CHAPTER 112

  THE TIMELESS STRIKE 2.0

  The duel never finished.

  It ended not with a decisive blow, but with a scream.

  Zadicus, the pawn Highborn lord had trained, dropped to his knees — not from a wound visible to the crowd, but from a pain that refused to be silenced. His hands clawed at the earth. His mouth stretched open in a soundless wail before it finally broke into a ragged, guttural cry.

  The training ground—so recently loud with discussions—fell deathly quiet.

  The officials signalled to end the match. Two medics ran forward. Someone tried to restrain Theodred but he was already restrained, puzzled.

  Too late.

  The damage had already been done.

  Zadicus wasn’t just injured — he was breaking.

  From the inside.

  Reina’s expression shifted from fear to dread. She stood slowly, staring at Hans with a dawning realisation—something he hadn’t even caught yet.

  Hans lowered his sword, watching the spasms rack Zadicus's body with growing interest. Not panic. Not guilt. Something... colder.

  Curiosity.

  “That’s... new,” he murmured.

  Zadicus clawed at his own limbs like the pain was inside his bones, under his skin. And it was.

  Thousands of micro-cuts. Buried under the skin like whispers of steel.

  Hans had cut him with Timeless Strikes—the Inheritor’s signature skill, a barrage of subtle fast attacks. But something had laced itself through them. Something toxic. Something not his.

  And then it hit him.

  Fester… and Maximacre?

  Reina’s aura skill transformed his timeless strikes.

  Not consciously invoked. Not trained or intended.

  But imprinted.

  And now perfected.

  Hans turned his hand over slowly, almost reverently, watching the faint hum of aura ripple across his knuckles like ink mixing in water.

  Reina’s fourth skill Fester made those strikes poisonous while Maximacre made them into micro cuts, almost surgical. Making the undodgebale timeless strikes even more deadly.

  “So that’s what it feels like…” he whispered.

  A grin curled his lip.

  “I thought I could only channel aura... But this—this changes things. Fester isn’t just a poison. It contaminates.”

  The realisation sank in like a drug.

  His aura grade surged—44 to 48. Just like that. A jump that took knights several months, sometimes years.

  All from an unconscious integration.

  “Man, this is interesting or even genius,” he muttered, eyes still on his hand. “Reina’s gift keeps on giving. Makes me want to gobble up more of her skills… did that crazy goddess know it before?”

  Later that night, the chaos from the duel still echoed through the halls of the palace. Zadicus remained unconscious. The healers didn’t understand what was happening. The Highgarden family was livid while Reina was silent.

  She had created something she can’t contain if he goes against her. Her mind was working on things to bind him.

  And Hans?

  He sat alone in his quarters, legs stretched out, sword leaning against the wall beside him. The mana light flickered low, and the shadows stretching long across the stone floor.

  He spoke to no one in particular.

  “I get it now. Why the elves can’t win.”

  He smirked, remembering Zadicus’s proud stance, his refusal to activate aura until the last possible moment.

  “Arrogance. Every single one of them. Too proud to go low. Too blind to see they’re already put beneath.”

  Five months in Clandor had taught him more than any battlefield. Elves clung to form. Tradition. Reputation.

  Theodred would have loved these things but it was just a mask Hans wore. He had no such luxury. He came up through grit. Through mistakes. Through hunger to be at the top and now he had a weapon which could possibly make him enter the ranked Knight.

  “They used an artefact against me, just to show that they are far more privileged than me and still—still—thought they had it in the bag. What a joke.”

  He flexed his hand again, drawing a timeless strike, feeling the Fester pulsing beneath his skin like a second heartbeat.

  He’d learned something else too — he could evolve without permission.

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  And it wasn’t over.

  “Five more months… then the Preliminary Knight Convention begins,” he murmured.

  Clandor would host the qualifiers. Then Indu — for the real war. For legacy. And his opponent there…?

  “The Sad Death.”

  He said the name like a curse. Or a prayer.

  “My toughest opponent yet. I can’t wing that one. I need precision. I need timing. I need—”

  He trailed off.

  He chuckled.

  “Plans…”

  He spat the word out like it tasted bitter.

  “I make them. They laugh at me.”

  The mana light cracked as the stone in it burned down. He watched it, almost fondly.

  The next day, in the court after handling most of it, Theodred was summoned from his room. He pulsed the aura, marking himself as someone who reached the elite club of Grade fifty.

  He was just mid forties before.

  Marble and silence ensued.

  The court of the Elven Lands was built not for noise, but for judgment. A place where words weighed more than any. And today, they had summoned him before everyone.

  He stood in the centre of the ceremonial circle — the Eye of the Court — surrounded on all sides by lords, officials, and nobles of the High Families. Their eyes were heavy with expectation. Not curiosity. Not respect.

  Judgment. Punishment they’d forced Reina to induce on her own disciple. Highborn lord’s plan succeeded. Even when he lost the pawn, he still got to humiliate them.

  At the far end, seated just below the Swan Emblem, was Reina — Queen of Clandor, High Matron of the elven Order, and Theodred's mentor.

  Her voice, when it came, was not soft.

  “You never explained what those strikes were.”

  No one spoke. Not even breathe.

  “You said they were with you since the moment you learned to wield aura,” she continued, her gaze steady. “But I need more than riddles now. The court demands a clear answer.”

  Theodred’s eyes moved from face to face. He could smell the tension. See the hunger behind their robes and titles. They wanted him dissected. Filed away and understood. Made themselves safe.

  He exhaled, then answered — not polite.

  “Then let the court remain unsatisfied.”

  A wave of murmur rippled through the chamber. A few gasped. One of the younger lords rose, outraged, but Reina silenced them with a glance.

  “You would defy me? Here?” she asked.

  He didn’t flinch.

  “I’m not defying you,” he said calmly. “I’m protecting what’s mine.”

  “You are nothing without Clandorian training—” the Highborn lord spat.

  Theodred ignored him entirely.

  “There are only two people who ever earned the right to ask about that skill,” he continued. “One is dead. The other…” he glanced at Reina. “...already knows what answer I’ll give.”

  Reina stood slowly. Her voice dropped to something colder.

  “Then let me speak plainly. Refuse me again — and I will no longer teach you.”

  The room stilled. Even the wind outside seemed to pause.

  Theodred didn’t hesitate.

  “Then don’t.”

  The words struck harder than any blade. Not because they were loud. But because they were. No theatrics. No apologies. Just clarity — and choice.

  He bowed his head, respectfully.

  “Breaking this bond will hurt you more than it hurts me.”

  The words turned venomous. The court could taste blood any moment. A fallen student. A betrayed master. They were one breath away from becoming it.

  But Reina did not breathe.

  Her fingers clenched at her sides. Her eyes — sharp, always calculating — flickered with something that wasn’t anger. It was regret.

  Because she knew.

  The longer he stayed near her, the more these lords would sharpen their blades against him. He was the outsider. The half-made weapon.

  She should let him go.

  She should cast him out if she cares for him even a bit. Make it clean. Public.

  But she couldn’t.

  Because she remembered who he was when she found him. A child with no sense of aura skill but courage to fight the whole world for the principles.

  And now in mere months that child had risen to aura grade 50. A feat not known in history for this speedy progress. And what he could become if no one else twisted him first.

  So instead… she closed her eyes.

  “Forgive me, Theodred,” she whispered silently to herself.

  Then she stood tall once more and addressed the court with steel in her voice.

  “This inquiry is over.”

  Confusion rang out. Objections. Protests.

  “By my right as the queen of Clandor,” she said, “I dismiss the court. Now.”

  The officials couldn’t challenge the authority. Not here. Not now. Begrudgingly, the nobles rose and left, their eyes lingering on Theodred like wolves denied a meal. Even the Highborn understood that what he wanted would not happen indirectly. He had to involve himself to achieve the satisfaction he yearned for.

  Within minutes, the court chamber was empty again.

  Just two people remained.

  Reina. And the boy she had tried to shape into a knight — only to realise he was becoming something else entirely.

  She descended the steps, slow and deliberate, until she stood in front of him. No crown. No mask. Just Reina.

  “It seems you learned to negotiate?”

  “You kept saying the world was not just right and wrong. Sometimes you’ve to bend the situation in your favour—that’s life. I learned from the best.”

  “You learned to be cheeky too.”

  “As I said, teacher.” He scoffed. “I learned from the best.”

  “Stop the flattery. The scene you caused had sent a lot of insects chirping through the nobles’ pants. They fear what they can’t understand. And what you can’t understand will eventually beat you. The only authority these pesky nobles could go to is the shadow family. I want you to be eligible for the Knight convention before they could take any decisive steps.”

  “Well, aren’t you self sabotaging your reign. I think court support is needed for the rule—”

  “That’s not for you to worry about.” She stopped him there.

  “Then it’s better you give me the next skill, teacher.” Hans said plain, wondering if the new skill would transform his timeless strikes even further. He was waiting to show it off to Dietrich. Waiting to see his stoic expressions crumble. But it was for another time.

  “You wanna fly?,” she asked.

  He blinked. The defiance slipped — just a fraction — from his expression. Flying, the feel of air, the freedom. He missed it more than anything.

  “I don’t offer this because I’ve forgiven you,” she added. “Or because I want to forget what happened here.”

  “Then why?” he asked.

  Her voice softened. But only barely.

  “Because if I don’t teach you the fifth skill… who knows what garbage thing you’ll learn from somewhere.”

  She reached into her robes, retrieving a scroll bound in pale, silvered thread. She held it out.

  “LightCloak— The fifth skill. Flight. But only in motion.”

  Theodred stared at it. Then at her.

  “So, you are sulking. Not teaching but handing out homework?”

  “Yes,” she said. “You’ve to understand it by yourself. If you can take a decision on your own then you can also learn on your own. Only come to me when you learn to fly till then, I don’t want to see your stupid face.”

  He took the scroll. “That’ll do, teacher.”