Grabbing the spear, gripping tight, Draven swung shapely, thrusting the spear tip straight forward—right for Ivan's head.
CLANG! The spear struck, slamming into his mana barrier. Sparks flew.
Draven, clenching his teeth, thought, Dammit, what the hell kind of shield is this? Not even a damn crack.
Ivan turned slightly cold, crimson eyes glancing over at him as he muttered, "How predictable. You are filth—just like the blood that birthed you. Worthless."
Draven's eyes turned cold at the insult. Ivan's gaze calmed, his hand holding the blood blade raised slightly as he swung back.
Shapely, Draven muttered through the dagger clenched in his mouth, voice low, "Bastard what the hell did you say?"
Gripping tighter on the blood spear, putting more force into it, he added, "Dear, talk shit about my mama."
His other hand gripped the spirit egg as he swung, meeting Ivan's coming blade. Ivan's eyes narrowed slightly as he change the direction of his blade from Draven's swing.
His blade slashed across Draven's shoulder and chest—a deep gash. Blood sprayed out, but his gaze remained cold, not flinching.
Then, CLANG! Ivan's gaze flickered, glancing over...
---
Aldric was there, his poleaxe pressing against the barrier just as Draven's fist was about to strike. Suddenly, the barrier vanished.
Both spear and poleaxe, pressing sharply against the barrier, came down toward Ivan.
Blood blade in hand, Ivan gripped tightly and swung wide.
CLANG! The weapons clashed, deflecting—both attacks sharp, the force reeling back.
Flipping back, Draven landed hard. The wound on his chest was already regenerating. The blood spear in his hand shattered into tiny red mana mist.
Lyriana appeared above body, surging with mana. Gathering it into her arms, she reforged the blood spear.
Swinging shapely in a downward slash, the spear descended straight for Ivan.
Ivan reacted instantly, raising his sword.
CLANG! The spear struck his blade.
Aldric's grip tightened as he lunged forward. Draven, gripping his dagger, eyes cold, lunged from the other side.
Both of them closed the distance on Ivan from opposite sides.
---
Ivan's narrowed eyes flickered as he glanced down, his lip curling in disdain. His voice was low, edged with warning.
"You've mistaken patience for inability."
His grip tightened around the hilt of his blade as it surged with mana. In a single motion, he swung—knocking Lyriana back, her spear deflected as she staggered away. Without hesitation, he brought the blade down sharply toward Aldric.
Teeth clenched, Aldric raised his weapon just in time—CLANG—the blades met with a deafening crash. The ground beneath him cracked from the force, his boots sliding back from the sheer pressure.
But he didn't stop.
In one fluid movement, Ivan twisted and swung his sword back toward Draven, who was charging in from the side. His eyes flicked toward the approaching blade—too late.
A sharp slash.
Blood sprayed.
Ivan's hand, still clutching his blade, flew through the air.
Draven stared, eyes wide, as Ivan staggered back a few feet—his severed hand already beginning to regenerate.
Behind him, Lyriana landed gently beside Aldric, her eyes locked ahead.
Ivan smiled faintly, lips curling. His voice was calm, amused. "It's been an age since our paths last crossed. How deliciously quaint."
He stared ahead. A young-looking girl stood in the courtyard: long black hair, red eyes, and a maid's dress. Two small red hand-axes gleamed in her hands. poised and waiting. She did not speak.
Beside
Draven glanced at her and frowned. A maid… she looks kinda familiar.
Her voice was quiet and steady, the kind used by someone who'd been obeyed. "You—related to the king—have not merely trespassed.
You've led intruders into the king's sanctuary.
You dare encroach upon the young master's life?"
Ivan cut her off with a calm voice.
"Don't flatter yourself.
If I had really wanted to kill him, he would have been dead the moment we crossed paths.
But don't worry—I have no such desire, as long as he hands over the spirit egg.
But if he dares to refuse, then I'll kill him and take it myself."