The Emperor walked among the corpses as though they were stones in a garden.
He did not run.He did not tremble.He showed no trace of haste.
He simply advanced—certain, absolute.
Laurence spat to the side and raised his sword.
When their eyes met, it was clear this was no mere duel.
It was the collision of two opposing histories, destined to clash for centuries.
"Surrender," the Emperor said, stopping a few steps away. "Swear loyalty to the Empire. Swear loyalty to me… and you and your duchy will live."
His voice was calm, almost kind.Like a man offering a reasonable bargain.
Laurence did not move a single muscle.
"A Douglas never swears loyalty to a man," he replied firmly. "We swear loyalty to the Kingdom and to our Duchy. To no one else."
A disappointed sigh escaped the Emperor.
"What a pity. Warriors like you are rare.But I will have to make do with your son."
Laurence smiled—a dark, dangerous smile.
"You'll be disappointed. You will never lay your hands on Lucian."
The air exploded.
The Battle Begins
They collided.
The impact unleashed a shockwave that tore through earth, shields, and bodies alike.
For the first five minutes, their exchange was ferocious—sharp, almost impossible for the human eye to follow. Laurence's shadows tried to coil, sever, devour… but each one was shattered by the Emperor's pure mana.
Delta vs. Epsilon
And then the battlefield's invisible narrator revealed the difference that had always been there.
Delta Affinity — Laurence
Powerful, stable mana, refined through years of discipline. Highly efficient… but limited. A Delta could master advanced techniques, yet his mana depleted at a normal rate.
Epsilon Affinity — the Emperor
Not merely superior—overflowing.
Epsilons were born with vastly wider mana channels, capable of regeneration even in the midst of combat. It was a bloodline bordering on monstrous, an inheritance of near-divine magic.
The difference was simple:
A Delta could match an Epsilon… for a time.But he could never surpass him in endurance.
Fifteen Minutes of Hell
Laurence knew it.
That was why he unleashed everything from the very first second.
Every strike sought a vital point.Every spell hunted for a lethal opening.
He intended to end it before he ended himself.
Steel clashed again and again, flashes bursting like lightning against the fortress walls. The watching soldiers retreated without realizing it.
Ten minutes.
Laurence had landed two cuts—small, but bleeding.
The Emperor answered with a surge of mana so dense it shattered the ground and hurled Laurence into the air.
Fifteen minutes.
They seemed evenly matched.
But they only seemed so.
Laurence's Limit
Laurence pressed a hand to the ground.
He felt it—the emptiness.
The mana within his body was fading.His chest burned.His arms felt as though a mountain crushed them.
The Emperor, meanwhile… seemed eternal.
His breathing was steady.His gaze cold.His mana inexhaustible.
"Your bloodline is worthy," the Emperor admitted. "But inferior to mine."
Laurence smiled, breath ragged.
"Not inferior enough for you to kill me quickly… is it?"
The Emperor narrowed his eyes.
And murmured an ancient incantation.
The Forbidden Spell
An arcane whisper.A golden radiance impossible to face directly.The imperial bloodline manifested in its purest form.
The Emperor's blade pierced Laurence's chest.
Douglas blood spilled onto the trembling earth.
The soldiers held their breath.
But then—
Something unexpected happened.