson as he snarled, "So... you carry a dragon’s blessing as well. But so what?"His hand came up, clawed fingers curling as if grasping unseen power. Shadows deepened, and the air grew heavier, as if the night itself bowed before him. "What I possess," he said, voice like a blade scraping bone, "is something greater—Dragon Death Magic." The air split with the hiss of ancient words."Noct Drath!" — Darkness Strike. A crescent of black fire erupted from his sword’s edge, searing the ground in its wake. Fenric spun away, boots skidding on crushed stone, and barked his own incantation through gritted teeth."Luxa Seln!" — Light Shield. Radiance flared, the moonlit barrier clashing with the wave of annihilation. The impact rang like a bell, shards of light scattering into the air. He didn’t stop—Fenric’s voice rolled again, sharp and commanding."Veyl Vana!" — Wind Push. A sudden gale slammed into Laxin, forcing him back a half-step. It was barely enough to create breathing room, but it was something. "You think I will bow?" Fenric’s voice cut through the wind. His mana surged, not just human magic now—silver scales shimmered faintly along his forearms, the mark of his own blessing answering the call. The words in Dragon Tongue struck the air like hammer blows."Raen Drath!" — Fire Strike. A roaring lance of silver-blue flame shot forth, searing through the night. Laxin met it with a contemptuous sweep. "Pathetic—""Noct Torah." — Create Darkness. The fire vanished into an imploding sphere of shadow, its heat consumed in silence. Their duel shifted, steel almost forgotten as magic roared back and forth, the garden trembling under their exchange. Statues shattered, fountains cracked, and every tree bent under the invisible weight of draconic power. Beyond the ruined hedges, armored figures appeared—knights from manor drawn by the commotion. Yet none crossed the shattered gates. They lingered on the edges, their instincts screaming that stepping into this was suicide. From the far shadows, a single pair of eyes watched unblinking. Kareth stood cloaked in silence, the warm sunlight filtering through the high garden walls but never quite touching him. His posture was relaxed, yet every fiber of him was alert, one hand resting lightly on the hilt at his side. His orders were clear—harm the prince, kill him if you can. If Fenric died here, it would be fate fulfilling itself. And if he somehow survived... well, no one needed to know Kareth had been present at all. The Empress’s voice still echoed in his mind, soft and cold: "Do everything to bring harm to him if not outright kill him." Even as Fenric staggered beneath the force of a brutal spell that cracked the stone under his boots, Kareth’s fingers only tightened slightly on his sword hilt... then eased. He remained still. Hidden. Silent. The prince’s survival—or death—would be by his own hand.And with no one knowing Kareth had been here, no blame could ever touch him. ’Hmm... that girl is not with him.’ His eyes narrowed as he noted Aria’s absence. A faint smirk tugged at his lips. ’Without her, he will definitely die.’ Still, his gaze sharpened with something like curiosity as the battle in the garden unfolded. He had seen mages fight before, but never like this. The speed of their incantations was blistering, their control razor-precise. Magic circles flared and dissolved almost instantly, replaced by new ones mid-motion. **** Fenric’s Mystic Moon Rapier caught the light like a silver crescent as he swept it up to deflect a roaring arc of crimson flame—Raen Drath!—Laxin’s voice rang like a war drum in the ancient tongue of dragons. The flame slammed against a hastily raised barrier—Veyl Seln! —a twisting shield of wind that burst outward in a shockwave, scattering petals and leaves across the garden. Fenric slid back three paces, boots grinding over broken stone, breath ragged but eyes sharp. Then his own voice cut through the air, low and precise:Luxa Torah! Light gathered at the tip of his rapier, condensing into a blinding spear before lancing toward Laxin. The older man laughed, swinging his blade in a wide arc as he spoke another word in the dragon’s tongue—Noct Vana!—darkness surged, swallowing the light and twisting it into a cloud of shadowy serpents. Fenric’s lips curled. Two can play at that. He shifted to human magic, drawing on his own mana sea. The air shimmered as a ring of runes spun around him, pulling moisture from the very air. The next moment, a surge of water erupted—Solv Drath!—crashing into the shadow serpents and tearing them apart in a spray of black mist. But Laxin was already moving. His own dragon blessing pulsed visibly beneath his skin, and the runes that formed around him were not merely symbols—they carried weight, like scales pressing against the air. Noct Eryl! Chains of midnight wrapped around Fenric’s legs, pulling him toward the ground. He slashed downward with his rapier, speaking Raen Drath! again, the flaming arc burning the chains away—but not before Laxin closed the gap. Steel clashed. Sparks flew. The air between them hummed with residual magic. They moved from swordplay to spellcraft and back again without pause, their duel a storm of light, shadow, fire, and wind. Kareth, from his shadowed perch, could feel the mana in the air—heavy and electric. Even the other kingdom envoys who had come to watch dared not interfere. The sheer force radiating from the two combatants was enough to push them back. The fight tore through hedges, shattered stone benches, and scorched the grass. Above, the sky darkened—not from clouds, but from the sheer density of mana rising into the air. Laxin’s voice thundered again—Noct Torah Raen!—and black fire burst forth, spiraling like a dragon’s breath. Fenric countered instantly—Luxa Vana Veyl! —a wave of light-infused wind surging forward, clashing with the flame in an explosion that shook the manor grounds. The garden became their arena, the scent of charred earth and ozone mixing with the drifting petals of half-destroyed flowers. Kareth did not move. Did not speak. He merely watched, knowing the end was coming... and wondering which of these two would still be standing when the last spell was cast. Lanxin’s magic blazed like a storm given form, the air thick with the scent of scorched earth and burning mana. Fenric was struggling—his breathing ragged, his Dragon Tongue incantations slowing under the relentless pressure. Every exchange now drove him further from victory. "You’ve fought well, Prince," Lanxin said, his tone heavy with smug certainty. He stepped forward, the dark-gold lines of Dragon Death Magic spiraling around him like a living executioner’s coil. "But your end is here." He raised his hand for the final strike— —then stopped mid-motion. A flash of instinct pulled him into a sharp duck just as a blade hissed through the space where his neck had been. A single black strand of his hair drifted to the ground. Lanxin straightened, his eyes narrowing toward the intruder—a dark-haired girl, her presence as sudden and sharp as the cut she’d just made. The edge of her sword still dripped with a thin line of crimson, proof that her strike had been a hair’s breadth from ending him. "Aria..." Fenric’s eyes widened, his voice caught between relief and disbelief. Aria’s expression was unreadable, though her gaze flicked to Fenric for the briefest heartbeat before locking on Lanxin. Her tone was ice."How dare you harm my young master!" Lanxin’s lips twisted into a slow, mocking grin, though his stance shifted ever so slightly, guarded now. "And who might you be? Another insect who thinks she can defy me?" Aria didn’t answer. She moved. The air cracked as she blurred forward, sword arcing in a killing stroke so fast even Fenric barely caught the flash of steel before it reached Lanxin’s throat. He twisted aside, the swing whistling past, his robes snapping from the force. The duel between Fenric and Lanxin was over—not by surrender, but by intrusion. The air between the three crackled with the aftershocks of human magic, dragon magic, and the icy, murderous intent now radiating from Aria. Far above, Kareth’s hidden eyes narrowed. The board had shifted—and not in a way he had planned. Damn it... he was this close to dying. Kareth exhaled in frustration, pulling back into the shadows. If he lingered too long, there was a chance Aria might sense him here. Knowing, he hadn’t lifted a finger to help Fenric—not because he couldn’t, but because he didn’t want to and this could be used against him. From Kareth’s perspective, Fenric’s death would have solved several problems neatly. He had even taken certain measures to make sure the prince wouldn’t survive this duel. But now? Now there was a complication—an unpredictable killer, powerful enough to turn the tide, had returned to save him. Kareth’s gaze sharpened, thoughts turning cold. I need to remove her from the picture... if she stays, we can’t touch Fenric. And with her talent, she could be a thorn in the future. After a final glance at the tense stalemate below, he turned away and vanished into the dark. Fenric, on the other hand, finally allowed himself a breath of relief. Aria was back, and her presence tilted the scales. Though, in truth, he wasn’t sure who was the greater force between the two of them now. From what he’d seen, Lanxin had yet to fully draw upon his Death Supreme Blessing—there were no undead answering his call. That meant either Aria still had a real chance to win or he is simply holding back now.