novelraw Chapter 497: Fallen Genius 107
Chapter 497: Fallen Genius 107
Year 368 of the New Calendar, late summer.
Morning Star City, capital of Sarl Province on the southern border of the Theo Kingdom.
Today this city was immersed in revelry and celebration.
Streets were drowned in flowers, streamers, and banners bearing the Norlin family crest; the air was thick with the rich scents of fine wine, roasted meat, and spices.
Since the newly appointed Star Marquis and Governor of Sarl, Reinhart Norlin, officially took residence here,
this place had become the focus of the entire Theo Kingdom.
In the governor’s courtyard, a banquet celebration was underway.
Reinhart wore a bespoke marquis’s ceremonial coat, deep blue embroidered in silver with patterns of stars and blades. The "Dawn’s Silver Radiance" medal on his chest shimmered dazzlingly in the moonlight.
The legendary powerhouse sat upright in the main seat, his face composed.
Yet beneath the countless praises and hot gazes, a faint brilliance of youthful triumph glimmered at his brow, confident and spirited.Inside the courtyard, delegations from across the kingdom and envoys from other nations offered their congratulations.
Outside the governor’s mansion the local populace celebrated as well, nearly filling every corner; they cheered, tossing petals and confetti into the air, looking toward the mansion with eyes full of worship and hope.
This eighteen-year-old legendary youth was not merely their governor.
He was the symbol of Theo’s revival!
"The Light of Theo," that title had already spread far and wide.
At that moment an elderly nobleman who had come from the capital raised his cup.
"His Lordship the Marquis is truly a prodigy. Give him time and he may even surpass that Holy King in Lothrian."
"Indeed, Governor Reinhart, you reached the Legendary realm before turning twenty. Such talent is unprecedented in the Romania nations."
A representative of a major merchant guild hastily echoed the praise, his face plastered with flattery and admiration.
"With His Lordship the Marquis, Theo is blessed by fate! Revival is in sight, imminent!"
"................"
Such words flowed without end.
They poured into the young marquis like the richest wine.
Reinhart relaxed his brows, raised his cup, and answered in a clear voice.
"You flatter me, sirs. The Holy King achieved countless feats. In the age of war he swept through nations, founded the Federation, and brought centuries of peace to the Romanian Plains. We juniors cannot compare."
"I merely lucked into a breakthrough. How could I dare compare myself to the Holy King?"
"Although the Holy King reached Legendary a bit later than I did, he mastered both magic and martial arts, and even before reaching Legendary he could render other Legendary powerhouses helpless with bare hands. He was also proficient in governance and strategy in all aspects."
"I am far from matching him."
He paused, then the youth’s face broke into a brilliant smile.
He made a joke, teasing, "At least, wait until I reach the Destiny rank, then come praise me and compare me to the ancestors."
His words were modest and witty, leaving a very favorable impression.
However...
Beneath that modesty, amid the swelling tide of praise, a strand of pride and intoxication grew—so subtle he himself did not notice it, like an undercurrent beneath the water.
From the crowd, the envoy from Lothrian frowned slightly.
"Reached Legendary later than you..." Though the remark preceded praise for the Holy King, the young man’s casual reference to it in some sense implied he thought he might surpass the Holy King.
And that final sentence—"a joke"?
Sometimes a joke is merely a truth not suitable for direct expression.
Still, Reinhart’s behavior was understandable.
After all, he was only eighteen.
Faced with an atmosphere that almost propped him on a pedestal, even older people would struggle to remain calm; expecting a youth to be entirely unmoved was unreasonable.
The Lothrian envoy maintained a composed expression.
His gaze passed over the youthful, triumphant face of the legendary youth, then settled on the Dawn’s Silver Radiance on his chest. The light there was so intense it nearly scorched the onlookers’ eyes.
"Born a star, the silver blade sings before worn," an old proverb quietly rose in his mind.
It described those thrust by fate to the peak at an early age.
"Ambition in youth, some arrogance is natural."
"Starting early does not guarantee lasting success... perhaps he does not yet understand that."
"Enjoys praise? Then let us praise him."
The Lothrian envoy pondered inwardly, then smiled faintly, raised his cup, and offered a toast to the young legend from a distance, saying aloud, "Lord Reinhart, even if our Holy King were here, he would praise you without end."
"Haha, no need to be overly modest—the future will ultimately be forged by outstanding youths like you."
Other envoys from various nations followed suit without exception, offering wine and further congratulations.
Reinhart smiled in response and reciprocated cup for cup.
Time slid by in boisterous merriment; by afternoon the celebration reached its peak.
Noble maidens fluttered like colorful butterflies around the young marquis.
Their eyes shone with admiration and curiosity; they whispered and laughed, hoping to catch the attention of the kingdom’s most dazzling rising star.
Reinhart wore a polite smile and replied appropriately, but his gaze gradually fixed on one figure.
She was the countess’s daughter from the kingdom’s northern border, famous for her icy beauty and intellect—Lysia Frost.
Her long hair was pale gold like moonlight; her sapphire eyes were gemlike. Her demeanor was cool and outstanding, a lone frost lotus amid the cluster of ornate noblewomen.
She did not press close like the others; only occasionally when their gazes met would she slightly nod and show a faint smile.
Finally, between the dances, Reinhart approached the quietly standing Lysia by the colonnade.
"Miss Frost, thank you for coming from so far."
Reinhart raised his cup in greeting.
Lysia returned a graceful curtsey; her voice was clear and pleasant. "It is my honor to witness His Lordship’s glorious moment. Your achievements are admirable."
They moved away from the noisy center to a relatively quiet terrace beside the viewing platform.
From here they could overlook most of the jubilant Morning Star City.
A breeze brushed past, carrying distant festival music and faint floral scent.
They discussed the pressures facing the Theo Kingdom and even touched on certain policy views.
Reinhart found that this countess’s daughter was not only well read, but held a composed and unique perspective on current affairs; her speech lacked the usual shallow flamboyance of noble ladies.
Lysia, in turn, gradually found herself drawn to the calm yet keen-edged demeanor of this young legendary man during their cautious, polite conversation.
A kind of youthful fondness quietly took root between them.
Reinhart regarded Lysia’s exquisite profile in the moonlight, weighing words in his mind, about to invite her to the lakeside tomorrow.
At that moment his gaze suddenly hardened, as though he sensed something.
"Reinhart, what is it?" the countess’s daughter asked softly.
The youth’s expression sharpened. "An uninvited guest has arrived."
To confirm his words,
seconds later an urgent, loud announcement shattered the banquet’s joyous mood.
"Report—!"
A military officer in the Sarl provincial guard uniform hurried in, dropping to one knee before Reinhart, his voice tense and alarmed.
"Governor! Outside... outside the mansion a purported envoy from Aola demands an audience."
The officer bowed his head. "It is a blue dragon nearing adulthood. It claims to come under orders from Aola’s Regent to congratulate the Star Marquis."
The Regent: Sorog Ignas.
While the Red Emperor seemingly slumbered, this man served as Aola’s de facto supreme ruler, a figure whose titles—Prince of War, Prince of Iron—were widely spoken of.
The people of Theo understood well the weight such a regent carried.
The music and laughter near the terrace died away; the nobles and officials who heard the report paled, blood draining from their faces, replaced by fear.
As if the prior happy banquet had been a pleasant dream.
And now the nightmare had arrived.
Reinhart felt his heart pound, but forced himself to remain composed.
"Gentlemen, do not panic. Keep order. We should welcome distinguished guests."
He calmed himself, then said to the officer, "Please admit the Aola envoy and invite it to join our festivities."
Moments later the Aola envoy arrived.
A male blue dragon stood there, breathing like thunder. Its powerful body and sharp claws and fangs made the assembled guests go pale.
It did not bow; only slightly lowered its eyelids and scanned the humans.
"By order of the great Prince of Iron," the blue dragon spoke, its low voice rolling like thunder across flat ground, "I have come to offer congratulations to the Star Marquis of Theo, Reinhart Norlin."
"The Prince of Iron hears that Theo has a young hero who, before coming of age, has reached Legendary—talent of the age."
"You deserve a special... attention and congratulation."
Opposite him, Reinhart rose to his full height and looked up at the blue dragon, his expression solemn.
He felt no fear from this non-Legendary draconic member, but he did feel a heavy pressure—not from the dragon itself, but from the Aola Kingdom behind it.
"Thank you to the Prince of Iron for his congratulations."
Reinhart inclined his head politely, then shifted his tone. "However, now that the envoy has come, beyond congratulations is there any further instruction?"
The blue dragon parted its great jaws, electrical sparks crackling between its teeth.
"The Marquis is direct," it observed, with a chuckle. "Indeed, a touch of youthful pride."
It paused, then its voice deepened and assumed a solemn grandeur.
"By decree of the Prince of Iron."
"Theo has a son, Reinhart Norlin, with extraordinary talent, peerless in his generation."
"He has reached Legendary in his youth, a millennial event on the Romanian Plains. Such a hero must be tempered by battle and proven with blood and fire, to justify his talent and fame."
The air in the hall seemed to freeze; everyone held their breath and listened to the Prince of Iron’s edict.
"Therefore, I hereby invite the Star Marquis, Reinhart Norlin, to be present in one week, on the night of the full moons, at Twin Moon Gorge, to conduct a fair duel with my Kingdom’s Ranger-General, Aola’s Edge."
The blue dragon’s vertical pupils fixed on Reinhart; its voice became even more resonant.
"If Reinhart Norlin wins, the Aola Kingdom will return two major provinces to Theo and pledge that for the next one hundred years it will forgo enforcing the armament restrictions stipulated under the Norton Treaty against Theo."
"This duel aims to spar and temper valor, to showcase martial prowess, and to enhance relations between our two nations."
"If Aola’s Edge prevails, Theo will not be required to give anything."
"I hope Reinhart Norlin... will not squander his youthful sharpness nor the hopes of all Theo, and will accept this invitation with good grace to prove the name of a Legendary."
When the blue dragon finished, a short silence fell over the hall, including Reinhart.
Return two provinces and cancel military restrictions for a century... such stakes were tantamount to smashing the heaviest chains that bound Theo!
And if they lost they would "pay no price"?
The terms seemed almost unreal, like a pie falling from the sky.
Precisely because of that, the atmosphere grew heavy.
Everyone knew the Prince of Iron would not hand over a truly free gift.
"They are targeting me," Reinhart’s inner alarm clanged.
He inhaled deeply, forcing calm, his eyes flickering as he faced the blue dragon.
"This matter is weighty. A duel proposal involving two nations cannot be decided by me alone."
"A week’s notice is too hasty. I must report to His Majesty the King and seek advice from the royal council and ministers. Could the envoy relay a request to the Regent to grant us more time for careful deliberation?"
He chose the safest response: delay.
"One week, the full-moon night at Twin Moon Gorge."
"Whether to go or not is the Marquis’s choice. The Prince merely offers an opportunity."
The blue dragon paused, then added, "My mission is complete. I have delivered the congratulations and the decree. Farewell—may I witness the Marquis’s splendid performance in one week at Twin Moon Gorge."
With that it did not linger, turning heavy-footed and spiraling into the night sky.
After that interruption, the banquet’s cheerful mood never returned.
Silence and suppression became the dominant tones.
Outside, noisy shouts rose.
"Accept it! Let those monsters see the spirit of our Theo’s young Legendary!"
"Marquis! Theo’s fate rests on this! You are our hope. You cannot retreat!"
"Victory! Light of Theo will triumph!"
".........."
The blue dragon’s words had been like thunder; even those outside had clearly heard them.
Crowds shouted Reinhart’s name, demanding he fight—wave after wave of cries battering the governor’s mansion.
At that moment the Lothrian envoy stepped forward.
He asked, "Lord Reinhart, what do you think?"
The youth shook his head slightly and replied candidly, "I... have not decided yet."
Seeing this, the Lothrian envoy smiled and said, "Aola’s Edge—the Ranger-General, Centaur Elvy."
"This dragon follower’s record has been mediocre."
"She only recently reached Legendary, and has no truly outstanding battle record. If the opponent were Aola’s Fang, that Great Gluttonous Demon, I’d advise you to refuse outright, but Aola’s Edge? You could give it a try."
Reinhart regarded the Lothrian envoy.
"If I recall correctly, Lothrian and Aola are allied."
He said this with meaning.
"Of course, that is publicly known," the Lothrian envoy said more seriously. "But Lothrian values people. Though we have treaties with Aola, we do not wholly endorse all of their methods."
Reinhart nodded without committing.
After the second civil war, the honeymoon between Lothrian and Aola had ended. Though normal exchanges continued, relations were not as before.
Aola’s Edge, this particular Legendary, did not have an outstanding reputation and, like Reinhart, was a newly ascended Legendary. Yet all Aola’s Legendaries seemed not to be underestimated...
Reinhart hesitated.
Then the Lothrian envoy announced loudly, "The Lothrian Kingdom will serve as a witness to the fairness of this duel and record this event."
Other envoys stepped forward to express support.
"Reebos will also witness!"
"The Matna Kingdom concurs!"
".........."
Envoys from all nations, regardless of their relations with Theo, without exception pledged to guarantee this duel, and at the same time praised Reinhart’s strength, believing that with his talent he was certain to triumph.
Outside the governor’s mansion the populace’s enthusiastic cheering continued.
Listening to such praise, sound and clamour battering his eardrums, Reinhart felt a touch dazed.
He imagined his victorious return: citizens lining the streets, the king personally greeting him, reclaimed territory, broken chains—he would become Theo’s savior and a true Legendary...
Yet Reinhart retained a sliver of sobriety and did not answer immediately.
"I will give this matter serious consideration."
He said slowly.
The banquet concluded and Reinhart returned to his chambers.
The outside clamour gradually subsided.
He shed his ornate marquis attire and dressed in simple dark clothes. Standing with his back to the door, he gazed out at the city settling into quiet.
The moonlight was pure, yet it could not pierce the gravity in his expression.
Go, or not go?
This question twisted in his thoughts.
He felt simultaneously surrounded by bouquets and on the edge of a cliff, the crowd behind pushing him forward while a bottomless fog lay ahead.
At that moment the door was tapped with a steady rhythm.
"Come in."
Reinhart did not turn.
The door opened and a figure entered.
Tall and slender, wearing well-made but slightly outdated noble attire, hair immaculately groomed with gray at the temples, a stern and somewhat rigid countenance, eyes sharp as a hawk.
Reinhart’s father, Baron Earnest Norlin.
Earnest stepped to the center, his gaze sweeping the room’s spare yet expensive furnishings before settling on his son’s erect silhouette.
"Still worrying about that matter?" Earnest asked.
Reinhart turned to face his father.
He was not surprised by the late-night visit.
"Father."
Reinhart bowed his head respectfully.
Earnest did not respond to the greeting. He walked to the window and stood shoulder to shoulder with Reinhart, looking out over the night as though surveying territory about to be won.
"Aola’s Edge, Elvy."
Earnest spoke slowly. "What the Lothrian envoy said is true: a mediocre dragon follower, recently reaching Legendary, without notable battle achievements."
"How can she compare to my son?"
He turned and fixed Reinhart with burning eyes.
"Reinhart, my son," the baron said, "you must understand—you were born different!"
"When your elder brothers were scheming over inheriting that meager barony, when your mother—that mild, shortsighted woman—worried about your frail health, I already knew you were not the same."
Mention of his deceased wife brought no change in Earnest’s tone, as if he spoke of an irrelevant servant.
Reinhart furrowed his brows.
His mother—the memory of her tired smile and gentleness—had been the only warm color in his bleak childhood until his talent emerged.
His father had nearly ignored him then.
Until the day the six-year-old Reinhart first touched a sword and revealed a natural swordsmanship talent; until he walked the Extraordinary Path within a week and leveled up repeatedly—then his father’s eyes changed.
His father hired the sternest tutors and set the harshest training regimens.
During those years Reinhart rarely saw his father smile; only heard "not good enough," "again," "you must be the best."
Each improvement brought not praise but higher standards and stricter demands.
His father was a baron, but like all nobility, harbored grand ambitions and regarded Reinhart as the family’s sole hope for rise.
Reinhart longed to hear simple approval or feel a warm touch from his father—things he never received.
He buried that longing and transformed it into driving force, thinking that if he became strong and dazzling enough, one day...
"Look at you now!"
His father’s words snapped the youth from memories.
"Eighteen-year-old Legendary! Light of Theo! Even Aola’s Regent sent congratulations on your behalf! What glory is this? A brilliance Norlin house has never seen!"
He stepped closer and stared into his son’s eyes.
"My child, you must win, and win decisively."
"The whole Romanian Plains will know that I, Earnest Norlin’s son, am the era’s greatest prodigy! What is this Holy King? He reached Legendary near thirty."
"And you, my son, only eighteen! You show immortal potential!"
"Your future achievements will surpass the Holy King, ascend to the Destiny rank, and perhaps even reach Immortal!"
At these words Reinhart felt his heartbeat quicken.
"But, Father..."
His throat tightened and he said, "Aola will not be so simple. This duel is likely a trap to deal with me..."
"A trap?" Earnest snorted and cut him off.
"Which of history’s Destiny heroes didn’t step on countless traps?"
"If you cannot face Aola’s pawns, how will you face that overbearing Red Emperor and lead Theo to revival?"
The baron’s own talents had been mediocre; he had squandered his earlier years until Reinhart’s emergence. To him, his son was a living testament to his own worth and would become his pride and conversation piece.
But the baron wanted more.
He wanted more glory, to prove he was not mediocre through his son.
He pressed both hands onto Reinhart’s shoulders, eyes burning.
"Reinhart, my dear son, I believe in you."
"You will never disappoint me. This time is no different. Go to Twin Moon Gorge, defeat that Aola’s Edge, and personally reclaim Norlin honor and Theo’s future!"
"I... will be proud of you."
At those words Reinhart paused.
For the first time, he sensed genuine attention and approval from his father.
"I...."
He still hesitated and did not answer.
The baron interrupted again, releasing his hands and smiling. "I trust you. You always choose correctly, you always win."
Soon the room was left with Reinhart alone.
But he could not sleep and stared blankly into the night.
At that moment the medal he carried on him glowed.
"Reinhart."
The King’s voice came from it.
The medal granted direct communication with the monarch as more than a symbol of honor.
Reinhart immediately sat upright. "Your Majesty, I salute you."
The king spoke about the duel without preamble.
"Reinhart, I know you are being exalted and have grown used to praise. You may fear that retreat will invite contempt, but a true strong one is not a reckless fool who ignores fear. A true strong one measures risks and prepares for the future."
"If you refuse, no one has the right to call you cowardly."
"I will announce externally this is the kingdom’s decision: you are not permitted to fight."
"You are young—the road ahead is long. Theo has waited twenty-four years for you. We can wait ten years more, twenty, even a hundred, until your wings are full and your foundation rock-solid. Then you can challenge Aola in any way you wish. But not now."
Reinhart murmured, "But the public clamor is high; many nobles and foreign envoys..."
The king was silent for a few seconds, then replied, tiredly, "You are too young to know how unpredictable people are. Those who smile at you are not your friends but a pack of wolves and tigers."
Reinhart did not refute.
"Your Majesty, I will consider it seriously."
The young legend replied, "Rest assured, though I am young, I am not easily swayed. I know proper limits."
Early autumn, full-moon night.
Twin Moon Gorge, a perilous place between Aola and Theo.
Steep cliffs rose like axe cuts on either side, towering into the clouds; no grass grew there. The valley floor was broad, covered with coarse sand and jagged rocks.
Tonight the howling wind seemed to quiet, replaced by a sense of deadly intent.
A hundred miles around had been cleared.
Silhouettes dotted commanding heights on the east and west sides—Legendaries from various nations had come to witness the duel.
In the center of the valley floor a figure stood quietly.
A being with human torso and horse body bore many draconic traits.
Her upper body was lithe and muscular like a leopard, covered in taut skin. A pair of steel-gray horns jutted skyward from the temples, tips gleaming cold. Black, hard dragon scales adorned her shoulders, chest, and key parts of her powerful equine body, like natural armor.
Most striking were the great folded wings behind her.
Feathers were white, their edges glinting like metal—appearing soft but hiding sharpness.
Beside her, planted at an angle in the ground, was an incredibly heavy dark broad sword, while on the other side hung an elegantly curved longbow.
She was the Aola Kingdom’s Ranger-General.
Aola’s Edge, a Legendary dragon-blood centaur—Elvy.
At the peak of bright, clear moonlight, footsteps sounded from the gorge’s east side.
Tap, tap, tap...
Boots crushed gravel at a measured pace, echoing in the silent valley.
A tall, upright figure arrived under countless gazes.
Reinhart Norlin.
Youthful spirit overrode every doubt.
This youngest Legendary in the history of the Romanian Plains, after inward struggle and deliberation, had chosen to accept the invitation.
He stared at the elegant, lethal centaur before him.
Reinhart felt a heavy pressure.
Especially those eyes... when they met hers, he had the hazy impression he was being watched by a massive dragon—calm, appraising, emotionless.
"Something’s off..."
A chill ran through Reinhart.
His opponent was far from an ordinary Legendary!
Yet he did not regret his choice.
"If you cannot even face Aola’s pawns, how could you face that overbearing Red Emperor and lead Theo to revival?"
He agreed with his father’s reasoning inwardly.
The Aola’s Edge opposite him was not even one of Aola’s famed dragon Legendaries—only a follower. If he could not defeat her, how could he deserve the title Light of Theo or the trust and adoration of countless citizens?
Moreover, he did not believe he would lose.
Reinhart was a Sword Saint. Though newly Legendary, he had already formed five primary traits, surpassing even some Legendary dragons in trait count. His talent was undeniable.
"That foolish boy still came..."
On a nearby height, several of Theo’s Legendaries exchanged solemn, helpless glances before turning their eyes to the duel’s center.
Reinhart slowly drew the long sword on his back.
The blade whispered; his gaze sharpened instantly as countless sword qi swirled around him, forming a Domain.
With a flash, he darted forward; gravel exploded underfoot as he became a bolt of lightning, closing distance at incredible speed.
Super-Sensitive Nerves and Weakness Insight triggered first.
In Reinhart’s perception time seemed to slow; the tiny telltale nodes of magical flow and the subtle pre-tensioning of muscles on the opponent’s body became clearly discernible.
He saw the lithe centaur raise her bow.
Buzz!
Dense golden lightning erupted from her, swelling her aura.
Simultaneously,
the centaur raised her left hand by her side and with a casual grip the elegant longbow fell into her palm.
Her right fingertip brushed the string; countless flashes of lightning extended, coalescing into a golden arrow that she nocked and released.
Reinhart’s pupils constricted violently.
The slowed-time sensation remained, yet the arrow’s speed seemed to ignore this slowing. In perception it left a straight, blurred golden line like teleportation, barreling toward him.
What speed!
It was nearly impossible to dodge.
But Reinhart’s body reacted before his thoughts. His forward momentum snapped into a sidestep-block, his long sword extending as a horizontal guard across his chest, the blade wrapped in Domain.
Clang!
A tremendous force rolled through the sword. Reinhart’s arm shook violently and he was slammed aside, stumbling out of the attack’s arc as the assault collapsed before he could even close the distance.
Before he could recover, another volley of arrows soared in.
Reinhart was saturated by dense arrow rain, but his speed was extreme; his long sword swung into afterimages, parrying and cutting through arrow after arrow.
Suddenly one arrow struck his sword and burst with blinding brilliance.
His perception was momentarily affected; his vision flooded with golden light.
Boom!
He heard the ground crack as if heavy hooves had stamped.
The centaur’s speed outpaced sound; by the time the boom rang, she had closed in and brought the great sword down in a sweeping slash aimed at the human Sword Saint.
Clang!
Reinhart instinctively raised his sword to block.
A reflexive counterstrike—his body responded to danger in a motion faster than thought.
Blade clashed with blade.
Time seemed to freeze for an instant.
Then Reinhart felt as if struck by a rapidly moving mountain, his body flung backward; the Domain coating his sword fractured with terrifying cracks.
Elvy did not follow up with a killing blow. Instead she beat her wings and rose into the air.
Bow like a full moon, it mirrored the round moon above. The string shivered and another rain of arrows poured out.
The human Sword Saint, barely steady, was once more ensnared by arrow fire.
After taking heavy tolls to break through the barrage, he faced a heavy slash carried by the centaur’s charging momentum—his frame could not withstand such a direct confrontation.
The centaur was powerful and tireless; her offense was relentless.
High-intensity combat often meant high consumption.
Under her onslaught, Reinhart gradually weakened; his Domain began to waver, and his perception and reactions slipped.
At that moment,
the centaur leapt again, her figure almost overlapping the full moon, drawing the bowstring fully.
And then the arrows flew—soundless.
They cascaded like countless golden lightning bolts, falling silently.
Reinhart dodged again, but his slowed movements could not avoid or block everything. Forced, he shrank his Domain tightly to his front, forming a thin but tough barrier.
Crack, crack, crack!
As the light arrows struck the barrier, hairline cracks crawled across it.
The rain seemed endless. Cracks multiplied and deepened—first spiderweb-fine, then with a thunderous collapse the Domain shattered into fluttering sparks.
"It's over..."
Reinhart seemed to hear those three words—not from the air but from within his heart, from his body near its limit, and from the indifferent eyes watching him.
Several golden shafts pierced the final defense and sank into Reinhart’s body.
He gasped and his body slammed into the ground, sending grit and stones flying.
Chest, shoulder, ribs... multiple penetrating wounds gushed warm liquid, soaking his clothes. Though vital organs were missed, a human body was fragile—these injuries were severe.
Worse, residual arrow energy continued to ravage his interior.
His organs were heavily damaged.
In the sky the centaur’s white wings beat lightly. Her bow was drawn; arrows targeted the Sword Saint’s head and heart, ready for the final blow.
At that instant several figures streaked forward.
"The duel is over. We concede!"
Theo’s Legendaries interposed themselves before the centaur.
Other nations’ Legendaries watched coldly without intending to intervene.
In truth they would rather see Reinhart die. This eighteen-year-old Legendary, except for Theo, was a thorn in every kingdom’s side.
He himself had not realized how cruel this world could be.
Reinhart lay on the ground, staring dully at the sky as consciousness blurred.
He realized that not only the overbearing Red Emperor but even the pawns under him were beyond his reach.
In the moonlight he suddenly felt that the flowers and praise, the compliments and adulation... might have been mere dreams, fantasies impossible to truthfully attain.
"So it was a dream? Time to wake..."
He whispered and then lost consciousness.
In midair Elvy sheathed her weapons, not pursuing.
She glanced down at the human sprawled in a pool of blood, then turned and launched into the high night sky on four hooves and beating wings.
With a human body so grievously wounded, even survival would mean greatly diminished potential.
Her objective had been achieved.
After all, the duel was under the pretense of sparring; had she insisted on killing him, Aola might have given other nations an excuse to intervene. The Prince of Iron had considered this and commanded restraint.
Year 368 of the New Calendar.
The young Legendary Reinhart Norlin was severely wounded at Twin Moon Gorge and thereafter vanished; rumors spread of his death. Theo’s newly kindled hope then slid into deeper despair.
Time flowed on unhurriedly.
Years passed in a blink.
King O'Brien of Lothrian, having suffered repeated heavy Domain injuries from intense use during two wars, saw his life-source seriously damaged and grew progressively weak.
Year 371 of the New Calendar: the royal authority of Lothrian passed to O’Brien’s ninth son, Raymond.
Year 372: Lothrian’s new king achieved Legendary.
Year 374: in Aola the Prince of Iron began to slumber.
Year 375: the old Lothrian king died; the nation mourned.
Year 376: another Wing of the Empire, the Prince of Fire in Aola, began to slumber.
Time slipped quietly by; the Romania nations entered a phase of peaceful development with no major incidents. Lothrian enjoyed the fruits of victory, grew stronger, and gradually regained former glory, hinting again at its old reputation as head of the Federation.
Until...
Year 394 of the New Calendar.
On the Arotala Continent where the elves lived, a vast, brilliant meteor shower fell from the heavens and then transformed into countless meteors crashing into the earth. Many Legendaries intervened but could not intercept them all.
Catastrophe swept the Arotala Continent. The Nausil Empire called it a natural disaster.
The Atlantis Continent remained untouched.
The Halden human empire did not miss the opportunity; it continued to focus on the Abyssal Development Plan and seemed to have made major progress.