Chapter 40 – The Clash Beneath the Spire
The square before the Eastern Spire fell silent as Jean and Sylas stepped into the center, soldiers from both sides holding their breath.
The fires dimmed, the air thick with tension.
"Surrender, Jean," Sylas said, voice smooth as iron drawn across velvet. "You've done well for a runt. But you're not ready."
Jean raised Luxclade. The blade shimmered in divine light, casting long shadows.
"I'm not here to prove anything to you," she said. "I'm here to end this madness."
Sylas chuckled, then charged.
Their blades met in an explosion of force that shattered stone and sent soldiers flying. Sylas struck with ferocity—each blow meant to break, not test. His aura was wild, tinged with darkness—something twisted beyond normal mastery.
"You've embraced something foul," Jean growled as she parried a devastating strike.
"You call it foul. I call it freedom," Sylas spat, driving forward. "You bind yourself to gods and ghosts. I make my own path!"
He swept low, then twisted into a high slash. Jean narrowly blocked, flipping back with a flash of light from Luxclade. Sparks rained around them.
"Your path leads to ruin," she answered, breathing steady, feet grounded.
They clashed again.
This time Jean matched him—parry for parry, strike for strike. Her aura didn't rage—it flowed, harmonized with the light of her blade. She was calm, centered. Her training, her trials, her journey through the Veillands—they all converged here.
Sylas growled. "You were never supposed to be this strong."
He unleashed his trump card.
A surge of shadow burst from his body—an aura technique infused with corrupted power from an unknown source. The earth cracked beneath him as he roared forward, his blade coated in dark flame.
Jean did not back down.
She took a single breath and met the strike with Luxclade blazing gold.
Their blades collided in a radiant eruption.
Light and shadow exploded outward, knocking everyone down. The Eastern Spire cracked from the force.
When the dust cleared—
Sylas was on one knee, bleeding, panting.
Jean stood tall, Luxclade resting against her shoulder.
"This city does not belong to tyrants," she said. "It belongs to the people. To those who still believe in something greater."
Sylas looked up at her—rage, hatred, and something else… fear.
Before Jean could strike the final blow, a sharp horn blew from the eastern gate.
Cassien sprinted into the square. "Jean! Riders from the Iron Empire! They're here! And they've brought… dragons."
Silence fell.
Sylas laughed bitterly. "Seems the real war has begun."
Jean stared toward the horizon, Luxclade glowing in her hand.
Gildcrest had been reclaimed—but the world was moving now, and the enemies were no longer just within the Clan.
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