Blanche struggled to her feet and wiped the blood from the corner of her mouth. Her eyes remained cold and defiant as she conjured another ice sword in her hand, though the glow was faint.
“If you’re going to kill me, then do it!” she snapped. “Enough talk. No one from my family dies on their knees!”
“Fine! Die with your pride, then.” Alarion snarled, his face twisting into a cruel grin. ” I’ll be happy to oblige.”
His cyan sword aura condensed again, radiating a destructive pressure as he brought it down. He held nothing back, pouring every ounce of his rage into a single strike meant to end her life on the spot.
Blanche knew she had no hope of stopping the blow. A flash of grim resolve crossed her eyes as she prepared to throw her very life into one final, desperate counterattack. She was determined to take a piece of him with her to the grave.
But at the critical moment, the air began to hum. The golden pillar of light in the distance suddenly erupted with intense brilliance. This time, the light didn’t surge toward the sky. Instead, it condensed into a razor-sharp beam of gold.
It struck the side of Alarion’s cyan sword aura with perfect precision, intercepting the blow just before it reached Blanche.
The golden beam slammed into the energy with a deafening metallic ring, deflecting the seemingly unstoppable strike off course. The cyan sword aura veered wildly and crashed into a nearby black magnetic stone, shattering the 30-foot-tall rock into dust.
“Who’s there?” Alarion roared as he spun toward the golden light, his fury mixing with sudden alarm.
A white streak cut across the northeastern horizon, moving with such blistering speed it defied the eye. It wasn’t a standard light from a flight but a condensed sliver of pure, crystalline sword aura.
Wherever the streak passed, the poisonous miasma in the sky was shredded and purified by an invisible edge, leaving a clear, brief vacuum in its wake.
“Is that… Prismatic Aura Streak? The control is perfect.”
Alarion’s mind reeled. This newcomer’s sword attainment was terrifying. The lethal refinement and speed of that sword aura alone were enough to send a jolt of cold apprehension through even a Core-Forged Arcanist like him.
In a heartbeat, the white sword aura had already crossed the sky and appeared above the battlefield. Instead of attacking him, it traced a perfect arc around the area where Blanche stood.
The air hummed as the circle completed. A shimmering barrier of ice-blue sword curtain manifested out of thin air. It was translucent and delicate as a dragonfly’s wing, yet radiating a bone-chilling cold. It formed a perfect dome, shielding both Blanche and Snowy
Alarion’s delayed cyan sword aura slammed into the ice-blue curtain with a heavy, muffled thud. The barrier rippled violently under the impact. Waves of energy shimmered across its surface, but it held firm. It had weathered the full force of the blow without a single crack.
“Show yourself!” Alarion roared, his voice a jagged edge of fury and alarm as he fixed his gaze on the source of the sword arc.
The white light receded, revealing a figure suspended in the air. To Alarion’s shock, it was a young man. He looked no older than 17 and wore a simple, moon-pale tunic with fitted sleeves.
Albus Frost stood with natural, commanding poise. His features still held the soft traces of youth, yet he was strikingly handsome. However, his eyes were the most striking part of him. They were clear and bright, but they held a cold intensity that seemed far too old for his face.
He didn’t rely on a flying sword to stay aloft. Instead, he stood upon the empty air as if it were solid ground. That terrifying streak of light from before hadn’t come from a weapon. It had been a pure manifestation of his own sword aura.
A longsword floated at his side. Its scabbard was ancient and pale blue, etched with shifting patterns of frost. Even though the blade remained sheathed, it radiated a chill so sharp it made the skin crawl.
Albus’ gaze swept over the severely injured and frail Blanche below. Pain and fury crossed his face before he turned his eyes back to Alarion. His voice was clear but carried a bone-chilling edge.
“The Jornells of Amethysius certainly know how to throw their weight around,” he said. “You hurt my sister. For that, you shall die.”
His voice wasn’t loud, but every word cut through the air with resonant clarity. There was a lethal finality in his tone that allowed no room for doubt
“Sister?” Alarion’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second before a fresh wave of bloodlust took hold. “So, you’re another remnant of the Frost family? You’re her brother?”
He swept his divine sense over Albus and felt a wave of relief. Though Albus’ presence was sharp and his sword aura was terrifyingly pure, his raw spiritual energy told a different story. He hadn’t even reached the core formation realm but was merely at the peak-stage Adept realm.
A peak-stage Adept brat? It didn’t matter how gifted he was with a sword. At that level, he was nothing.
“Arrogant whelp!” Alarion spat, forcing down the inexplicable chill in his heart. He let out a cold laugh.
“A mere peak-stage Adept realm dares to talk back to me? Fine. I’ll take both you and your sister today. I’ll send you both to the afterlife for a family reunion.”
Without waiting for a response, he launched his assault. He knew well enough that swordmasters possessed terrifying offensive power. Given the purity of Albus’ sword aura, he couldn’t afford to let the brat strike first.
Alarion slammed his hands together, instantly manifesting three massive spears made of pure, cyan lightning. Each one hummed with the raw power of destruction. They tore through the air in a triangular formation, hurtling toward Albus like thunder.
This was no longer a test. He put everything into the blow, determined to kill Albus with a single strike. Faced with the devastating lightning of an enraged Core-Forged Arcanist, Albus remained unfazed. He didn’t even spare a glance for the incoming spears.
He simply raised his right hand, forming a sword-finger gesture. With a calm, graceful motion, he beckoned toward the ancient longsword floating at his side.
A resonant ring echoed through the marsh, a sound so pure and powerful it seemed to vibrate through the very air. The pale blue scabbard slid away on its own, revealing a three-foot blade. It looked as though it were forged from mountain ice, its surface shimmering with the fluid grace of flowing water.
When the sword emerged, the temperature plummeted. The humid air instantly crystallized, turning the mist into fine frost that drifted down around him like falling snow.
