The castle corridors stretched endlessly before them, ancient stone walls carved with intricate patterns that seemed to shift and breathe in the dim torchlight. Amaniel followed Xeron through the winding passages, his footsteps echoing against the cold floor. The young-looking Emperor moved with an almost lazy grace, his hands clasped behind his back as if taking a leisurely morning stroll.
They descended deeper into the castle’s heart, passing through halls that grew progressively darker and more oppressive. The air itself thickened with each step, carrying a weight that pressed against Amaniel’s chest.
Finally, Xeron stopped before a massive obsidian door etched with countless runes. He raised one small hand, and the door dissolved into particles of shadow, revealing a swirling vortex of darkness beyond.
"After you," Xeron said with an innocent smile.
Amaniel stepped through without hesitation. The sensation of crossing the threshold felt like plunging into ice water. Reality twisted and reformed around him, and suddenly he stood in an entirely different space.
This new dimension stretched infinitely in all directions.
A vast, barren wasteland of cracked earth beneath a perpetually twilight sky. Purple lightning occasionally split the horizon, illuminating the desolate landscape in brief, violent flashes. The air here tasted metallic, thick with raw void aura that made his skin prickle.
Xeron materialized beside him, the shift in his demeanor immediate and profound. The gentle nephew vanished entirely, replaced by something cold and ancient. His dark gaze fixed on Amaniel with the weight of countless centuries.
"Attack me," Xeron stated calmly, his youthful voice carrying across the empty expanse. "With everything you have. If you can make me move even an inch from where I stand, I will personally train you and promise to protect you."
He planted his feet firmly on the cracked ground, arms hanging loosely at his sides. The casual stance radiated absolute confidence, as if he were challenging an insect rather than a fellow combatant.
"To make it fair," Xeron continued, his innocent smile returning, "I will suppress myself to match your current rank. General Realm, Mid Stage. Nothing more, nothing less."
A visible ripple passed through his body as layers of power sealed themselves away. Yet even constrained, the pressure emanating from him remained overwhelming.
Amaniel met those piercing eyes steadily.
’...Hmm.’
He gave a nod before taking a deep, measured breath.
His mind cleared. His eyes grew cold and focused.
His right hand moved to his waist, fingers wrapping around the familiar hilts of his twin daggers. Twilight Fang and Dawn Thorn slid free from their sheaths with a crystalline whisper, the weapons humming with anticipation. Dark energy coiled around the Twilight Fang’s obsidian blade while pale luminescence danced along Dawn Thorn’s silver edge.
The world around him slowed as he focused on a point directly behind Xeron and teleported.
Reality shifted.
Amaniel emerged at Xeron’s back, daggers already descending in a lethal cross-slash aimed at the neck and spine. The movement was flawless, honed through countless hours of practice.
Xeron chuckled softly.
A single finger flicked upward, and the space behind him detonated.
The shockwave caught Amaniel mid-strike, but he was already gone. He teleported again, leaving a shimmering afterimage to absorb the blast. He reappeared directly in front of Xeron, both daggers thrusting forward in a synchronized strike toward the heart.
Xeron’s body shifted with minimal movement, tilting just enough for the blades to pass harmlessly by. In the same fluid motion, his small fist shot upward and connected squarely with Amaniel’s jaw.
The impact felt like colliding with a mountain. Amaniel’s entire body launched backward, tumbling across the cracked earth. He rolled three times before managing to arrest his momentum, boots digging trenches into the ground as he skidded to a halt.
Blood filled his mouth. He spat it out, ignoring the sharp pain radiating from his ribs.
"Is that all you got?" Xeron’s voice drifted across the distance, cold amusement coloring each word. "How disappointing."
Amaniel refused to rise to the provocation. He steadied his breathing, channeling his aura through his battered body. The Mender’s Paradox activated, accelerating his regeneration. The cracked ribs began to mend, though the process was far from instant.
He moved again.
This time, he approached from ground level, using a sliding dash technique to close the distance while remaining low. His daggers became a blur of silver and obsidian, weaving intricate patterns as he attacked from multiple angles simultaneously. Each strike targeted vital points—throat, eyes, kidneys, femoral arteries.
Xeron didn’t move his feet.
His small hands became a whirlwind of motion, deflecting each attack with minimal effort. Fingers caught blade edges with surgical precision, redirecting the force harmlessly aside. When an opening appeared in Amaniel’s guard, those same fingers struck like vipers.
A palm heel to the solar plexus stopped Amaniel’s forward momentum. Before he could recover, an elbow crashed into his temple, sending his vision spinning. A knee drove into his liver, folding him in half.
Each counterattack landed with devastating accuracy. Amaniel staggered backward, fresh blood trickling from his nose and the corner of his mouth.
"You call yourself her guardian?" Xeron’s innocent face wore a mocking smile. "With strength like this?"
’Not yet...’
Amaniel gritted his teeth and switched tactics.
He channeled his dark aura through his blades. Shadows erupted from the ground, forming tendrils that lashed toward Xeron from below while Amaniel struck from above.
Xeron’s foot tapped once. The earth rippled outward, and the shadow tendrils shattered like glass. His hand caught Amaniel’s descending wrist, twisted, and sent him spinning through the air.
Amaniel hit the ground hard but immediately rolled to his feet. Ice crystallized along his arms. The temperature plummeted, frost spreading across the cracked earth in expanding circles. He thrust both daggers forward, and massive spears of ice erupted from the ground, converging on Xeron from six different directions.
The young Emperor remained motionless until the last possible moment. Then his hand moved in a simple cutting motion.
Every ice spear shattered simultaneously, reduced to glittering powder that fell like snow.
"Is that the best you can offer?" Xeron’s voice carried genuine disappointment. "Your mastery is acceptable, but your application lacks creativity."
’Not yet...’
Amaniel poured more power into his attacks.
He combined elements now, wreathing his blades in both ice and fire. The contradictory energies screamed against each other but held stable through sheer force of will. Steam hissed from the weapons as he closed the distance once more.
Xeron caught both daggers between his palms, completely halting the strike. The conflicting energies dispersed harmlessly around his hands.
"Better," he acknowledged. "But still insufficient."
He pushed forward, and Amaniel flew backward again, crashing through several rock formations before finally stopping.
Not yet,’ Amaniel thought as he struggled upright. Blood dripped steadily from his mouth, forming small pools on the cracked ground. His vision blurred at the edges, and every breath sent sharp lances of agony through his torso.
"Still standing?" Xeron called out, his voice carrying a note of genuine surprise. "Well then. Let us continue."
The battle continued in brutal cycles.
Amaniel pushed speed to the limit, creating afterimages and coating the ground in ice. He used Spatial Sever, tearing through reality.
"Your void manipulation is clumsy," Xeron commented. "You lack proper control."
Fire and darkness merged into black flames, while ice and void formed distortions.
Water created binding tendrils.
...Nothing worked.
Throughout it all, the mockery continued.
"Is this the best the Sovereign’s guardian can offer?"
"Perhaps I should find someone more suitable for the role."
"My niece deserves better protection than this."
After a long battle, Amaniel’s left arm hung uselessly, the shoulder dislocated. His right leg dragged, the knee swollen. Blood matted his hair and stained his clothes crimson. His vision had narrowed to a dark tunnel, consciousness clinging by sheer willpower alone.
’Not yet,’ Amaniel thought through the haze of pain. ’Just a little more.’
He teleported directly into Xeron’s guard one final time, both daggers blazing with combined energies.
A palm strike to the sternum sent him flying.
Amaniel hit the ground hard. His body had reached its absolute limit. Darkness crept in from the edges of his vision. His fingers loosened around his daggers, the weapons slipping from his grasp.
His eyes fluttered closed.
Xeron approached slowly, hands clasped behind his back. He stopped a few paces away, gazing down at the broken figure.
"Disappointing," he stated flatly. "I had hoped for at least—"
’Now!’
Immediately, the space around Xeron erupted.
Dozens of shimmering echoes materialized simultaneously from different points across the battlefield. They moved in perfect synchronization.
Three echoes, just inches from Xeron, reached out with spectral hands infused with ethereal energy. They grasped Xeron — one took his right wrist, another his left ankle, and the third wrapped around his waist. As soon as contact was made, thick ice burst outward, quickly freezing the Emperor’s limbs and torso in crystalline restraints.
Xeron’s eyes widened slightly.
In that same instant, Amaniel’s eyes snapped open. Blue-white flames erupted within his gaze. His vision locked onto Xeron with absolute focus.
[Soul Anchor!]