CHAPTER 319: CHAPTER 318: INHERITANCE OF STRENGTH

Darius’s voice grew louder, echoing all around.

"Why struggle, when you could have perfection? I lived like a king while you crawl through mud, always fighting to survive. Let me take control, and I’ll make you unstoppable."

Lumberling gritted his teeth. The pressure inside his head was unbearable, like two worlds trying to crush each other. His vision wavered, flashes of the Legate’s past flickering again, armies bowing, cities burning, blood raining across battlefields.

For a moment, Darius’s presence filled everything. His face, his voice, his strength, it all pressed down, trying to overwrite him.

But then Lumberling lifted his gaze and smirked.

"Heh. Dream on, old man."

The air cracked as his will surged.

A blinding flash tore through the white void, and suddenly, both of them stood on solid ground, a field of shattered stone floating in endless space. Their eyes met.

Two spears appeared in their hands, as if the void itself answered their intent.

Darius spun his spear once, his grin sharp and mocking. "You think you can match me with that fragile will of yours?"

He vanished.

Lumberling barely saw the blur before the strike came. He blocked, the impact sending him skidding back. Sparks scattered as their weapons clashed again and again, the Legate’s speed and precision overwhelming.

Each swing from Darius carried the weight of centuries of mastery. Lumberling fought hard to keep up, his arms shaking from the force.

"Hah! Is that all?" Darius laughed, striking again. "Pathetic. You’re nothing but my shadow!"

Lumberling growled and stepped back, his breathing ragged. The ground beneath his feet cracked.

Then, something shifted.

Darius lunged again, but this time, Lumberling moved differently. His stance lowered. His spear turned, cutting at an angle that felt familiar.

The clash rang out.

For an instant, Darius froze. His eyes narrowed as he caught the familiar rhythm, the timing, the flow, the very pattern of the strike. It was his own technique.

"You... how?" Darius’s voice trembled in disbelief.

Lumberling smirked. "Think about it, old man. I’ve lived your life. Every memory, every instinct, every mistake."

He spun his spear, wind sparking and crackling around the tip. "You thought you were invading my mind?" His eyes burned with defiance. "No. I’m the one taking yours."

Darius’s face twisted in rage. "You insolent brat!"

Lumberling stepped forward, his voice steady. "Do you really think you can take me?" He grinned, the confidence in his tone cutting deep. "You’re already dead. This place, this fight, it’s all just fading away. And everything you were..." His gaze hardened. "...will soon be mine."

The seed inside his heart pulsed, sending waves of energy through him.

Thump.

Thump.

The void trembled.

Streams of energy, mana, qi, aura, even divine essence rose from every direction, drawn toward him like rivers to the sea. They swirled around his spear, twisting and merging, forming a storm of living fire.

Darius’s eyes widened in shock. "That move... No!"

He roared and charged forward, his spear burning crimson.

Lumberling lifted his weapon, the light at its tip spinning and condensing until it shone like a miniature sun. Power rippled outward, shaking the very air. He drew in a long breath, his voice low and certain.

"Then let this be the mark of our end."

Their spears met.

The impact shattered the void. Darius’s spear splintered like glass before the overwhelming force, and the glowing spearhead pierced straight through him.

The Legate screamed, his form breaking apart into countless motes of light. His voice echoed faintly, fading with the crumbling world around them.

"I’ll be taking everything from you," Lumberling said softly, his voice echoing through the collapsing space. "Your skills, your gifts, your talents... and your hard work."

The explosion that followed swallowed everything, light, sound, and memory, until only silence remained.

...

When Lumberling’s eyes slowly opened, the first thing he saw wasn’t fire or battle. It was light, warm light from a small lamp swaying gently above him.

He blinked a few times, his vision gradually clearing.

Three familiar faces came into view, Aurelya, Thessalia, and Vaenyra. Their pointed ears and faintly glowing hair shimmered in the gentle light. And standing a little farther in the corner, quiet and watchful, was Liraeth.

Lumberling exhaled slowly and gave a tired grin. "Hey there... looks like you’re all getting along pretty well."

Aurelya’s eyes narrowed at once. She crossed her arms, her golden hair falling over one shoulder. "You bastard," she said coldly. "You actually got yourself another lover while you already have us? Do you want to die?"

Her tone was sharp, but her voice quivered just enough to betray what she was really feeling.

"Ugh... my head still hurts," Lumberling muttered, pressing a hand against his temple.

Aurelya’s glare vanished in an instant. "H-Hey, don’t move too much!" she said quickly, leaning closer. "You’ve just woken up!"

He smirked faintly, eyes half-lidded. "Looks like you were worried."

Her cheeks puffed slightly, and she looked away. "Don’t flatter yourself."

"How long was I out?" he asked, his voice rough.

"Almost a day," Thessalia replied, her tone calm but her eyes soft with relief.

He turned toward Liraeth, who straightened her posture. "What happened to the battle?"

"The Legate is dead," she replied. "His army was wiped out. We’re still near the battlefield, waiting for you to wake up. The soldiers are resting and tending to the wounded before we move out."

Her words carried a quiet strength, but the moment she finished, the air in the tent shifted. The three elves turned toward her at once, Aurelya’s brows furrowed, Thessalia’s eyes flickered with curiosity, and even Vaenyra’s calm expression grew unreadable. Their gazes weren’t hostile, but distant, measuring her, trying to understand her place beside him.

Lumberling chuckled lightly, pushing himself up from the bed. "Liraeth, come here."

Without hesitation, Liraeth stepped forward, her movements quiet and composed. She stopped beside him, the faint scent of her hair brushing past as he slipped an arm around her waist. His grin returned, lazy and confident.

"Let me properly introduce her," he said, glancing at the three elves watching him. His tone was easy but carried a trace of pride. "This is Liraeth... my lover."

For a moment, silence hung in the air.

Aurelya clicked her tongue, her golden hair swaying as she turned away. "You really have the guts, Lumberling," she muttered.

Thessalia, meanwhile, couldn’t help but laugh softly. "You never change," she said, amusement dancing in her eyes. "Honestly, I’m almost impressed by how bold you can be."

Vaenyra remained still. She didn’t speak a word, only watching him in silence. Her face was calm, unreadable as always, but her eyes lingered on him longer than usual. Lumberling met her gaze for a heartbeat and smiled faintly. He could never quite tell what went on behind those eyes.

He sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Ugh... my head still hurts."

No one moved.

Aurelya folded her arms, glaring at him with a deadpan expression. "Don’t even try that. You’re obviously fine."

"Worth a shot," he said with a grin.