Demonic Witches Harem: Having Descendants Make Me Overpowered!-Chapter 69: Olvon’s Legacy: The Phantom Shadow

Among the Honorable Houses, House Olvon had always been revered for their mastery over the shadow.

The Olvon lineage honed the shadow as an extension of themselves—a force of speed, silence, and precision.

Their combat style was known as "Phantom Blade." It was said that once an Olvon warrior entered battle, their movements became undetectable—a specter that flickered between light and shadow.

However, their true strength lay in their bloodline skill—Phantom Shadow.

Passed down for generations, this skill allowed them to merge with the shadow itself, erasing their presence, distorting time, and moving beyond normal perception.

To fight an Olvon at full strength was to battle a ghost with a sword.

After the Olvon Legacy being awakened, Wren vanished .

The air around him rippled, distorting space itself as his body flickered between the physical realm and the shadow

Ezra narrowed his eyes. "Fast."

As an experienced combatant and fighting side to side with every Honorable Houses, it wasn't the first time he saw this awakening.

But still, stopping it was a different case.

Then—a flash of black steel.

Ezra barely dodged as Wren's sword came down in a precise arc, slicing the air where his head had been.

The sgadowy energy clinging to the blade howled, tearing through the air with a shrill, unnatural scream.

"Damn you..." Ezra cursed.

Since first born of Olvon House was still young, he wanted to spare him of the humiliation. He could kill him easily in one move, but he decided to slow it down as a mercy.

But it seemed like a bad choice now. He underestimate his opponent.

He just didn't expect someone as young as Wren could handle the power of Bloodline Skill.

Before Ezra could counter, Wren was gone again.

A sudden pressure from behind—another strike!

Ezra twisted his body just in time, blocking with the flat of his sword. The impact sent sparks flying, the weight behind Wren's blow far greater than before.

He's not just fast—he's stronger too.

Wren did not relent.

"This for my uncles! And the family they left behind because of your poor judgement!" he scream.

His movements became erratic, appearing and disappearing in flashes of shadow, attacking from every angle with relentless precision.

His sword burned black, abyssal flames licking at the edges of his strikes.

Though, he know he was out of time. He need to kill Ezra fast.

Ezra found himself on the defensive.

The once-unshakable warrior was forced to block, parry, and evade—his feet moving swiftly across the sand, his purple eyes locked onto the shadow that danced around him.

Wren was everywhere.

Then—a deep cut opened across Ezra's arm.

The crowd erupted in awe as they keep cheering for Wren even when they didn't know exactly what happened. Wren was too fast.

While Eldrich watching his first born on the sideline look proud and about to cry. His baby boy was finally become an adult now.

"I finally could hand over this house to him..."

Ezra staggered slightly, glancing at the wound. The shadow ate away at his flesh, refusing to close.

Eldrich clenched his fists, his eyes burning with satisfaction. "Yes! Wren, don't stop! Press him further!"

Encouraged, Wren pushed harder. His blade blurred, striking with greater intensity. Faster. Sharper.

The shadow pulsed with each movement, warping the air around him like a storm ready to consume everything in its path.

Ezra was losing ground.

But then—

Ezra exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders as he adjusted his grip on his sword. He wasn't frustrated. He was analyzing.

As Wren flickered between places, Ezra didn't chase him. He didn't react blindly to the unpredictable shifts.

Instead, he observed.

The shadow didn't just erase Wren from sight—it left disturbances. A faint displacement in the air. A shift in mana density. The soft echo of magic warping space.

Ezra closed his eyes for a split second, letting go of sight—and focusing purely on presence.

Then, when Wren lunged again—this time aiming straight for his heart—Ezra moved first.

He turned before Wren could even complete his teleportation, swinging his blade precisely where Wren was about to appear.

Wren's eyes widened. A perfect counter.

Their swords clashed again, but this time Ezra wasn't retreating. He had found the pattern.

"You're fast," Ezra admitted, his voice calm. "But speed alone won't kill me."

"You and your dirty trick!"

Wren gritted his teeth, stepping back. The shadow swirled violently around him, but Ezra was already adapting.

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With a slow breath, Ezra extended his free hand. The black mist that surrounded Wren suddenly thickened, like the shadow itself was growing heavier.

"Wha—?!" Wren staggered.

Ezra had twisted the battlefield against him.

Instead of trying to counter the shadow, he flooded it with his own darkness—but unlike Wren's ever-shifting void, Ezra's darkness was dense, oppressive, suffocating.

It slowed Wren's movements, making the shadow less fluid, more sluggish.

Ezra smirked with confidence. Under normal circumstances, this move would have been impossible if his darkness affinity and evolution rank were lower than Wren's. But the situation favored him.

So he took a step forward.

Wren vanished—only to reappear a fraction too slow.

Ezra's sword nearly cleaved into his shoulder. Wren barely twisted away, but it was clear—he was losing control. Now, instead of being forced on the defensive, he controlled the pace.

His strikes were precise, relentless, merciless. Wren was skilled, but Ezra was stronger, more experienced, more ruthless.

A brutal downward slash forced Wren to raise his sword—his stance broken for just a second.

Ezra's knee drove into his stomach.

The impact shattered Wren's balance, sending him skidding across the ground.

For the first time, Wren looked truly desperate. His time had run out—his mana was nearly depleted, and the shadow he once commanded now slipped from his grasp.

The shadows that had once obeyed him so effortlessly now flickered and faded, leaving him defenseless.

The toll of his Bloodline Skill crashed down on him, his body barely able to move under its crushing weight.

He had already lost.

Ezra exhaled, his purple eyes cold. "You're not ready for this fight, boy."

He stepped forward, his presence looming over Wren's collapsed form. "Your control over the Phantom Shadow is still flawed—imperfect. Nothing like your grandfather's."

His voice was steady, almost disappointed. "He was the one who taught me how to wield my own power… and yet, here you are, struggling to stand."

Ezra raised his sword, the tip gleaming in the dim light. "It's a shame," he murmured. "Of all the Honorable Houses, yours was the one I respected most."

His grip tightened.

"But blood must be repaid in blood."

His blade descended—without mercy.