Edward still stood where he was, his sword aid forward, its tip steady. The Duke lay flat on the ground beneath him, his body pressed against the scorched stone, dust clinging to his robes and sweat soaking through the fine fabric.
Their eyes t.
For a long mont, neither of them spoke. The Duke’s gaze was sharp but strained, pride clashing with fear behind his eyes. Edward’s expression was calm, almost indifferent, as though he were not standing over one of the most powerful n in the kingdom, but rely observing sothing already decided.
Slowly, Edward lowered his sword.
The blade dipped until its tip pointed at the ground, the faint glow around it fading as his mana settled. The Duke’s chest rose and fell heavily as he watched every small movent, waiting for the strike that did not co.
Edward finally spoke, his voice even and unhurried.
"I will not just kill you—"
The Duke moved instantly.
He pushed himself up from the ground with surprising speed, scrambling to his feet as though his body feared hesitation more than pain. He brushed dust from his sleeves and chest, forcing his posture upright even as his legs trembled. A wide smile spread across his face.
"Good. Very good," the Duke said, cutting Edward off before he could finish. "You made the correct choice. Killing would have been a disaster for you, an absolute calamity. I am the King’s brother after all. My death would shake the entire kingdom. No matter how strong you are, you would be hunted until there was nothing left of you."
He laughed lightly, trying to fill the air with confidence. "But you see reason. That is admirable. I respect n who know when to stop."
Edward did not respond.
The Duke took that silence as agreent and continued speaking, "You have talent, Edward. More than talent. Power like yours should not be wasted on short-sighted choices. Serve the crown, and you will be rewarded. I will make sure of it. Titles, lands, authority. You desire the Marquis position, do you not? It can be yours. I will overlook everything that happened here. Everything."
He stepped closer, carefully, watching Edward’s face for any sign of change. "Think of it as an investnt. You spared , and I will ensure you rise higher than you ever imagined."
Edward lifted his head slightly.
"I will not just kill you," he said again, his tone unchanged, "but I will also refine your Archmage-level soul."
The Duke froze.
For a heartbeat, the world seed to stop. His smile collapsed, his lips parting as shock washed over his face. His pupils shrank, and his breath caught painfully in his throat.
"What did you say?" the Duke demanded, his voice sharp but brittle.
Edward’s eyes locked onto him, cold and precise. "I said exactly what I ant."
The Duke shook his head violently. "You are insane," he snapped. "You do not understand what you are saying. Soul refinent is forbidden. It is a cri beyond execution. You cannot—"
He stopped mid-sentence.
Fear crept in, slow and heavy, like poison spreading through his veins. Edward’s gaze had changed. There was no hesitation. It was the gaze of soone who had already accepted the outco and moved beyond it.
The Duke took a step back.
"No," he said, his voice cracking. "You would not dare. You would doom yourself. The heavens themselves would—"
Another step back.
His heel slipped on loose stone, and panic surged through him. His breathing grew ragged as the truth finally settled in. Edward was not bluffing.
"Wait," the Duke said quickly. "We can talk. Whatever you want, it can be arranged. Gold, won, power. Even the throne itself can be influenced. You do not need to do this."
Edward said nothing.
And that was it. The Duke could not hold on any longer. Powerless after his mana core was damaged, he tried to reason with Edward, attempting to sow fear by insisting that killing him would bring nothing but calamity. But it did not work. Edward showed no hesitation, no second thoughts about his actions, as if he had already foreseen everything that would unfold and had long since decided that the outco posed no real threat to him.
As that realization settled in, the Duke turned and ran. Desperate to escape his fate, he pushed his body forward with everything he had left, but without his mana, he could neither teleport nor hover above the ground.
His movents were clumsy and desperate, as he tried to put distance between himself and the man behind him.
He did not make it far.
Edward raised his hand, and mana surged as it condensed into a narrow arc of lightning. A sudden flash followed, precise and deadly, cutting through the air.
The lightning struck the Duke from behind, piercing straight through his head. His body jerked once before collapsing forward, lifeless, sliding across the stone until it finally ca to a stop.
The Duke was dead.
He stood still for a mont, watching the corpse, ensuring there was no movent, no lingering breath. When he was satisfied, he turned his gaze inward.
The Archmage’s soul had not yet dispersed.
Edward extended his senses, locking onto it with practiced ease. The damaged mana core had destabilized the soul, making it fragile and exposed. For most cultivators, this would be impossible to touch, let alone refine. For Edward, it was simply another step.
He began the process.
The air around him grew heavy as invisible pressure pressed outward. Using his extraction spell, now enhanced by his High Mage stage, Edward quickly ford runes, ancient patterns shaped through countless comprehensions. The runes slamd into the Duke’s lifeless body as his soul was extracted, pulled apart, stripped of impurities, and left hovering high above the corpse.
With the Duke’s soul now refined of impurities, Edward could turn it into a summon, much like how he summoned elental spirits, though this one was far more effective. For one, it was the soul of an Archmage, which in practice made it stronger than most of his elental summons. Another reason was mana consumption. This summon would exist independently of Edward’s mana, aning it would not drain his mana when called forth.
This was the true essence of soul refinent. The practice was forbidden by the Church of Light and widely condemned by other nations as well. The White Tower, the center of magic and cultivation across the entire human domain, had long regarded such thods as walking the demonic path.
Because soul refinent stripped the dead of the comfort of resting in peace, denying them their return to the heavens and their place in the cycle of reincarnation. The Duke’s soul would now be forever trapped.
Edward exhaled slowly as he sheathed his sword. The next step required to turn the Duke’s soul into a summon was the creation of a soul flag.
But from a distance, as everything unfolded, Valerius watched.
He had seen battles before. He had fought monsters, traitors, and enemies strong enough to break mountains. He had witnessed death in every form imaginable. Yet what he had just seen left him silent.
Edward had Killed an Archmage.
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