Chapter 75 – The Ghost of Valor's Hollow
The journey to Valor's Hollow took three days.
It was a place spoken of in reverent tones by Luther knights—a sacred ruin where Martin Luther himself had fought alone against an army of wyvern-blooded warlords. Legend said he performed the Third Spiral there, a technique so destructive the land never recovered.
Jean stood at the entrance now.
The Hollow was a scar on the world. Cracked earth stretched for miles, burned black with age. Not a single tree grew, not a bird sang. Just silence—and the lingering scent of old blood and ash.
Whitney pawed at the ground. "This place… stinks of power."
Jean stepped forward, Luxclade drawn.
The moment her foot touched the broken soil, the Hollow responded.
Wind howled. Aura rippled through the air. And then—shadows coalesced before her, forming the silhouette of a man cloaked in white, with a massive greatsword glowing at his back.
His hair was the same as hers.
"Martin Luther," Jean breathed.
The echo of her ancestor turned. His eyes were filled with light—hollow, distant, but aware.
"Only those who bleed for purpose may step into the Third Spiral," the phantom intoned. "Do you carry purpose, Emissary of Light?"
Jean lifted her sword. "I do. I carry the will of Celeste. I carry the burden of my Clan. I carry the hope of this world."
Martin's ghost stepped forward, and with a roar that shook the Hollow, he raised his blade.
"Then show me your resolve!"
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Their blades clashed in a blinding storm.
Jean spun through the First and Second Spirals—but the echo of Martin overwhelmed them. His sword created shockwaves that split the ground. Every move was filled with absolute precision and crushing intent.
Jean was knocked down once, twice—a dozen times.
Still, she rose.
Bloodied. Gritting her teeth.
And then—she let go.
She stopped trying to match his strength. Instead, she surrendered to the flow of her aura. Her body spun inwards, then outward, spiraling in three layers—her feet, her core, her blade.
The world slowed.
She moved.
A triple helix burst from her sword, catching Martin's strike and unraveling it in a radiant storm. Energy surged outward in rings of light.
The Third Spiral. The Spiral of Inheritance.
Martin's ghost staggered back—then smiled.
"The Spiral remembers you."
He faded into the wind.
Jean collapsed to one knee, panting. Whitney ran to her side.
"That… was insane," the dire wolf muttered.
Jean looked up at the Hollow sky.
"No," she said quietly. "That was family."
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