Bright red hair, crimson eyes, extrely pale skin, and an imposing height that made him tower over most people—these details struck Christel like a hamr as her gaze locked onto the figure standing before her. The man was exactly as she had heard in the stories and seen in pictures. There was an undeniable charm about him, a raw charisma that radiated confidence and power. His carefree expression, almost like he was taking a leisurely stroll in the park, did little to hide the undeniable danger lurking beneath.
Christel faltered for a mont, her steps hesitating. He was, without a doubt, too handso for her liking. His features were so striking that she found herself montarily questioning whether she could even swing her sword at him.
There he was—the so-called rightful heir and son of Princess Madeleine, the infamous royal who had run away from their clan under circumstances cloaked in mystery. Ethan Smith stood before her, clad in nothing more than his academy tracksuit. No armor. No weapons. No spirit beast to guard him. Just him and his fiery presence that seed to command the very air around him.
"Ethan Smith," she said, her voice breaking the silence.
At the sound of his na, Ethan raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth quirking in mild amusent. "Huh? Do I know you from sowhere?" he asked casually. His voice carried an effortless confidence, as if he wasn't addressing soone who had clearly co to confront him.
Christel stiffened. Sothing about the way he looked at her—like she was nothing more than a curiosity to him—made her blood boil. His crimson eyes road her form, noting the familiar features: red hair, green eyes, red horns, and her dark, sun-kissed skin.
Recognition dawned on his face. "Oh," he said with a mocking grin, "you're part of them, huh?"
Her grip on her broadsword tightened. "Don't you dare sully my clan, outcast," she spat. Her initial hesitation was gone, replaced by a burning rage. She took everything back—every thought of him being handso or charming. To her, he was nothing but ugly and evil, the kind of person you kill on sight without hesitation.
Ethan's grin widened. "I don't rember ever being part of that clan to begin with. Do you?"
"That's the whole reason why you're an outcast," Christel shot back, her voice laced with venom. "An outcast has no place in the clan."
"Yeah, yeah," Ethan said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Blah, blah, blah. Like I'd ever beg to be part of that shithole you call a clan."
Christel's eyes narrowed. "The sa shithole your mother was born in," she said, her tone mocking.
Ethan's expression froze for a fraction of a second before his smirk returned. "And she was wise enough to escape from it."
The tension between them was palpable, the air charged with unspoken challenges. Christel's team, who had been standing as silent spectators, exchanged uneasy glances. They had heard the tales of Ethan Smith, the rising star of AMA, but seeing him in person was a completely different experience. His re presence was suffocating, exuding an aura that demanded both attention and caution.
Despite Christel's height—taller than most of Blackstone Academy's third-years—she looked almost like a teenager next to him.
"Bastard!" she snapped, her anger reaching a boiling point.
"I want to kill my father too," Ethan replied nonchalantly, his tone almost bored.
"Son of a bitch!"
"I'd prefer if you didn't really an what you just said," Ethan said, his crimson eyes narrowing ever so slightly.
"What if I do an it?"
Ethan's carefree deanor cracked. His smirk vanished, replaced by a cold, chilling expression. The air around him seed to vibrate with an unseen force, his crimson eyes glowing with a terrifying intensity.
"You know," he said, his voice dropping to a dangerously low register, "I didn't want to start off badly with your shitty clan. But if this is how all of you think of , I'll have to change your minds."
Christel opened her mouth to retort, but Ethan cut her off.
"And I'll use force to do it."
His next words were spoken with icy finality: "Calling a bastard is acceptable. But dragging my mother's na through the mud?" His aura flared, making the ground beneath them tremble. "That's the sa as declaring war."
The air grew heavy, and Christel barely had ti to react before Ethan moved. One mont, he was standing several feet away. The next, his hand was around her neck, lifting her effortlessly into the air.
The speed and force of his movent sent shockwaves through the grove. Christel's team staggered, disoriented by the sheer pressure emanating from Ethan.
Christel's eyes widened in shock as her feet left the ground, her armored body dangling helplessly in his grasp. She grabbed at his hand, struggling to free herself, but his grip didn't budge. His crimson eyes burned with fury, his earlier carefree expression replaced by a chilling coldness.
"I'll teach you to keep my mother's na out of your mouth," Ethan hissed. His voice, low and venomous, was laced with a barely restrained anger that made the air around them feel heavy.
With a sharp motion, he hurled Christel across the clearing. She slamd into a tree, the impact cracking the bark and sending splinters flying. Gasping for air, she pushed herself to her feet, her green eyes blazing with defiance.
"You bastard!" Christel roared, her voice echoing through the grove. Fire surged along her broadsword as she charged at Ethan, her armor glowing with the intensity of her Fire affinity. She swung the massive blade with all her might, aiming to cleave him in two.
Ethan didn't flinch. He sidestepped the attack with a speed that defied his size, the blade missing him by inches. Before Christel could recover, his fist slamd into her armored side, sending her skidding across the ground.
"You're slow," he said, his voice laced with mockery. "If this is what the Smith clan prides itself in, I'm disappointed."
Christel gritted her teeth, the insult fueling her anger. She slamd her sword into the ground, unleashing a wave of fire that surged toward Ethan. The flas roared like a living beast, consuming everything in their path.
Ethan stood his ground, the fire washing over him without leaving a mark. When the flas subsided, he erged unscathed, his crimson eyes glowing brighter.
"My turn," he said, his voice calm but dangerous.
He lunged at her with terrifying speed, his fist colliding with her sword as she raised it to block. The impact sent shockwaves through the clearing, forcing her to take a step back. Ethan didn't relent, his attacks coming in a relentless barrage. Each punch and kick was a calculated strike, testing her defenses and exploiting every opening.
Christel fought back with everything she had, her sword swinging in fiery arcs that lit up the grove. Sparks flew as tal clashed against unyielding strength, the ground beneath them cracking from the sheer force of their battle.
"You think you're better than us?" Christel spat, her breath ragged as she parried another of Ethan's blows. "You're nothing but an arrogant fool!"
Ethan's lips curled into a smirk. "And you're nothing but a loudmouth who can't back up her words."
He feinted to the left, then struck her in the stomach with a powerful kick. The blow sent her flying, her armor dented from the force.
"Christel!" Lysa shouted, her voice tinged with panic as she and the rest of the team rushed to her aid.
Ethan's eyes flicked toward them, his expression bored. "Stay out of this," he warned.
They didn't listen. Mikhail unleashed a gust of wind aid at Ethan's legs, while Ren charged at him with his axe raised high. Lysa flanked him, her daggers flashing in the dim light.
Ethan sighed. "Fine."
With a single motion, he dodged Mikhail's attack and closed the distance to Ren. Grabbing the axe mid-swing, he yanked it from Ren's grasp and delivered a crushing backhand that sent the larger man sprawling.
Lysa ca at him next, her daggers aiming for his neck. Ethan caught her wrists with ease, twisting her arms until she dropped the blades with a cry of pain. He flung her aside like a ragdoll, her body slamming into a tree.
Mikhail hesitated, his wind magic faltering as he watched his teammates fall. Ethan's crimson eyes locked onto him, and with a single step, he was in front of the wind mage. A devastating punch to the stomach sent Mikhail crumpling to the ground, gasping for air.
"You should've stayed out of it," Ethan said coldly, turning back to Christel.
She was already on her feet, her armor scorched and dented, her breath labored but her resolve unbroken. Fire surged around her once more, the heat distorting the air.
"This isn't over," she growled, gripping her sword tightly.
Ethan's expression softened into a smirk. "Good. I was worried you'd give up too easily."
The grove seed to hold its breath as the two advanced fighters squared off again, the air between them charged with energy. Christel lunged first, her sword blazing with fiery power, while Ethan moved to et her with nothing but his bare fists.
He was really angry now and Christel was the cause of it.
Firstly, he was teleported to a place faraway from his team, then his device's signal was jamd and now so arrogant lady dares to drag his mother's sweet na in the mud.
Unacceptable!
He could accept the first two although he was angry but touching his mother was one of his reverse scales and he wouldn't forgive anyone who does that, especially not one from that shitty Smith clan.
Continue your adventure with My Virtual Library Empire
They'd already shad his mother once but a twice would never be accepted. Not now, not ever! He'd rather die than allow that to happen.
He will show that idiot lady the consequences of insulting his mother.
The battle wasn't over—it had only just begun.
Reviews
All reviews (0)