Albus gestured with his sword finger, then uttered, “Go.” The crystalline longsword trembled slightly. Without any visible wind-up, it transformed into a streak of azure light, surging forward to meet the three terrifying lightning spears.
Alarion watched in disbelief as the streak moved with a lightness that defied physics. It was so fast his divine sense could barely track its trajectory.
Instead of clashing head-on, the streak flashed through the narrow gap between the spears in the blink of an eye. What happened next left everyone stunned.
The three devastating lightning spears froze mid-flight as if caught in an invisible ice storm. The crackling cyan lightning on their surface rapidly dimmed and solidified.
Three sharp cracks echoed simultaneously as the spears snapped in two. The breaks were perfectly smooth before the remnants dissolved into a mist of ice-blue light and vanished without a sound. They might as well have been fragile icicles rather than powerful lightning techniques.
“What?” Alarion’s breath hitched, his voice cracking in a strangled cry.
His full-force strike had been dismissed so casually. How was that possible? What kind of sword was that? What kind of technique?
Albus hovered calmly in the air, but his sword finger moved again. The crystalline longsword traced an elegant arc and hovered before him, its tip locked onto Alarion with a soul-chilling focus.
“You…” Every instinct in Alarion screamed in warning as an unprecedented sense of dread washed over him. He no longer dared to underestimate Albus.
With a guttural roar, the golden core within him spun wildly and unleashed a torrent of raw spiritual energy. A set of emerald-toned plate armor materialized over his body, glowing with a hard, glassy sheen.
At the same time, his hands formed a rapid series of hand seals to summon his soul-bound artifact. It was the Stormbreaker, an ancient bronze mirror etched with jagged lightning symbols.
The mirror rose into the air, its surface crackling with lightning before erupting into a massive pillar of cyan thunder. It was a concentrated torrent of pure destruction that roared toward Albus with devastating force. This was Alarion’s trump card, a strike far more devastating than the previous lightning spears.
Faced with the devastating roar of the oncoming strike, Albus’ gaze finally sharpened. He raised his sword finger in a slow, deliberate motion, and the hovering crystalline longsword thrummed in response.
The light dancing along the steel swirled into a brilliant vortex as a surge of sword aura-vast and terrifyingly pure-erupted skyward in a pillar of absolute frost.
“Third Form-Glacial Sepulcher.”
Albus’ voice was cold and detached, devoid of any emotion.
This time, the crystalline longsword didn’t blur. Its path through the air was slow enough for every eye to follow. It left a shimmering trail of frost in its wake as if it were freezing the very fabric of space. The tip of the sword met the head of the roaring lightning pillar with a gentle tap.
Time seemed to stop at that moment. There was no earth-shaking explosion or blinding flash of light. Instead, the terrifying pillar-with enough power to level a mountain-was overtaken by a surge of azure ice.
Startling from the point of contact, the frost raced backward, swallowing the lightning in a crystalline casing. The freezing advance was irresistible, surging up the stream of thunder toward the Stormbreaker itself.
“No!” Alarion screamed, his mind shattering in terror. He could feel his connection to the Stormbreaker being ruthlessly severed, frozen solid by a terrifying chill. He tried to recall the artifact, but it was already too late.
A sharp, crystalline crack echoed through the marsh. In an instant, the Stormbreaker and its pillar of thunder were completely encased in ice.
They became a massive, life-like monument, a tableau of a strike frozen in mid-air. The lightning was trapped within the glass, suspended in its final moment of fury.
As his soul-bound artifact was neutralized, Alarion reeled as if he had been struck by a sledgehammer. He coughed up a mouthful of blood, his aura collapsing instantly. His face turned a ghostly, papery white, his eyes wide with a primal, bottomless terror.
Alarion’s mind failed him.
Just what kind of monster was he looking at? Albus’ cultivation was clearly that of an Adept, but the reality before him made no sense. No one at that realm should have been able to freeze a Core-Forged Arcanist’s artifact in a single strike.
Albus lowered his hand, and the crystalline longsword gave a soft hum as it flew back to his side. He didn’t even look at the frozen mirror. Instead, his gaze remained fixed on Alarion, who was now reeling from the backlash in total terror.
“Injuring my sister is an unforgivable sin,” he said. He slowly raised his hand, his fingers forming the sword-finger again. Terror seized Alarion. Any thought of revenge was gone, replaced by a primal need to survive.
Albus’ sword mastery was beyond anything he had ever encountered. If he stayed another second, he would be a dead man.
“Run!”
The thought screamed through his mind. Without even a glance toward his frozen soul-bound artifact, he bit down hard on the tip of his tongue. A mouthful of blood essence, mingled with fragmented specks of his golden core, sprayed forth. It coalesced into a thick, crimson radiance that wrapped around him.
Blood Flash was a forbidden technique that sacrificed one’s foundational cultivation to achieve an impossible burst of speed.
In a blur of crimson, Alarion vanished. He moved so fast the air cracked in his wake, leaving only a jagged, hate-filled roar to echo over the marsh.
“Stray of the Frost line! I will remember today’s grudge. The Jornells of Amethysius will hunt you to the ends of the earth. We will not rest until your entire bloodline is wiped out.”
The streak of blood-light tore across the horizon at an impossible speed. In the blink of an eye, it was nothing more than a fading speck against the sky. And then it was gone.
Albus didn’t chase him. He merely cast a cold, indifferent glance toward the horizon where Alarion had vanished.
“Pathetic pretender,” he muttered. With a casual wave, the frozen Stormbreaker and the ice-sculpted lightning pillar rapidly shrank to palm size and dropped into his hand. He casually tucked them into his pocket.
Once that was done, the overwhelming sword aura radiating from him vanished.
He transformed back into his youthful, handsome appearance, with a hint of boyishness. His figure flashed as he descended to the ice-blue sword barrier protecting Blanche below.
Once the barrier was gone, Albus rushed to Blanche’s side. Seeing her pale face and injuries covering her body, his eyes reddened, and his voice choked with emotion.
“Are you okay?” he asked. “I’m sorry that I came too late.”
Blanche looked at her younger brother, who felt both familiar and like a total stranger. Her heart was a storm of conflicting emotions-the hollow relief of survival, the sudden warmth of seeing family, and the staggering shock of the power he had just displayed.
She forced a smile and raised her hand to pat his head, though the movement made her wince from her wounds.
“Albus, you’ve grown up. And you’ve gotten so much stronger.”
