"I don’t want to have to kill someone so young," Aerick muttered, calming his aura.

"And I don’t want to have to kill a man who doesn’t deserve to die," Ethan replied. "But it’s a cruel world, isn’t it?"

A dry, bitter laugh escaped Aerick’s lips at those words.

He glanced over his shoulder, noticing that his wife had finally reached the wall.

Her tear-filled eyes were fixed on him, her hands clenching the wood as if she meant to crack it.

"Yes. It’s a cruel world."

The two Lords exchanged one last glance, and then they advanced.

The metallic clang of swords began to echo around them without ceasing, while Ethan’s two wives and Aerick’s wife watched, their eyes trembling slightly with every powerful impact.

Naturally, none of them wanted to lose their man in a duel like this.

"I’m sorry, young man, but I can’t die yet!" Aerick roared, his blade scraping along Ethan’s breastplate and tearing off a sliver of metal with a piercing shriek.

"I say the same, old man!" Ethan shouted back, twisting his body and swinging his sword toward Aerick’s neck.

Realizing the danger, Aerick raised his left hand, channeling every drop of his aura into the gauntlet and strengthening it with everything he had.

Ethan’s sword sank into the metal and the chainmail beneath, yet only managed to draw a single drop of blood.

The two men leaped back.

Their faces were covered, only their eyes visible through the slits in their helmets, staring coldly at one another across the gap.

Aerick ignored the throbbing pain in his arm, taking stock of his aura reserves. He shouldn’t have more than eighty percent left, perhaps less.

Ethan did the same, confirming that he still carried about ninety percent of his own aura.

He took a step forward, his eyes shining with the most intense murderous intent he could muster.

Aerick responded in kind, his eyes ablaze with hatred.

Their swords met once.

And then again.

Again.

Again.

With each strike, the air around them expanded in muffled explosions, their auras colliding ceaselessly, sparks of aura dancing between the blades.

It was only on the twentieth strike that Aerick managed to hit Ethan, his sword tearing through the helmet and drawing a spurt of warm blood.

The next moment, however, he realized his mistake as Ethan moved.

His arm was pinned in place, and a powerful punch crashed into his face, knocking the helmet from his head with a hollow clang.

A second punch nearly crushed his jaw before he managed to stumble back, shoving Ethan away with all the strength he had left.

Pain spread through every inch of his face.

If not for the strength of a third-stage warrior, he would already be disfigured.

Aerick planted his feet on the ground, which cracked beneath his weight, sinking into a crater a few centimeters deep, the fractures spreading outward for about five meters.

His aura exploded, and behind him, to Ethan’s shock, something emerged.

A dragon, made of nothing but aura, yet carrying a terrifying power, like a guardian.

But it was not a Western dragon, with four legs.

It was an Eastern dragon, a horned, whiskered serpent, roaring toward Ethan with a sound that made the very air vibrate.

"I’m sorry, master, but I’ll have to reveal your secret technique to save my insignificant life..."

"It’s incomplete." Ethan’s words echoed across the twenty or so meters between them, and Aerick nodded.

The dragon had started strong, but was already losing its power, its form on the verge of shattering into luminous fragments.

"My master did not give me permission to use this ability unless I reached the fifth stage."

"It’s impossible with your talent."

Aerick nodded again.

"But it doesn’t matter."

His body turned into a blur, his strength, once inferior, now matching Ethan’s.

But that was hardly enough.

He didn’t understand who Ethan was.

The handsome young man planted his feet with calm.

His eyes grew cold, and then, from beneath his feet, a sea of blood surged forth, spreading across the earth in crimson waves.

"Aerick!" The scream tore from Aerick’s wife’s throat.

His short black hair danced in the wind.

His cold eyes locked onto Ethan’s.

His blade sliced through the air with the power of a dragon, leaving a bluish trail behind it, but that was not enough.

His feet touched the ground, and then Ethan raised a hand.

A spear of blood appeared, sinking into Aerick’s belly, tearing through his armor and lifting him into the air like a dry leaf.

The dragon disintegrated into fragments of light, its aura still striking Ethan with a terrible heat.

Perhaps, if he had known what was coming from below, Aerick might have defended himself.

But that ability, clearly originating from the continent beyond the seas, consumed a terrifying amount of mental strength.

He had forced his eyes onto Ethan and only Ethan, completely forgetting everything else.

With a simple gesture, Ethan dissolved the spear of blood.

Aerick’s legs gave way, and he fell to the ground, his knees sinking into the broken earth.

His eyes rose to Ethan as he clutched his bloodied stomach with trembling hands.

He wanted to cover his ears. He wanted to stop hearing his wife’s cries.

But he didn’t.

Slowly, Ethan removed his helmet, revealing the face where Aerick’s sword had slashed.

There wasn’t a single wound.

"Are you afraid of dying? Of leaving your wife and son behind?" Ethan asked, his gaze drifting to the boy in Aerick’s wife’s arms.

Aerick himself was a Rank A talent, but the boy was a Rank S talent.

His value was inestimable, and if allowed to grow, he could become a major combat force for Goldenveil.

"What does that matter?" Aerick used his remaining strength to tear at the straps holding the breastplate in place.

When the metal fell to the ground with a heavy thud, his belly lay exposed, his torn guts glistening wetly in the dim light.

Even for a third-stage warrior, without a great healer or an unparalleled healing potion, this was death.

"I’m already dead anyway."

"You’re not dead." Ethan cut him off, pulling one of the divine healing potions from his spatial ring and holding it out to Aerick.