CHAPTER 118: UNCLE AND NEPHEW [II]

"I think I didn’t hear you well—" Dante’s crimson eyes narrowed into slits, his voice laced with venom.

"I don’t know what I did for you to give off such murderous intent," Azel replied, his tone deceptively casual.

A faint smirk tugged at his lips as he leaned back in his chair. "But let’s settle it with a duel. Unless..." his eyes sharpened, "you’re scared of losing to a kid."

The words cracked like ice.

To anyone else in the room, the challenge sounded bratty — reckless arrogance from a boy who didn’t know his place.

But Azariah, Patriarch of Winter and head of the Winters bloodline, saw deeper.

His eyes flickered with faint amusement.

’He’s not reckless. He’s probing. He intends to use the goddess’s gift...’

"If that is what you wish for, then go ahead," Azariah said calmly.

But inwardly his thoughts shifted uneasily.

Dante’s venom was unnatural, almost obsessive, like he wanted his son dead.

’Why are you so hostile, brother? Did something happen in the years Azel was gone?’

He resolved to corner Dante later, away from eyes and ears, and drag the truth out.

Before the weight of the moment could grow unbearable, Veyra broke the tension with her usual mischief.

She jumped to her feet and threw an arm around Azel’s shoulder, pulling him close with a grin.

"Come on, I have to see this! A spar between the prodigal prince and our lovely Dante? Don’t keep me waiting!" Her golden eyes sparkled with anticipation.

Azel only smirked back, unbothered by her playfulness.

Dante, however, said nothing.

His jaw clenched as he rose, twin bone blades strapped to his back gleaming faintly under the lamplight.

Together they ascended to the second floor.

...

The training hall was vast, an open chamber of polished ice and hardened wood, its walls lined with racks of dulled practice weapons and enchanted sigils to absorb stray force.

In the center, a circular field of reinforced flooring stretched wide — an arena designed for Winters blood to test themselves.

When Azel and Dante stepped in, the rest of the Furious Five instinctively drifted to the edges.

Veyra leaned against a pillar, her grin still fixed in place.

The scarred warrior crossed his arms, expression grim.

The spear-wielder sat on his haunches, sharpening his weapon, though his eyes never left the field.

Even the shadowed figure stood straighter, curiosity glinting in the dark.

Edna and Diana had been sparring earlier, spells clashing, but at the sight of Azel and Dante stepping onto the field, they immediately stopped.

Without a word, both women retreated to the sidelines.

Even little Ellie scampered across the ice to perch on Veyra’s lap, wide-eyed with excitement.

The room fell into silence.

[Ding]

[Quest Reminder: Kill Dante Winters or be killed by him.]

Azel inhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders.

His pulse quickened — not from fear, but from anticipation.

A voice brushed across his mind.

[Esteemed Husband, I could deal with him with a single order to your father. Is there any need to do it this way?]

’Yepp,’ Azel replied inwardly, tightening his grip. ’I need to test myself. The Star Strike you taught me still isn’t perfect. Besides... this is the best chance to measure myself against a real powerhouse.’

Kyone sighed through the bond, exasperated but unwilling to argue.

Azel knew the truth.

Dante was stronger. At this moment, the gap between them was clear — decades of refinement versus a youth only recently returned.

But gaps could be crossed, and if he wanted to stand atop the world, he needed to push against walls like this.

Dante unslung his weapons.

Twin bone blades, pale as ivory, curved and etched with runes faintly glowing crimson.

He twirled them once, each movement sharp and practiced.

The air hummed with restrained killing intent.

Azel extended his hand.

Frost thickened in the air.

The temperature dropped with a hiss, frost blooming across the floor in spiderweb cracks.

In a flash of light, the goddess’s blade materialized in his grip.

Its silver-white edge gleamed with divinity.

He drew it close, feet sliding into the stance Kyone had drilled into him for Star Strike.

Dante froze.

His crimson gaze trembled, widening until blood vessels lined their edges.

His throat went dry, the hate in his heart suddenly twisting into something deeper — envy.

That blade...

It was the goddess’s weapon.

The sacred steel he had spent years dreaming of, training for, longing to wield.

The blade that symbolized the goddess’s favor — the one proof he had never received.

And now it was in the hands of this boy.

His vision blurred.

His body trembled.

The years of pride, all of it cracked.

"I’ll kill you!" Dante roared, spittle flying as his aura flared violently.

The ground shuddered beneath him as he surged forward.

His speed doubled — no, tripled, his body vanishing into a blur.

But Azel didn’t flinch.

He raised the divine blade and caught the strike head-on.

Bone screamed against bone, the clash erupting in a shockwave that split the floor.

Dust swirled.

Azariah moved instinctively to rise — then stopped when Azel shot him a look.

The boy’s expression was calm, almost cocky.

Azariah leaned back with a faint smile, nodding once.

’Very well, my son. Show me.’

With a twist of his wrist, Azel forced Dante back.

The older man barely touched the ground before vanishing again, his form flickering like a phantom.

He struck from the left, then the right, then above like a true ghost.

Azel exhaled.

Aura surged through his veins, flooding his joints, lightening his body until his limbs felt like water.

His sword moved in smooth arcs, deflecting every blow.

Bone rang again and again, sparks bursting with every clash.

To the Furious Five watching, it was unbelievable.

A boy was standing against Dante Winters — parrying with one hand.

Dante’s eyes widened briefly with shock. Then madness returned.

He poured blood essence into his blades.

Their pale ivory shifted into shades of crimson, glowing with an unholy light.

"You’re not supposed to use that!" Veyra shouted from the sidelines, suddenly serious.

Her playful grin vanished, replaced by concern. "Dante, stop—!"

But Dante no longer heard her. His mind drowned in rage, in envy, in obsession to kill this boy before him.

He swung his crimson blades down at Azel, intent on splitting him apart.

Azel’s eyes narrowed.

He raised the goddess’s blade, voice steady as he whispered:

"Reversal."

The divine weapon flared, its silver sheen darkening to match Dante’s crimson glow.

The two auras collided — equal yet opposite.

When the blades met, the world exploded.

A blast of energy ripped through the hall, shaking the walls and rattling the sigils.

The floor cracked like glass, splinters of ice and wood scattering in every direction.

Dante staggered back, his arms trembling violently from the backlash.

Azel stood firm, He tilted his head slightly, admiring the weapon as though testing its edge.

"Phew," he muttered, "been a while since I used that one."

[Hmph.] Kyone’s voice echoed with annoyance in his mind. [At least one of the techniques is done right. Though of course you’d master the most annoying one first.]

Azel smirked.

’Guess I’ve got good taste.’