Chapter 214
Christian frowned.
“How dare you. Are you in that much of a hurry to die?”
“Bluster all you want. It won’t help you. No matter how talented you are, Your Grace, there’s no way you can defeat me.”
He wasn’t wrong.
Though he had embarrassed himself against Count Khazar in the succession duel, Viscount Macfield was still a powerful 6-star Upper-Rank mage.
Christian, who was still only 5-star, had no business challenging someone like him—at least in theory.
Yet Christian showed an unexpected reaction.
Rather than showing any fear, he lifted his chin and spoke coldly.
“You idiot. Seems you still don’t understand your place.”
“…What did you just say?”
“I said, if anyone’s going to die here—it’s you.”
And he didn’t stop there.
“If you kneel right now and beg for mercy, I might consider sparing your life.”
For a moment, Macfield looked blank—then burst into laughter.
It was clear he didn’t take Christian’s threat seriously at all.
“Kuhaha, still running your mouth even now? Impressive. But did you forget something?”
He stepped forward.
“There’s no one here to protect you. Not your precious Patriarch, not that annoying Count Khazar, not even Sir Merian.”
A cruel gleam surfaced in Macfield’s eyes.
“I won’t make it quick. I’ve hated that smug face of yours for a while now. Let’s see how it twists in agony… Let’s see how that arrogance turns into begging for your life.”
A surge of demonic energy rose from Macfield’s body.
The pressure matched his title—he was indeed a 6-star Upper-Rank.
It easily surpassed the might of Count Cessia, whom Christian had fought before.
Back then, Christian had gained the upper hand thanks to the natural compatibility of the Medical Saint Family’s power—but this time, he had no such advantage.
And yet… Christian’s attitude remained eerily calm.
“If I have to say it again, then I will—kneel and beg for forgiveness now. And I might let you live.”
“Khahaha!! Still bluffing? I see… You are scared after all. Let’s hear how that noble mouth of yours begs for mercy.”
Macfield raised his hand.
Unlike those from the Sacred Black lineage, most mages of the Dark Demonic House trained in Black-attribute demonic energy. They often paired it with another element to form a secondary core.
Macfield was one of those—like Count Berkel, he wielded Red Demonic Energy, the element of destruction.
Black and red swirled together, forming a violently unstable force.
It was only a matter of time before that energy was unleashed upon Christian.
Yet even in the face of mortal danger—Christian did not waver.
Still proud. Still arrogant.
It was too much to chalk up to simple bluffing. Macfield’s brow twitched with unease.
And then—
“You know… I’ve never once said something I didn’t mean.”
“…What?”
“So when I said I could kill you—I wasn’t bluffing.”
Christian raised a single finger.
“One second. One strike. That’s all I need to make you kneel before me like a dog.”
“!!”
Macfield’s face flushed red with anger.
“Enough of your arrogant bluffing—it’s getting on my nerves!”
Fwoosh!
His Intent Manifestation Technique erupted forth.
Black Flame of the Wicked Mist.
A cold, sinister fog crept slowly toward Christian.
The moment one was engulfed by that mist, it would ignite into black flames of darkness—an Intent Manifestation Technique designed for annihilation.
But Christian, having already calculated the radius of the mist the moment Macfield activated the technique, moved like lightning—dodging it completely before it could take hold.
“You think I’d fall for something that slow and sloppy?”
“You bastard…!”
“Try using your brain for once. Ah, but I suppose that requires actually having one, doesn’t it?”
From that point on, the same scene repeated itself multiple times.
Macfield would unleash a powerful technique, but Christian, as if predicting everything in advance, would dodge at just the right moment, evading all danger.
To make matters worse, he kept provoking Macfield with smirking jabs that only inflamed his rage.
And then—it happened.
Suddenly, Macfield’s lips curled into a chilling smile.
“Got you.”
“!!”
Whooosh—!
A whirlwind erupted around Christian.
This time, it was Macfield who had calculated Christian’s evasive pattern and pre-activated his Intent Manifestation.
Windfang Guillotine.
“You’re trapped. Now howl in agony as your entire body is shredded to pieces!”
This storm of razor wind carried Black Steel Energy, slicing everything in its path.
Once caught within it, there was no escape. One would be shredded to bits by the endless flurry of wind blades infused with Black Steel Energy.
The only path to survival was to brute-force one’s way out by overwhelming the technique with raw power—but Christian, being only 5-star, couldn’t possibly manage that.
Moreover, Macfield had recently begun constructing his own Microcosm.
Calling it “just the beginning” wouldn’t do it justice.
He may have been mocked by Count Khazar, a full 7-star powerhouse, but the strength of someone who had started forming a Microcosm far exceeded that of someone who hadn’t.
Naturally, Christian should have had no chance.
And yet, Christian said something utterly baffling.
“Is… this really all you’ve got?”
“…What did you say?”
“Come on, give it everything you’ve got. This is disappointing. At this rate, you’re the one who’s going to die.”
Veins bulged on Macfield’s forehead.
“SHUT UP!!”
The wind blades intensified in fury—growing even more ferocious.
Driven by rage, Macfield poured in everything he had.
And then—something unexpected happened.
Click.
The storm that had been raging like a hurricane—came to an abrupt halt.
“Huh?”
Macfield’s face went blank with confusion.
“Why…?”
He tried once more to activate his Intent Manifestation.
But it was useless.
His Energy felt like it was fraying apart—splintering—and no power would manifest.
And the surprises didn’t end there.
“Keugh—!”
He suddenly coughed up blood—thick, blackened, and dead.
“W-What the…?”
Crack.
A faint cracking sound echoed by his ear.
It was coming—from his core.
It was cracking apart.
“W-Why…?”
“You pathetic idiot.”
Christian sneered.
“You were flexing your strength without even realizing your core was fractured.”
“!!”
Macfield’s eyes widened to the point they looked like they’d rip apart.
“W-What did you say…?!”
“You cracked it during the ranking duel. Back when you got hammered by my father.”
Christian shook his head inwardly.
“Seriously… Father went that far with him? He must’ve held quite a grudge.”
During the ranking duel, Count Khazar had thoroughly beaten Macfield to a pulp.
But it wasn’t just superficial damage.
He’d stealthily inflicted a subtle fracture deep within Macfield’s core—so well-disguised that even Macfield himself hadn’t noticed it.
“And it’s a nasty one, too.”
It appeared like a light scratch to the untrained eye, barely noticeable.
But the true nature of the wound was insidious—it would remain dormant unless the user forced their Energy beyond a certain limit, in which case the fracture would spread to the heart of the core.
For a high-ranking mage, such a wound was fatal.
“Maybe… he did it on purpose, just for me. Since I’d eventually have to face Macfield myself.”
But Macfield vehemently shook his head in denial.
“There’s no way… A scratch like that couldn’t cause this!”
“Oh, ordinarily—sure. But what if someone were to stir up your demonic energy and rip into that wound from the inside?”
“…What…?”
Christian flashed a razor-sharp grin.
“I picked up something useful recently.”
He flicked a single finger.
And then—another unbelievable thing happened.
The demonic energy within Macfield’s core began to vibrate wildly.
“KEUGH?!”
Macfield vomited blood again—choking, staggering—his core buckling from within.
“The Lord’s Dark Sovereignty… Once I observed it closely, I figured I could imitate it.”
“!!”
“It’s the perfect technique to crush a bastard like you.”
Normally, not even Christian could interfere directly with another’s core and manipulate the demonic energy within it.
But after witnessing how Lord Nordian annihilated the lower-ranked demons using the power of Dark Sovereignty, Christian was struck by inspiration.
“What if… I could exert that same type of control?”
Nordian’s affinity with dark demonic energy wasn’t even at full capacity—around 80% at most.
Whereas Christian’s affinity was at a full 100%.
If Nordian could do it, so could he.
That was the thought behind his attempt.
“Of course, with my current level of mastery, I can’t exert the same overwhelming might as Lord Nordian.”
What allowed Nordian to manifest such dominance wasn’t merely the purity of his dark demonic energy—it was the profound attainment he had in controlling his domain.
Christian, for now, could only manage a rudimentary form of that control.
“Still, if I time it right, I can at least exploit the crack in his core.”
That’s why Christian deliberately provoked Macfield—pushing him to unleash his full Intent Manifestation.
To force strain onto his already injured core.
He seized the perfect moment, activated his control, and pried into the wound—worsening it.
“And the fact that this fool had a half-formed Microcosm helped me even more.”
As was evident from Count Berkel’s case—having an improperly formed Microcosm was worse than not having one at all.
Macfield’s Microcosm was the same.
Perhaps driven by rivalry against Christian, the Marquis Langham had recklessly taught him a forced shortcut. It was far from a proper Microcosm.
While it did boost his strength temporarily, it rendered his demonic energy unstable—leaving even more openings for Christian to exploit.
Macfield shouted in disbelief.
“Th-That’s absurd! You think you can copy Lord Nordian’s domain just by watching it once?! There’s no way—!”
“I can.”
Christian’s voice was cold.
Macfield clenched his teeth.
“Grrr…!!”
He tried to fight back, but Christian unleashed his control again—shaking Macfield’s core.
Finding the first opening had been the hard part. Once the wound was disturbed, the rest followed easily.
Each time Macfield tried to manipulate his demonic energy, his core buckled in pain. He couldn’t summon any power at all.
Terror filled Macfield’s eyes.
“W-Wait, please. Your Grace—!”
“You’re too late.”
Flash!
A cold arc of the blade.
A spray of blood.
Christian stood over the fallen Macfield for a brief moment—then suddenly staggered, coughing up blood.
“Ugh.”
“This power is still too much for me.”
He had mimicked the authority of a domain—a privilege of dominion over darkness—purely through refined technique. The strain on his body was overwhelming.
Unless it was an exceptional situation like this, he wouldn’t be able to use it so easily again.
“I wasted too much time here. I need to stop Yulian now.”
Even now, deep within the zone of incursion, the warriors of the Dark Demonic House were locked in brutal combat.
There wasn’t a second to lose. He had to act—immediately.
But just as he was hastening his steps—
Christian suddenly froze.
He had no choice.
The pressure that seized him now couldn’t even be compared to what he’d felt from Macfield.
“…Ha. Damn it.”
Once Christian identified the source of that overwhelming presence, he let out a hollow laugh.
“You’re really going this far, huh?”
When he turned his head, he saw a familiar face.
A cold monocle over one eye.
Emotionless, inorganic eyes.
It was Marquis Langham.
* * *
“……”
A heavy silence hung between them.
Even Christian couldn’t help but feel a sense of danger in this moment.
Marquis Langham had come in person.
“Get a grip. I need to find a way out of this.”
Christian swallowed hard, forcing himself to stay calm, and sharpened his gaze as he assessed Marquis Langham.
Unlike his usual composed and detached demeanor, Langham was now exuding a threatening aura.
There were no openings.
Langham was officially known to be a 7-star High-Rank.
But with the numerous vile and unspeakable secret techniques he had mastered, it was certain he possessed power on par with an 8-star being.