Chapter 16:The Duel
"T-They're… they're coming," she gasped, collapsing to her knees, panting. "They… they killed… a-all our—"
Tyris raised his hand, stopping her from finishing.
"I know," he said flatly, not moving a muscle. His eyes remained fixed on the burning remains of the tribe's camp, not even offering Lily a glance.
Of course he knew. He had seen everything.
[Earlier – A Few Minutes Ago]
Tyris had stood calmly outside the Brakkar encampment, a hundred meters away from the border tents. He was supposed to receive a response today from the tribe chief—a formal agreement that would let him offer "protection" in return for influence over the tribe's internal affairs. His proposal was simple: assist them in fending off an impending external threat in exchange for loyalty. Not worship, not admiration—loyalty.
But no answer had come. It had already been thirty minutes past the promised meeting, and no one emerged. No messengers. No guards. Nothing.
Then came the sounds. Screams. Crackling fire. The unmistakable clang of weapons clashing and tents collapsing. Tyris narrowed his eyes. He didn't even flinch when a fireball exploded into the sky from the tribe's altar area.
He had suspected something was off. The Brakkar were fools. They had let a heavily armed group of warriors on longmas—scaled horse-beasts used in war—enter under the guise of marriage proposals. A laughable ploy. Only idiots would fall for it.
Tyris sighed and slowly sat cross-legged on the ground. He closed his eyes.
Time to see the truth for myself…
From within his consciousness, he summoned his soul avatar, an ethereal projection of his spirit. Invisible to most and detectable only by high-tier cultivators, it shimmered briefly before vanishing from sight. He sent it drifting silently toward the burning Brakkar encampment.
What he saw through the avatar's eyes made his lips curl ever so slightly.
In the center of the chaos, Marko, Maria, and Sofia—the key figures of the Brakkar tribe—were tied to wooden poles, their bodies bloodied and beaten. Standing before them was Singha, a rogue cultivator and known opportunist. He grinned with madness as he plunged a dagger into Marko's shoulder.
"Where. Is. The. Map?" Singha asked after each stab, voice calm as if discussing the weather.
Marko spat blood, remaining silent.
Tyris watched with mild interest.
Ah… so it's about a treasure map, he realized. A piece of some ancient inheritance. That explained the sudden betrayal, the attack under false pretenses, and the desperation. Treasure always brought out the worst in people.
He continued observing.
Then his avatar caught sight of something more intriguing—a girl dashing from the chieftain's tent. Her hand clenched a small pouch, feathers sticking out. She sprinted through the chaos, dodging burning carts and fallen warriors. Several assailants noticed her and gave chase.
That girl has the map, Tyris deduced. He dismissed the soul avatar and opened his eyes.
With perfect timing, he stood and whistled sharply.
In the shadows of the surrounding forest, a pack of massive silver-furred wolves emerged. His loyal beast companions. "Follow anyone who leaves the camp. Don't kill them—bring them to me," he commanded.
His wolves scattered.
He could have gone in right then. With his 4-Star Qi Refining Realm strength and his beast pack, he could have crushed the attackers. He could have saved everyone.
But he didn't move.
Because he didn't want to be a savior.
A savior was worshipped today and forgotten tomorrow. Tyris didn't want gratitude.
He wanted control. Submission. Obedience.
If the Brakkar's leadership died in the chaos, there would be a power vacuum. And Tyris could fill it. Not as a guest or ally—but as the new chieftain, backed by power, beasts, and fear.
So he waited.
[Present Moment]
And now, the girl with the map—Lily—knelt before him.
Her face was a blend of grief and panic. "Please… they're still alive," she whispered. "I saw them. They're looking for this." She opened her trembling hand and revealed a folded piece of animal-hide map, adorned with tribal feathers and arcane symbols.
"If they want the map, they won't kill them… not yet. You have to help."
Tyris finally turned to face her, eyes unreadable. "Help you?" he asked with a mock tilt of the head. "Why should I?"
She stared at him, confused.
"I made an offer to your tribe. I told your chief that I could eliminate your external threats," he said, voice cold. "But he didn't respond. He delayed. Played politics. And now, his tribe burns."
Lily's lips trembled. "That's… we needed time. I don't know why he didn't—"
"Time," Tyris cut in, "is a luxury. One your tribe no longer has."
He leaned forward slightly. "Tell me, Lily. Is it really worth it? To go back inside? The Brakkar camp is burning. Their warriors are scattered. Your leaders are likely dead or near death. Do you think you can change anything now?"
She bit her lip, refusing to cry. "They're not dead. They can't be. If Singha wants the map, he'll keep them alive to lure me back. If I run, they'll suffer more. If I hide, they'll die. I… I have to go back."
Her voice cracked near the end.
Tyris watched her silently.
She was brave. Or stupid. Probably both. But she had something he needed—not just the map, but the opportunity to lead the Brakkar through her.
"Alright," he said slowly. "Let's say I do help you. What's in it for me?"
Lily hesitated. "I… I don't know. My brother mentioned something about the map. He said… it might lead to a mythical treasure. The last egg of the Mythical Dragon."
Tyris's eyes narrowed. He stepped closer, the distance between them closing quickly.
"A dragon egg?" He chuckled, low and mocking. "You mean this torn piece of hide leads to a treasure that may or may not exist? Based on a myth? You offer that in exchange for my help?"
Lily lowered her head. She had no more leverage. "It's all I have."
"No," Tyris said, voice colder now. "You have something else."
She blinked. "W-What…?"
He took another step closer, close enough that his presence loomed over her like a mountain.
"Men value more than gold and maps. You must know that by now," he said quietly.
Realization dawned in her eyes. Her blood ran cold.
"No…" she whispered.
"Yes," he replied.
There was a long, suffocating silence.
Tyris stood still, giving her time—but not too much. "You have five seconds," he said. "Make your choice. Save your tribe—or let them die."
"I—" she choked.
"Four."
Tears welled in her eyes.
"Three."
She looked back toward the smoke. She could still hear screams.
"Two."
Her hands clenched into fists.
"One—"
"Fine!" she screamed, tears streaming. "I'll… I'll do it. Just… just save them."
Her voice broke, her pride shattered.
Tyris knelt down in front of her and gently lifted her chin. "Good," he whispered. "You made the right choice."
[Here Comes Erotic Scene]
He stood again and turned toward the forest.
"Wait here," he ordered. "I'll prepare the wolves and ready the attack."
She said nothing. She simply sat there, broken.
[Later That Night]
The moon hung heavy in the sky, its pale light glinting off the frost-kissed ground. Tyris moved like a shadow at the head of his wolf pack, their silver fur glimmering in the night like flowing snow. The wind howled behind them, but it was nothing compared to the growls of the spectral beasts that accompanied him.
He had waited long enough.
With a single hand gesture, he activated the Frost Vein Array—an ancient spiritual technique he had mastered from the Snow White Wolf King. His palm shimmered with cerulean light. Tendrils of frozen mist slithered from his fingers and spread across the burning ruins of the Brakkar Tribe like icy vines. Flames hissed and died, their rage quenched by glacial stillness. Smoke turned to snowflakes. Ash hardened into brittle crystal.
All around the tribe, the wolves moved with unspoken coordination, forming a protective perimeter as Tyris advanced, his sword humming with Qi.
But as he entered the shattered heart of the tribe, the stench of blood and betrayal thickened.
Marko was already dead, an ox-horned spear impaled through his chest. His lifeless eyes stared at the heavens, as if still searching for a hope that never arrived. Nearby, Sofia lay in a crumpled heap, her throat slashed cleanly—too cleanly. She died quickly. But the silence screamed louder than any battle cry.
Maria was missing.
Tyris's eyes narrowed.
Then—
A scream.
"No! Please… no… someone, please help me!"
It came from the eastern edge of the tribe, near the collapsed shaman tent. Without hesitation, Tyris surged forward, a blur of shadow and frost. Snow erupted under his feet with every step. His wolves snarled and followed.
There—beneath the torn canopy—Singha Ragnar loomed over Maria, his muscular form pinning her down, eyes twisted with cruel delight.
Tyris didn't hesitate.
"Get away from her."
Then came the clash.
The Duel: Tyris vs. Singha Ragnar
Singha stood and cracked his neck, thick veins bulging across his arms. "You're not one of them," he said, spitting to the side. "But I'll enjoy breaking you."
Tyris didn't reply. He flicked his sword once, frost blooming along its blade like blooming lilies of death.
Singha charged, fist glowing with brute force Qi. The ground cracked under his heels.
Boom!
Tyris parried the first blow with the flat of his blade, sliding back five paces. The shockwave split the air. Singha pressed forward like a mad beast, throwing heavy punches and body slams. He was a body cultivator, and his strength was immense—each strike a hammer meant to crush bones and will.
But Tyris wasn't just a swordsman.
He was a Qi Refiner. And he had the Frost Soul.
Tyris exhaled slowly. A pulse of cold air burst from his chest, forming a shield of ice just as Singha's axe-like palm came crashing down. It shattered the shield, but bought Tyris a second—just enough.
With a pivot of his heel, he spun left, sword dancing in his hand.
"Frozen Bloom: Crescent Edge!"
A glowing arc of frost carved through the air. Singha roared as it grazed his bicep, frostbite crackling along his skin. He answered with a bellow, grabbing a massive burning spear from the ground and hurling it like a javelin.
Tyris dodged, barely. The spear missed, but the heat singed his sleeve.
Then it became brutal.
They traded blows—Singha with strength, Tyris with technique.
Fists vs. Frost. Qi vs. Blood.
Singha caught Tyris once in the ribs. Tyris responded with a rising frost-kick, freezing the air around Singha's legs and locking him in place.
"Frost Coffin!" Tyris shouted.
Jagged spikes of ice exploded from the ground, encasing Singha waist-deep. The brute howled, shattering the prison with a flex of Qi. But he staggered, his movements slower.
"You're strong," Tyris said coldly, "but predictable."
He raised his sword high—now glowing with white-blue light.
"Frost Moon Art: Thousand Shards!"
In a breath, the air turned razor-sharp. Dozens of ice-laced sword projections swirled in the air and rained down upon Singha like a divine judgment. One by one they pierced, slashed, and shredded.
Singha screamed.
Then fell.
Dead.
Tyris didn't pause.
He turned, face splattered with frost and blood, and cut down three more of Singha's men without mercy.
But Aber Ragnar, Singha's younger brother, escaped.
Tyris saw him mount a Longma—a dragon-blooded warhorse—and flee with a few soldiers. The beast roared as it took to the sky, trailing shadows behind it.
He let them go—for now.
The Brakkar Tribe was in ruins. But it was over.
Tyris walked into the courtyard where the surviving tribesmen were bound or cowering. He untied them, one by one. They were too shocked to speak. Bloodied, broken, but alive.
Maria wept openly when she saw Lily rush into the clearing.
"You… saved us," she whispered through her tears.
But Lily said nothing.
She just stared at Tyris, lips trembling. Her clothes were torn. Her hands were shaking. And yet, she stood firm.
As for Tyris?
He didn't answer.
He only smiled—calm, composed.
Because now…
He wasn't just a guest anymore.
He was the Savior.
He had the map fragment.
He had the wolves.
He had the tribe's loyalty—earned in blood and fear.
And more than anything…
He had Lily.
Already.