Chapter 154 – Silver Against Silver

  Somewhere within the town of Lethrain,

  a lavish estate stood in bitter silence.

  Or what remained of it.

  The marble floors were still polished. The chandeliers still hung high above. But the walls felt hollow. The shelves were empty. The golden inlays stripped. The silk banners removed. What once screamed wealth now whispered humiliation.

  This estate had been bought slowly.

  Coin by coin.

  Favor by favor.

  Grey dealings.

  And some black.

  Now much of it was confiscated.

  By that damn brat.

  The silver-haired halfling with pointed ears and cold, unyielding eyes.

  His nails dug into the armrest.

  But this would end soon.

  He would reclaim his dignity. His power. His wealth.

  The Reapers had been sent.

  Against a true Silver-rank adventurer?

  Perhaps they might struggle.

  But Iron rank?

  Impossible.

  He might have been stripped of his title.

  Removed from the Guild.

  Disgraced.

  But a snake without its title still has fangs.

  And he would sink them deep.

  Western Camp – Chaos Unleashed

  The western encampment was in complete uproar.

  Wind magic blasted tents into the sky.

  Arrows whistled through the air.

  Steel clashed in rapid succession.

  Shadows chased shadows.

  Illusions twisted space and perception.

  Proud Defenders

  versus

  Seasoned Assassins.

  At the outer ring, onlookers stood frozen.

  This was not a brawl.

  This was a Silver-rank engagement.

  Rivel’s mouth hung open in a perfect “O”.

  Garrick stood beside him, equally stunned.

  Especially Garrick.

  He once challenged Seraphine in a duel—to defend Ivaline’s honor.

  What a joke.

  If he had faced her like this?

  He wouldn’t have lasted a breath.

  No contest.

  Only death.

  At the Center

  Ivaline knelt on the dirt.

  Her body refused to respond.

  Paralysis poison.

  Her limbs numb.

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  Her tongue heavy.

  Her voice stolen.

  But her mind—

  Sharp.

  Alert.

  Burning.

  She watched.

  Aldric clashed with the assassin leader.

  The man’s curved blade twisted mid-air in an acrobatic arc, striking from impossible angles.

  Aldric raised his shield at the precise instant, deflected, stepped in—

  Thrust.

  The assassin retreated half a step.

  “You’ve improved,” Aldric said calmly. “Your trickster sword is harder to read.”

  “Right back at you,” the man smirked. “Let me penetrate that defense already, will you?”

  Steel rang again.

  A clash of both team leader continues.

  One rushed with synchronize of short and long sword.

  One endures with the shield and precise counter slash.

  Evenly match.

  A sword dances in the air, bend low, feint and strike.

  The other side take it head on.

  If failed, one side will retreat just to came back a moment later.

  “Your style is the worst one I could ask for.”

  “Right back at you. You’re annoying as hell”

  Bram roared as he charged.

  His war mace slammed into the ground where the crossbow user had stood an instant before. Darts deflected uselessly off his shield.

  “You frickin’ tank! Cut it out already!”

  “Slow and steady wins the race!” Bram laughed, swinging again.

  The impact cratered the earth.

  The crossbow user leapt back, sweating.

  He changes his arrow.

  Armor piercing, slower Bran intercept it.

  A magic arrow, burst with element imbued.

  Bram dodge it outright.

  A simple one, He just charge through.

  Bram might be slow but observant, he looked at the arrow and react in appropriate way.

  The crossbow uses change tactic and use his wire grip to lunge onto the branch.

  Choosing to engage at range only.

  Nyssa and the dagger assassin—

  A blur.

  Too fast for most eyes.

  Metal sparked midair as thrown knives collided and changed trajectory. A dagger spun upward, caught by the opposite hand, thrown back in the same breath.

  “Hey! You dropped your dagger!”

  “Oh? Then take yours back too!”

  Their movements were almost playful.

  Deadly.

  Elegant.

  Terrifying.

  And then they leap against each other.

  Dagger clashed.

  Spark flies like a firework in darkness.

  Beautiful.

  Yet lethal.

  Laughter continues.

  When two speed maniac clashes.

  “AHAHAHAHAHA!!!”

  “WAHAHAHAHAHA!!!”

  And then—

  Seraphine.

  She was not fighting.

  She was raging.

  Condensed air magic compressed above her palm before detonating downward.

  BOOM.

  Tents flattened.

  Trees uprooted.

  Illusions shredded apart like mist before a storm.

  Her opponent—an illusion master—barely survived, sprinting desperately across shattered terrain.

  In the past she could use illusion just to be countered by Seraphine detection magic.

  And then they’ll duel in close range combat.

  Hand lock, kick, a staff clash against each other.

  Rivalry of magician whom cannot bested other in magic skill, that ended in a clash of strength.

  But right now, it’s a one side bullying.

  “This is unfair! I dare you to come down and duel me properly!”

  “SHUT UP! I’LL KILL YOU FOR TOUCHING MY HUSBAND!”

  “YOU INSANE ELF! WHERE DID YOU LEARN THAT FLYING MAGIC?!”

  “MY HUSBAND TAUGHT ME!”

  That made a pause in her fleeing tracks.

  “Did she take a mistress?! I’m willing to become her mistress if I can learn that spell—!”

  “FCK OFF YOU FCKTARD!!!”

  Another air blast occurred.

  The entire battlefield heard them.

  It was humiliating.

  It was absurd.

  And yet—

  Understandable.

  A magic caster capable of sustained airborne combat?

  Every mage dreamed of it.

  A little secret

  The Four Bastion never bragged.

  Never boasted.

  But recently—

  They had passed Guild reevaluation.

  Individually?

  Each now registered as Silver-rank.

  As a party?

  High Silver.

  Nearly brushing Gold standards.

  That was why they stood evenly matched.

  Silver versus Silver.

  No one blinked.

  No one spoke.

  This kind of battle might never be witnessed again in their lifetime.

  It demanded silence.

  Respect.

  Awe.

  Thirty Minutes Later

  Breathing grew heavy.

  Sweat dripped.

  Steel slowed.

  Both sides understood.

  If they pushed further—

  Someone would die.

  And the cost might not be worth it.

  “…Could you step aside?” the Vulture leader finally said. “We’re doing our job.”

  “And I’ve already told you,” Aldric replied evenly. “She’s family. If you want her, go through our corpses.”

  Silence.

  The Vultures exchanged glances.

  A nod.

  Blood for blood, then.

  Weapons tightened—

  The verdict came.

  “Enough.”

  The word was soft.

  But it cut through the battlefield sharper than any blade.

  CRASH.

  A golden whip sliced through the air, wrapped around someone—

  And slammed him violently into the ground.

  BWEHHH—!

  Dust rose.

  Silence fell.

  “By my name—Selene Viremont. Master of the Adventurer Guild, Lethrain Branch.”

  Every adventurer froze.

  “Cease this combat immediately.”

  The Four Bastion remained poised.

  The Vultures remained ready.

  Then—

  They saw.

  The man lying broken on the dirt.

  Half-naked.

  Back torn by lash marks.

  Dignity shattered.

  Recognition dawned instantly.

  The Vultures lowered their weapons.

  Professional.

  Immediate.

  The Four Bastion slowly did the same, though tension lingered.

  Ivaline forced her neck to turn.

  And she saw him.

  The investigator.

  The man who once tried to frame her.

  The man who hired fake bandits to sabotage her test.

  Now dragged like trash.

  “What… going on?”

  Chronicle run a simulation fast.

  And reach at one conclusion.

  ‘that’s man… is the one who hire those assassins to hunt you down.’