"William! You still have the nerve to call yourself the heir, hiding in the shadows like so filthy rat?" Alan's gaze cut through the crowd, his sword pointing straight at William. "If you're so confident, let's settle this in a one-on-one duel!"
William looked Alan over and sneered. "Fine! A duel to the death, no holding back!"
"But not now—the patriarch is currently in seclusion. When he erges in a month, we'll settle this once and for all."
"Deal!" Alan agreed without hesitation. After casting a glance at the wrecked Virtue Pavilion, he turned and left with Isabella.
As they left, the seneschal turned to William. "Alan has been fighting bloody battles for nearly a decade. He's no pushover in combat. Are you truly prepared for a death duel?"
A duel to the death, witnessed by the entire family, ant no quarter. This was the most severe thod for noble houses to resolve irreconcilable disputes, one even the seneschal couldn't interfere with.
"Don't worry, Grandfather. My Hellfire bloodline just awakened, pushing from tier-iron level 4 to tier-iron level 6 in one breakthrough. I'll only get stronger from here!" William said confidently. "What can Alan possibly compare with? He's been the heir for years, has a solid reputation, and makes the perfect stepping stone for ."
Seeing William's confidence, the seneschal's stern face softened. "Good, good! With a talent like yours, House Roan will certainly beco legendary!"
The Hellfire bloodline was a rare and powerful magical trait, not just in the Northern District but throughout the Plantagenet Kingdom. Once awakened, it granted exceptional affinity with elents, allowing for level advancents several tis faster than ordinary mages. In combat, it nearly guaranteed supremacy against others of the sa rank.
That was the council's true reason for revoking Alan's title.
Yet, the seneschal hadn't expected Alan's combat ability to be this formidable. After a mont of thought, he looked toward a trusted subordinate. "The shadow assassin I sent out never fails, yet Alan still returned. Alex, investigate this imdiately."
An older man with a goatee nodded and departed.
...
Within the simplicity of a willow-lined courtyard, Alan brought his sister inside and quickly prepared an ice pack, pressing it gently to her bruised cheek. Explore more stories with My Virtual Library Empire
"Brother, the seneschal and his lot are just too much. The family wouldn't be what it is today if it weren't for you…" Isabella huffed, her small face full of indignation.
Alan smiled, reassuring her. "Being heir may look glamorous, but it also paints a target on your back. Now that the title's gone, I can finally take a break, right?"
Isabella considered this and nodded. He had indeed endured endless hardship and sacrifice for the family.
Her face took on a serious expression as she said, "Then promise you'll take a proper rest in the coming days."
"Don't worry about the duel. Even though William's bloodline makes him level up fast, I've recently prepared a few new potions…" Isabella began.
Alan's brow furrowed as he gazed at her sternly. "You promised that once you joined Lioncrest Academy and fully recovered, you'd stop preparing potions for . Your condition is worsening, and I won't have you harming yourself further. I'd never forgive myself if sothing happened to you."
Alan's exceptional talent had allowed him to surpass the prodigies of other noble houses, even achieving cross-tier combat. Much of this was thanks to the potions Isabella had made for him since childhood.
Though she couldn't absorb magical elents into her body, she possessed a rare sensitivity to them and an exceptional learning ability, which made her remarkably skilled in potion-making. The quality of her potions was unmatched, with a success rate of 98%.
Yet, perhaps due to her unique talent, her mind would periodically suffer from overwhelming, debilitating pain. Each episode left Alan deeply distressed, which led him to forbid her from potion-making.
He had also used his status as heir to gather countless rare items and potions to help restore her ntal stability, enabling her to endure year after year.
Under Alan's intense gaze, Isabella lowered her head, mumbling, "I only wanted to help you as much as I could…"
"Taking care of yourself is the best help you can give ." Alan continued, "You haven't rested enough today. Go get so sleep and calm down."
Obediently, Isabella nodded. "Brother, stay here with , will you?"
Alan brushed a stray lock of golden hair from her face. "Sleep well. I'll stay right here."
Only after he reassured her did Isabella close her eyes and drift into a sweet sleep.
Once his sister had fallen into slumber, Alan let out a quiet sigh. He glanced down at his abdon, his face paling.
A fresh sword scar stretched across his abdon, a reminder of his recent battle with House Quixote over a mana stone mine. During that fight, an assassin ambushed him, wounding him with a dagger and shattering his mana core.
Though he had killed his assailant, his mana core was irreparably damaged.
Without a functioning mana core, he could no longer absorb elents, break through levels, or even use basic mana. In short, Alan was now completely crippled.
In a world where strength ruled, the weak had no standing, no future. Stripped of his title, he could no longer obtain the potions necessary for stabilizing Isabella's condition. Without them, her next ntal breakdown would bring unbearable agony.
Originally, he had planned to bring her to the royal capital's Lioncrest Academy, where the best alchemists and skilled masters resided. It was the place with the highest chance of curing her condition.
But Lioncrest Academy, the crown jewel of Plantagenet Kingdom, attracted people from all walks of life. Admission guaranteed wealth, power, and status. Nobles climbed higher, and commoners were elevated.
Lioncrest's requirents were stringent: under twenty years old and at least tier-iron level 8. Alan had a real chance of admission, being only eighteen and nearly at tier-iron level 7.
Yet, the assassin had destroyed all of that in one fell swoop.
Frowning, Alan looked around the courtyard where his mother had once lived, nostalgia filling his eyes.
He rembered the day his mother left—a biting, frigid winter. Snowflakes fell thickly from the sky.
"Alan, you're a little man now. Rember to take care of your sister. I'll be away for a while…" Her gaze was full of reluctance, as if she was right there beside him.
Alan had sensed sothing was wrong then. He had tried to reach for her, but a massive shadow lood from the sky, a dark figure growing ever closer.
In the end, his mother had gritted her teeth, looked up at the enormous figure, tore open the fabric of space, and vanished.
He hadn't seen her since.
Thinking of his current predicant, Alan sighed deeply. But as he did, he didn't notice the faint tremor beneath the floorboards. A box there contained a necklace, which began to hum softly. In an instant, it shimred into existence before him.
Alan looked at the necklace, instantly recognizing it—it was his mother's.
His eyes focused on the gem in the necklace's center. Suddenly, the once-dull gemstone began spinning like a vortex, emitting an intense pull.
In a mont of dizziness, Alan's vision blurred.
When he ca to, he found himself gazing upon a vast, ancient abyss of darkness.
The abyss stretched infinitely to either side, as vast and cold as a starlit sky.
Staring into that abyss, Alan felt as if he were witnessing the very essence of Hell, full of wailing spirits and shadows.
In the heart of the abyss, he could vaguely see three mystical staves radiating a brilliant light, like suns in the darkness.
The 18-Level Hell?!
A rush of foreign mories flooded Alan's mind. Before he could resist, he was pulled into the vision.
Reviews
All reviews (0)