Amidst the swirling marble dust and the scorched stench of divine energy punching a hole right through Valen’s armor, Eigen Narth felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.
The Grand General of the Palace knew all too well that facing an entity on Greeg’s tier through conventional means was nothing short of suicide.
Activating his advanced Spirit Observation to its absolute limit, the veins on Eigen’s temples throbbed violently.
The world around him suddenly slowed he could see floating dust particles suspended in the air and the turbulent mana currents rippling all around Greeg’s body.
To the left… a split-second opening!
Eigen thought.
Without wasting a second, Eigen lunged forward, channeling all his Spirit energy into the tip of his sword to deliver a fatal thrust targeting Greeg’s blind spot.
However, Eigen’s expression instantly froze.
Greeg didn’t dodge at all.
Instead, a chilling, crooked smile spread across his face.
With a hand speed that escaped the naked eye, Greeg seized the blade of Eigen’s sword with his bare hand, halting the momentum of the thrust dead in its tracks as though the weapon had slammed against a wall of armored steel.
”Quite a sweet little game, old General,” Greeg whispered right in front of Eigen’s face, his voice sounding so close it was as if he had teleported.
Before Eigen could release his weapon or leap backward, Greeg unleashed a devastating elbow strike wrapped in pure Black aura directly against the General’s ribs.
CRACK!
The sound of snapping ribs echoed sharply.
Eigen was sent flying hard, slamming into the remaining pillar in the hall until it collapsed, burying his body under a pile of rubble.
In another corner of the hall, the battle between Edward and Julian reached a critical tipping point.
Edward, still pressing the offensive wrapped in cyan Spirit, began to feel his breathing grow ragged and his muscles tense up from sheer frustration.
His opponent, Julian, kept moving fluidly like a shadow on water with his azure Spirit and Tactical Flow, never striking with lethal intent, but instead consistently reading and deflecting every one of Edward’s blows into empty space.
”You really are a coward, Julian!
Can you only hide and cower behind your martial arts techniques?!” Edward snapped furiously, unleashing a barrage of fierce punches that Julian once again gently brushed aside.
Julian did not answer.
Behind the cold, arrogant mask he wore on his face, his heart was screaming in terror.
Cold sweat drenched his back.
He knew full well that the chaos unleashed by his father’s faction had far exceeded the boundaries of the initial scenario.
If he did not find a way out of this hall immediately, his life could be on the line because of this massive uproar.
Furthermore, if the God-Punishing Vanguard were to step in and purge the entire palace, it would be utterly impossible for him to escape alive. damn you, Duke Archambaud!
You miserable old bastard!
What on earth is actually inside that rotten brain of yours?!
You said this was just a plan to pressure the House of Silver, but why has it led to bloodshed and a rampaging monster?!
You trapped me here, forcing me to wear this cold monster mask, while you sit comfortably on your dark throne!
If I die here, I swear my curses will haunt you all the way to hell, you damned father!
That hysterical screaming and overwhelming panic raged fiercely inside his head, creating an emotional tempest that nearly shattered his concentration.
Yet, thanks to brutal past training and a survival instinct drilled into him since childhood, Julian’s expression remained locked tightly behind a flawless, deadpan mask.
Even as he swayed his body once more to evade Edward’s plunging fist with a razor-thin, highly efficient movement, the muscles on Julian’s face reflexively twitched upward, forming a faint, cold, composed, and haughty smile.
Seeing that subtle smile curve upon Julian’s lips right in the middle of such a desperate situation, Edward’s blood boiled to the top of his head.
Damn it…
This wretched creature doesn’t even consider me human!
Edward’s mind erupted in blinding rage.
To Edward, that subtle smile was not merely a defensive facade, but the ultimate form of insult—a dismissive gesture from a cowardly man who felt he held the upper hand.
The anger burning within Edward’s chest stripped away whatever shreds of sanity he had left.
The cyan Spirit glow around his body suddenly flickered wildly, emitting an explosive wave of energy that cracked the marble floor beneath his feet.
Disregarding any further concern for movement efficiency or self-defense, Edward channeled all his peak power and speed, launching a blind, frenzied flurry of attacks with full force, ready to pulverize anything standing in his path.
Meanwhile, out in the palace courtyard, the bloody snowstorm continued to rage with vicious ferocity.
Tsar Kosovo, wrapped in a blazing red Spirit radiating intense heat, had just shattered the jaw of the final hybrid tiger beast before him with a brutal punch that carved a small crater into the expanse of white snow.
With ragged breathing and a heaving chest, Tsar wiped away the fresh blood splattered across his cheek, looking up toward the utterly destroyed stained-glass windows of the palace hall, sensing the drastic shift in mana pressure beginning to spread and poison every corner of the palace.
Something far more terrifying, much darker, and infinitely deadlier than mere hybrid monsters was now preparing to rise from the ruins of the Grand Dukedom Kingdom’s banquet.
Shifting away from the blazing courtyard, the perspective moves to a much quieter corner, yet one fraught with extraordinary inner tension.
Amidst the swirling marble dust, the nauseating stench of fresh blood, and the deafening sounds of clashing metal, two-year-old Aiden’s tiny body curled up securely within the warm, protective embrace of his older sister, Elena.
To onlookers, that embrace might have looked like the protective gesture of a sister trying to shield her toddler sibling from the horrors of the outside world.
Yet, behind the clear, sapphire-iris eyes of the two-year-old child—within whom resided the absolute consciousness of a 40-year-old veteran from the dystopian Earth 4077—this situation did not trigger childish panic in the slightest.
Beside Elena, Duchess Freya—Aiden’s biological mother—stood with intense, razor-sharp concentration.
Both of Freya’s hands were extended gracefully, weaving spells while radiating a Circle 7 protective barrier that shielded their family’s small zone from the onslaught of marble debris and destructive shockwaves ravaging the hall.
Freya’s temples were bathed in cold sweat, her jaw muscles clenched tight to ensure that her ultimate defensive magical barrier would not fracture amidst the rampaging god-blooded monster. Read this novel at novelping . com for the best experience.
However, the sacred tension of the Circle 7 defense was abruptly tainted by the arrival of uninvited guests.
Thud!
Thud!
Thud!
Suddenly, a group of nobles from the Kingdom of Baronia and House Crestwood factions barged shamelessly past the boundaries of Freya’s protective zone.
They shoved their way forward, elbowing one another and gripping each other’s cloaks in a desperate scramble to secure their survival from Greeg’s wrath.
They were Zlata Baronia, Cassian Crestwood, and his female servant.
Then, Cassian spoke in a calm tone:
”Uhm…
Duchess Freya!
Lady Elena!” Cassian called out in a shrill, panicked voice, struggling to make himself heard over the explosions outside.
“Magnificent! Such an exquisite Circle 7 defense! Truly a top-tier masterpiece of magic from the House of Silver! By the way… ah, let’s just consider this a diplomatic investment! I, Cassian of the Crestwood faction, solemnly swear upon the honor of our family—once this insane chaos is over and we all manage not to become monster feed—I will dispatch a lavish gift to the Silver residence! Ten carts of pure Mithril ore! What do you say? Think of it as a VIP ticket to ride along on your protection!”
Hearing that thinly veiled bribery offer right in the middle of a battlefield, Elena—an eight-year-old girl famed for her professor-level genius IQ and razor-sharp tongue—let out a scathing snort.
Since her small hands were busy supporting two-year-old Aiden cradled in her arms, she could only glare at Cassian with her chin held high and a gaze dripping with supreme disdain.
”Ten carts of pure Mithril ore?” Elena sneered in her eight-year-old child’s voice, which sounded so chilling and sarcastic it pierced straight through the heart of anyone listening.
“Lord Cassian, your mathematical calculations are an absolute insult to the intelligence of the toddler I am currently carrying. My mother’s Circle 7 shield requires a massive consumption of mana just to withstand the god-tier shockwaves from the monsters outside. If you’re only going to pay for your life with ten scraps of bargain-bin ore that wouldn’t even be enough to buy feed for the horses at the House of Silver’s borders, you’d better march right back out there and volunteer as bait for that hybrid tiger. At least your worthless meat might actually be useful for distracting them!”
A total checkmate.
Cassian’s face flushed red to the point of turning purple, choking on his own spit as he listened to the high-level logical dismantling delivered by an eight-year-old girl carrying a toddler.
He opened and closed his mouth several times, utterly incapable of finding an argument to defend himself before the absolute logic of the young lady of the House of Silver.
Princess Zlata of the Baronia faction, who had been hiding close by in a tattered gown, shivered in pure terror.
Not because of the brutal battle outside the hall, but because of the intellectual dominance radiating from Elena—an aura far more terrifying and lethal than any mana blade.
Duchess Freya, amidst her deep concentration maintaining the Circle 7 magic circle, glanced sideways at her daughter with a single raised eyebrow, half-impressed and half-astounded to witness her child conducting business right in the middle of a warzone.
Meanwhile, nestled securely within Elena’s arms, the two-year-old baby Aiden could only let out a long, inward sigh.
Ah, an eight-year-old kid whose favorite hobby is shaking down adult politicians while babywearing, Aiden thought cynically, watching the comical antics of the nobles trembling in sheer panic beside his sister.
None of the people in this new family are remotely normal.
But at least this skill of negotiating by extorting enemies at critical moments… honestly doesn’t seem like a bad trick to adopt later on.