The blade traveled in slow motion as memories of the past swam into Malon’s head–like flashes of his childhood.

He was first born in his family and praised at a young age for unlocking and mastering his Ancestral Ability to a great extent in just a matter of a few days.

However, his brother Mano gained his own Ancestral Ability a week later, outshining him in an instant.

Malon was supposed to be the star child, something he didn’t even care for.

When that was all taken away from him, he didn’t mind it either. But despite this fact, Malon was treated like trash by the nobles of Mycelia.

His mother died early due to an illness. And so, his father always had to protect him. Many days Malon would come home with dozens of scars. These were scars from protecting the average city-folk from the disastrous rule of his brother and his nobles.

Those at the top always looked down on those at the bottom, but Malon had been treated horribly since the very beginning by those in power–so he felt connected to the average mooshs of his city.

They also felt the same about him.

Through the years, Malon continued gaining more punishment and isolation when closer to his own ‘people’ and more love when he spent time with the poorest of the poor.

Although all of this was true, Malon couldn’t help but feel in his heart of hearts that he still didn’t exactly belong anywhere.

He felt he was in the middle. The nobles shunned him despite sharing his blood, and the common folk took care of him but never spoke to him on the deepest of levels.

They never admitted that they believed he was innocent of crimes, nor did they speak out against the high-borns for his sake. This was understandable, as they wanted to protect their own livelihoods.

But nonetheless, it still left Malon with an empty feeling deep in his being.

Tyr was really the first person in Malon’s life to treat him in a way that filled this empty space, even if it was just for a second. To outwardly express his emotions without giving a damn about the consequences.

Malon knew he couldn’t lose this duel… there was far too much at stake. Not just his own life, but of those who took care of him through the years as best they could while protecting themselves as well. Along with that… Tyr wanted him to win as well, right?

…

Even up until only a couple years ago, the question of who would gain the right to be Mayor of Mycelia was a mystery.

The people were obviously split, the rarer nobility wanting Mano as their candidate, and the majority of city folk wanting Malon.

Mano was powerful and praised even more from a young age–growing into an arrogant brat. Yet, the high-borns of Mycelia understood that this made the boy the most prone to manipulation.

Using him as a scapegoat for their own financial interests was going to be easy.

On the other hand, the townsfolk–although not admitting it publically–never believed in the false lies told about Malon to get him less popular. They wanted him as the next Mayor for obvious reasons.

He was not only a leader, but a friend. A family member to all those who treated him with kindness. The people of his city.

This all changed, however, when the Mayor of Mycelia, Mano and Malon’s father, became ill from Jooe.

The decision soon was transferred to Isavior as the Mayor’s death continued to decline.

Now, all that was left was for Malon’s father to die.

Seeing all of these memories flood his mind; the memories of hate, isolation, and torture, Malon became overwhelmed with fury.

Rage like he had never seen before swam from deep within his veins, fueled by his undescribable conviction, reaching his Aura Core and making his abdomen burn from the sheer animosity.

‘If I let them take my city… they will turn it into a money plant and practically enslave these people who they already treat like bugs. These people… I can’t let them be tortured any further. I WILL WIN!’ Malon screamed inwardly as a burst of strength erupted out of his Aura Core–allowing him to roll to the side and avoid Isavior’s blow to the chest.

Right now, all of Malon’s pain was gone for some reason. All he could feel was his Aura Core burning as though it was really on fire.

But he ignored that, his eyes glowing in a green light as he rose to his feet. He was surprisingly light, as though he had lost 100 pounds in mere seconds.

“Huh?” Isavior exclaimed in confusion, digging his sword out of the ground as he stared at his nephew with genuine puzzlement.

“How? How is that possible?”

The crowd also began to give mixed opinions. Some brave souls cheered Malon on, while others simply exclaimed their confusion.

“How?”

“What!?”

“He stood up!”

Tyr couldn’t believe what he was seeing either, “That… shouldn’t be possible.” He whispered under his breath.

At that moment, no other thoughts were in Malon’s mind except for vengeance and rage.

“Come on, you stupid shield!” He shouted and thrust his wrist out.

Out of nowhere, he felt that burning fire from his Aura Core surge out through his body and flow into his wrist.

A giant shield the size of a horse exploded out of his hand out of nowhere–slamming down onto the ground.

It was a magnificent aegis of gargantuan proportions, its peak a rough point: a long and smooth curve downward before reaching another point at its bottom.

Malon’s eyes expanded in shock: “W-what?” He questioned, the shield radiating with green energy and ready to go.

Isavior took a step back, “His Ancestral Ability… it became stronger?”

Malon wasn’t in the right state of mind to care about how this happened. Right now, he just wanted to win this fight!

He stormed forward with the shield in front of him like a battle ram: “AHHHRRGH!”

Isavior’s eyes widened, “Take this!” He forcefully swung his sword several times.

*SWIPE SWIPE SWIPE SWIPE*

However, the shield was too protective and enormous–easily blocking and ricochetting each attack that was thrown at it.

*CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG*

Before Isavior knew it, his sword hand had been flung to the side and the shield was upon him.

Malon dug his feet as far as he could into the ground and pushed up with all of his might.

The shield rammed into Isavior like a cannonball–instantly crushing his nose and frontal skull. Most of his front teeth were knocked back into his throat.

His lungs took on a booming brunt blow, squeezing all the air inside out as his eyes rolled back into his head and his consciousness was obliterated into the void. He was propelled into the air like a puny bug.

The heads of the crowd moved like a row of flowers pushed by the wind, staring at Isavior’s body fly above them and land on top of a mushroom roof in the distance before sliding off and thudding onto the floor.

Malon’s shield shrunk down back into his wrist as he clenched both fists, bent his knees slightly, and screamed into the sky as loud as he could:

“GRAHHHHHH!!!” His voice was damaged and torn but his tone was rough and deep–like the bellowing roar of a lion.

With that, he stood up straight… and fell right over onto the ground.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep