Chapter : 571

Lloyd, in his merged, storm-forged form, was a whirlwind of motion and energy. He was a living paradox, a creature of moonlight and lightning, wielding a blade of demonic, shadow-laced fire. His speed was supernatural, his attacks a constant, unpredictable barrage that forced his father into a purely defensive, reactive posture. He was a hurricane, battering against the shores of an unyielding continent.

But the continent was not yielding.

Arch Duke Roy Ferrum was a fortress of calm, controlled mastery in the heart of the storm his son had unleashed. His dark, impenetrable chains flowed around him, a living, semi-sentient shield that was a perfect, absolute expression of his will. He did not waste a single iota of energy. His every block, his every parry, was a masterpiece of efficiency, of a lifetime of experience honed into a flawless, defensive art form. He met Lloyd’s chaotic, explosive power not with equal force, but with a superior, unshakable structure.

Lloyd knew he was losing. Not in terms of skill, not in terms of power, but in terms of simple, brutal endurance. The merged form was a colossal drain on his unified core. He could feel his reserves, which had seemed so vast moments before, now a rapidly dwindling reservoir. He was a raging bonfire, burning hot, brilliant, and fast. But his father was a star, a celestial body of immense, almost infinite, energy, burning with a slow, steady, and seemingly eternal, fire. In a battle of attrition, the bonfire would always die first.

He had to end it. One final, all-or-nothing roll of the dice. He had to risk everything on a single, decisive, and overwhelming, attack. A move that would either shatter his father’s perfect defense, or shatter himself in the process.

He disengaged, a blur of lightning and shadow, leaping back to the far side of the ruined training circle, putting distance between them. He needed a moment. A moment to gather his will, to focus his power, to forge his final, desperate weapon.

Roy did not pursue. He simply stood, his chain defense coiling slightly, his dark eyes watchful, curious. He saw the shift in his son’s posture, the gathering of a new, even more potent, energy. He knew the final gambit was coming. And he waited, a master ready to receive the ultimate challenge from his most promising, and most terrifying, student.

Lloyd planted his feet, the cracked stone groaning beneath his boots. He held his practice sword, its blade still wreathed in those strange, ugly, black-red flames, aloft. He took a deep, shuddering breath, the air he drew in seeming to crackle with a new, raw power.

He was about to do something foolish. Something reckless. Something that went against every tactical instinct of the Major General. He was about to combine all of his powers, all of his disparate, conflicting energies, into a single, chaotic, and probably suicidally unstable, attack.

He reached deep into his core. He pulled upon the cool, sharp, and precise energy of his B-Rank Steel Blood. He pulled upon the raw, chaotic, and destructive fire of the Iffrit-echo. And he pulled upon the pure, brilliant, and untamed power of the storm, the very essence of his merged state with Fang Fairy.

Steel. Fire. Lightning. Three fundamental, and deeply, profoundly, incompatible forces. And he was going to try and force them into a single, cohesive, weapon.

The air around him began to scream.

His sword, the simple steel practice blade, began to transform. His own Steel Blood power flowed into it, reinforcing it, hardening it, its surface taking on a dark, almost black, lustre.

Then came the fire. The black-red, demonic flames that had been sheathing the blade roared to life, intensifying, growing, no longer just a corona, but a raging, chaotic inferno that seemed to be consuming the very steel of the sword itself.

And finally, the lightning. Brilliant, azure-blue tendrils of pure, elemental energy erupted from his body, from the storm-cloak that wreathed him, and began to snake up his arm, up the hilt of the sword, and into the roaring, black-red flames.

The two energies did not merge. They fought. The lightning hissed and spat as it met the demonic fire, the two forces warring for dominance, creating a violent, unstable vortex of pure, elemental chaos around the blade. The sword itself began to vibrate, to hum with a high-pitched, agonizing shriek, the very metal protesting the impossible, warring energies being forced into it.

Chapter : 572

Lloyd’s own body was a battlefield. He gritted his teeth, his muscles locking, his golden eyes blazing with a mixture of agony and absolute, unwavering concentration. He could feel the chaotic, warring energies threatening to tear the sword, and his own arm, apart. He was holding a miniature, man-made apocalypse in his hand. And it was beautiful. It was terrifying. And it was the single most powerful thing he had ever created.

He had forged a weapon from chaos. A blade of steel, of shadow-fire, and of the storm. A Chimera Blade.

He looked across the ruined training ground at his father, who was watching him, his own expression no longer calm, no longer assessing, but one of genuine, startled, and profound, alarm. Roy could feel the power, the sheer, unstable, and utterly, comprehensively, destructive potential of the weapon his son had just forged. This was not a tool of dueling. This was a weapon of annihilation. A weapon that, if unleashed, could not just defeat him, but could potentially erase him, and a good portion of the surrounding estate, from existence.

For the first time in the entire duel, Arch Duke Roy Ferrum felt a flicker of genuine, undeniable, fear. His son was not just a prodigy. He was a madman. A beautiful, brilliant, and utterly, terrifyingly, dangerous madman.

The Chimera Blade was not just a weapon; it was a screaming, chaotic violation of the laws of nature. The black-red flames of Iffrit’s demonic echo warred violently with the pure, azure lightning of Fang Fairy’s storm, the two energies fighting for dominance along the dark, super-hardened steel of the blade. The air around it warped, sizzled, the very fabric of reality seeming to groan under the strain of containing so much raw, conflicting power in a single, unstable vessel. Lloyd’s arm trembled with the monumental effort of will required just to keep the weapon from detonating in his hand. He could feel the power, a wild, untamed beast, threatening to break free, to consume him, to consume everything.

This was his final gambit. His all-or-nothing move. He had forged an apocalypse. Now, he just had to aim it.

He raised the screaming, vibrating blade, its chaotic, multi-hued light painting his storm-forged face in shifting, demonic patterns. He looked at his father, at the man who was a mountain of calm, controlled power. And with a final, desperate, triumphant roar that was a fusion of his own voice, a wolf’s howl, and the distant rumble of thunder, he lunged.

It was not a graceful attack. It was a clumsy, staggering, and utterly, comprehensively, desperate charge, his entire being focused on a single, simple objective: to bring his impossible, world-breaking weapon into contact with his father’s perfect, unbreakable defense.

Arch Duke Roy Ferrum watched the approaching apocalypse, his face a mask of grim, absolute concentration. He saw the unstable, warring energies of the blade. He felt the immense, chaotic power radiating from it. And he knew, with the cold, hard certainty of a master strategist, that he could not block this. His chain defense, as powerful as it was, was a thing of order, of structure. To meet this… this maelstrom of pure, elemental chaos… with a solid wall would be like trying to catch a lightning bolt in a steel net. The resulting explosion would be catastrophic.

He had to do something else. He had to meet chaos not with order, but with a superior, more refined, and infinitely more cunning, application of control. He had to out-think the storm.

As Lloyd’s chaotic blade screamed through the air, just inches from his chain defense, Roy did not reinforce his shield. He did not retreat. He did something utterly unexpected. Something brilliant. Something that was a testament to a lifetime of absolute, undisputed mastery.

He opened his defense.

For a fraction of a second, the solid, impenetrable wall of dark steel chains that had protected him simply… dissolved, parting like a curtain, leaving him seemingly open, vulnerable, exposed to the full, devastating force of his son’s attack.

Lloyd’s eyes widened in surprised triumph. An opening! He had done it! He had forced a mistake! He pushed the last of his will, his energy, into the attack, driving the screaming Chimera Blade forward, into the gap, aiming for his father’s heart.

And he flew directly into the spider’s web.

The moment his blade passed through the opening in the chain wall, the world erupted in a blur of dark, silent, and impossibly fast, steel. Roy had not dissolved his defense; he had reshaped it. The massive, thick chains that had formed the wall had broken apart, transforming in an instant into a thousand smaller, faster, and infinitely more versatile, steel serpents.