Aerick Windre, Lord of the relatively prosperous village of Windre, was a simple and passionate man.
At fifty years old, he had gentle eyes and a firm, noble face, settled comfortably into the pri of middle age. It was a face he would retain for many decades to co.
His body was powerful, and thanks to his talent, he still had a slim chance of reaching the fourth stage.
At that very mont, he was enjoying a perfect day alongside his wife and eldest son, who was turning five.
The beautiful, mature woman sat on a patio in the mansion’s backyard, a book resting open in her lap as she read in a relaxed manner.
Her ears picked up only the dry clacks of her son’s wooden sword clashing against his father’s, the two of them enjoying a pretend fight in the soft midday light.
Unfortunately, all of that ca to an abrupt halt.
The captain of the Windre guard flung open the door to the courtyard, his eyes cold, his chest heaving as he fought to catch his breath.
"My lord, the guard has detected strange movent in the forest! At least three hundred n are marching toward us from the east, and they do not seem to wish us any good."
Aerick froze, his gaze taking on an icy edge as he turned to his wife.
"Wait for , my love. I’ll handle this and be right back."
The woman, who had already pulled her son into a tight embrace, nodded worriedly, her fingers squeezing the boy’s small shoulders.
Aerick followed the guard in silence, his firm footsteps echoing through the wood corridors.
"I’m going to put on my armor. Prepare the troops and order every man of fighting age, whether ard with a club or a scythe, to gather at the walls."
The captain nodded and, with cold eyes, left the Lord’s mansion, shouting orders nonstop.
Left alone, Aerick sighed deeply, stepping into his personal armory and gripping the hilt of his sword firmly.
He ran his gaze along the blade’s edge, closing his eyes for a brief mont.
This was the first ti, since becoming Lord, that his sword would taste human blood.
Opening his eyes, he nodded to the servant who had just arrived, asking for help with his armor.
It took no more than a few minutes before Aerick Windre stood fully equipped in an old yet beautiful and powerful suit of steel armor.
His steps were firm as he watched hundreds of n gather along the wall.
Leaping up and reaching the top, he fixed his gaze on the invaders.
Ethan, now alone on his black horse, had taken the lead among the three hundred soldiers. He looked up, returning Aerick’s gaze.
He counted at least fifty n on the wall and imagined another three hundred and fifty must be guarding the gates.
A dangerous number, even if most were untrained civilians.
"Young man." Aerick’s cold eyes fell upon Ethan. "I don’t know why you ca all this way to lead all these n to their deaths.
But I ask that you have rcy on their mothers, that you have rcy on their wives, and that you have rcy on your own mother and your own wife.
Go back."
Ethan smiled in response to the veiled threat. He dismounted and passed the reins to one of his n, who led the horse to the rear of the small army.
"I agree with you. So let’s make sure all these n return ho unhard." Ethan drew his beautiful elven sword, pointing it toward Aerick’s chest.
"Aerick Windre. I, Baron Ethan Goldenveil, challenge you to a duel by the ancient traditions of this land! Let us have rcy on these n and settle this matter between ourselves!"
Aerick clenched his teeth, resignation and pain pressing against his chest. He glanced back for a mont, watching his wife step out from the mansion.
His eyes filled with murderous intent. He drew his sword and leaped from the wall.
His heavy body landed about ten ters from Ethan, the impact raising a cloud of dust around his boots.
"I accept your duel."
The two n took up combat stances, and then, with an explosion of power, charged forward.
Ethan didn’t hold back.
He activated the Burning Blood body enhancent technique and the lost Crimson Blade technique at the sa ti, his body turning into a golden blur as he triggered the Golden Steps.
He might possess terrifying power for his own level, but Aerick was at level eighty and far more experienced.
Ethan couldn’t falter.
Aerick, who had been confident until then, couldn’t help but feel startled by Ethan’s speed. His eyes widened as he raised his blade in defense.
The two blades clashed in the air with a piercing tallic clang, sparks spitting between the edges.
Aerick’s icy blue aura collided with Ethan’s golden aura, which now made the young man look like a true angel of war.
The air between them exploded in a shockwave, a gust of wind forcing the low grass surrounding Windre to flutter violently.
They remained locked like that for a brief mont before separating.
Ethan stepped back only twice.
Aerick, on the other hand, slid more than five steps backward. His steel greaves tore into the ground, leaving deep, muddy trenches in their wake.
His arms trembled from the trendous force, a tingling sensation crawling up his shoulders and settling at the base of his neck.
He clenched his teeth and forced every muscle not to falter.
With a glint of murderous intent, he returned to the attack with full force.
Three strands of bluish aura wrapped around the tip of his blade as he lunged toward Ethan.
The strands shifted shape, transforming into sharp needles that sought out the unprotected parts of Ethan’s body.
The handso young man sensed the danger of the ability, stepping back and leaving two aura slashes behind.
Still, a single needle reached him, sinking into his shoulder and nearly piercing the steel of his armor before disintegrating into tiny fragnts of light.
Aerick, who had dodged one of the aura slashes and defended against the other, panted heavily.
The gash left by Ethan’s attack, which he had narrowly dodged, still cast a glowing golden mark beside him.
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