Chapter 66 – Duel Under the Blood Moon
The dueling ring was carved into the ancient stone of the Luther Citadel's summit—a battlefield where generations of champions had risen and fallen. Tonight, under the looming Blood Moon, the echoes of history would awaken once more.
Hundreds gathered in silence. Clan knights, elders, Envoy captains, and distant cousins of the bloodline filled the terraces. Even the ghosts of past warriors, drawn by ancient aura bindings, flickered faintly in the air.
At the center stood Jean Luther, blade Luxclade gleaming with divine light.
Across from her stood Tiran Luther, armored in scaled crimson, his aura already ignited like a battlefield inferno.
A bell tolled thrice.
Then—silence.
The duel began.
Tiran moved first, vanishing in a streak of red. Jean parried on instinct, Luxclade meeting Crimson Fang in a burst of white and red sparks.
She was already pushed back—but not broken.
His strikes were relentless, like a raging storm, forged through ten years of brutal campaigns. Jean countered with grace, weaving divine light into her aura strikes, her movements flowing like silver wind.
Then Tiran unleashed his true technique—Infernal Collapse, a forbidden Aura Style that compressed energy into a single devastating strike.
Jean was thrown through three barriers.
Blood dripped from her temple.
But Whitney's howl rekindled her resolve. Across the terrace, Lucien and even Charles Luther watched silently, eyes narrowed.
Jean rose, Luxclade glowing brighter.
She whispered the command Severra had taught her.
"Divinity—Unbound."
Wings of light burst from her back, ephemeral and radiant. Luxclade lengthened, wrapped in golden flame. Her aura surged beyond Transcendent Master level—flirting with something deeper, purer.
Tiran's eyes widened. "What—"
Jean blurred forward.
Their blades met—once, twice, thrice.
Then Luxclade shattered Crimson Fang.
Her blade stopped an inch from his heart.
Tiran fell to his knees, panting, blood dripping from his mouth.
"It's over," Jean said, her voice steady.
He nodded, barely.
And the terrace roared—not in protest, but in awe.
Jean Luther had won the Blood Moon Duel.
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That night, under the red moon, Jean was named First Blade of the Luther Clan. The tide of the Succession War had turned.
But far to the east, beyond the mortal realms, Antares stirred in his lair of bone and ash.
The seal that bound him was cracking.
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