Chapter 200: Why don’t you just unleash that hatred on me?

The metal sang in the air the instant Morgana lunged forward.

There was no warning. No count. Not a word beyond the threat spat out with raw rage.

The blade described a violent arc, charged with aura, cutting the space where Damon’s neck had been a blink of an eye before. He threw himself aside by pure reflex, his body reacting before his mind had finished processing the danger.

The ground exploded where the sword struck.

Shattered stone, dust, a shockwave that made the gate’s banners shake violently.

“YOU BASTARD—!” Morgana spun her body and attacked again, giving him no time to even regain his balance.

[Alert! Extreme danger!]

[Recommendation: Immediate defense!]

Damon rolled, felt the blade pass close to his back, tearing the fabric of his coat. He slid to his knees, instinctively raised his hands… and then realized.

He was unarmed.

No spear.

No sword.

Nothing.

Only his own body… and mind.

“Morgana, wait!” he tried, stepping back as she advanced with firm steps, the dark, bluish aura enveloping the sword like cold flames.

“WAIT?!” she roared. “You vanish. Disappear. Vanish from my world as if I were nothing. And you think I’m going to WAIT?!”

She attacked from above.

Damon raised his arm.

Not to block.

To create.

The air around his hand froze instantly.

A dry crack echoed as ice particles violently condensed, forming a translucent, pale blue blade, jagged at the edges—but solid. Perfectly solid.

Morgana’s sword collided with the ice sword.

The impact was brutal.

A clash of aura, ice, and metal made the air vibrate and pushed them both back. Damon was dragged several meters, his feet carving furrows in the earth until he could steady himself.

Morgana’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second.

“You…” she gritted her teeth. “You did that on instinct?!”

Damon gasped, his entire arm trembling from the absurd cognitive effort.

“IQ… extreme thermal condensation…” he murmured, more to himself. “Damn, this hurts.”

She didn’t give him time.

Morgana advanced again, now with technique. No blind fury. Her stance lowered, her center of gravity firm, the blade describing precise, deadly attacks, trained since childhood.

A side slash.

Another diagonal one.

A direct thrust to the heart.

Damon recoiled, blocking as best he could, the ice sword grinding with each impact. Cracks began to form on the makeshift blade.

She’s too fast.

He spun his body, letting a blow pass by inches, and kicked the ground, sending frozen dust flying into her face. Morgana took a half-step back—enough for Damon to attack.

He lunged forward with an upward strike.

She blocked.

The impact sent sparks of ice flying into the air.

“You’ve always been like this!” Morgana yelled, pushing his blade aside and twisting her wrist, trying to disarm him. “Always running away when things get tough!”

“I didn’t run away!” Damon replied, creating more ice around the hilt to reinforce the sword as he dodged a slash that would have ripped his head off. “I just—”

She laughed.

But there was no humor there.

“Let me guess, you had other things to do? Leaving everything behind?!”

She spun her body and unleashed an aura-charged strike. The impact was devastating.

The ice sword shattered into dozens of fragments that exploded in the air like crystalline shards. Damon was thrown backward, crashing hard against a stone pillar near the gate.

The impact ripped the air from his lungs.

“Ack—!”

He fell to his knees, coughing, tasting the metallic taste of blood in his mouth.

Morgana walked towards him, firm steps, sword pointed downward, aura pulsing dangerously.

“I searched for you.” Her voice trembled. “In Arven. Outside of Arven. In reports. In rumors. In the dead.”

She raised her sword again.

“And you were here. Alive. Training. Smiling.”

She attacked.

Damon rolled to the side at the last instant. The blade embedded itself in the ground where his head had been, opening a crater.

He reached out to the side, his eyes focused, his mind working at its limit.

Ice exploded from the ground.

A blade surged upward, forcing Morgana to leap back. Damon seized the opportunity, rising unsteadily and forging another sword of ice—this time shorter, denser.

“I couldn’t go back,” he said, his voice hoarse. “If I went back… they would have used me. As always.”

“I AM NOT ’THEM’!” Morgana lunged forward again, her sword dancing in a perfect sequence of blows that pressed Damon mercilessly.

He blocked. Dodged. Retreated.

Each impact made the ice sword vibrate dangerously.

“You’re his daughter!” Damon shouted, spinning his body and creating a wall of ice that shattered under her next blow. “And he would have used you to pull me back!”

She hesitated.

Just a moment.

It was enough.

Damon lunged forward, his entire body moving in sync, the ice blade describing a clean arc that struck the side of her sword and deflected the attack.

He kicked.

Morgana was thrown back several meters, sliding across the ground before steadying herself again.

She was breathing heavily now.

They both were.

“You think I don’t know that?!” she yelled. “You think I didn’t fight him for you?!”

Damon froze.

Literally.

The ice around the sword cracked.

“What…?”

She advanced more slowly this time, the sword still raised, but her voice… broken.

“I faced my father,” Morgana said through gritted teeth. “I yelled. I threatened. I defied direct orders. Because I knew that if you stayed… you would die. Or worse.”

She pointed the sword at him.

“And even then… you didn’t trust me and just ran away? Why did you disappear from Arven out of nowhere?!”

A heavy silence fell between them.

The wind blew between the banners.

Damon felt something tighten in his chest.

“I…” he said softly. “I can’t talk.”

Of course, he couldn’t say, “I stole a succubus, and the black market would be angry with me, so I disappeared!”

Morgana attacked again.

But now… it wasn’t pure fury.

It was pain.

The duel changed.

The blows became more intense, closer, blade against blade, ice against aura, the two advancing, retreating, spinning, exchanging attacks so fast that the guards in the distance could barely keep up.

Damon created ice on his feet to slide, avoiding a fatal cut and appearing beside her, trying to disarm her.

She responded with a knee to the abdomen.

The air left his lungs in a muffled groan.

She spun for the final blow—

“MORGANAAA ARVENN!!”

The voice cut through the field like thunder.

Elizabeth Wykes.

Her presence was felt even before she was seen.

Morgana hesitated. The sword stopped inches from Damon’s face.

Both were breathing heavily.

The ice on his sword began to slowly melt.

Elizabeth walked toward them, her expression cold, absolute authority in every step.

“Lower the weapon,” she ordered, without raising her voice.

Morgana gritted her teeth… but lowered her sword.

Damon let the ice blade completely melt away.

He staggered.

He almost fell.

Elizabeth caught his arm before that happened.

“Enough,” she said, looking from Morgana to Damon. “This is not the place. Nor the way.”

Morgana trembled.

“He—!”

“He was saved by me,” Elizabeth interrupted. “Protected by me. And he belongs in my house as long as he’s under my roof.”

She stared directly at Morgana.

“If you want to talk, it will be with words. Not with blood.”

The next scene was… drastically different.

Very different.

Damon was on his knees.

Morgana too.

Both sat on their heels, backs straight from sheer psychological pressure, hands resting on their thighs like children caught in some mischief too serious to warrant just a common scolding.

In front of them, in a wide armchair of dark wood and deep red upholstery, sat Elizabeth Wykes.

Seated.

Legs crossed.

Arms crossed.

An absolutely serene expression.

Her aura wasn’t violent, nor explosive—it was worse. It was dense. Silent. The kind of presence that didn’t need to impose itself, because the world already molded itself around her out of habit.

The side room of the mansion was too quiet.

The servants had been discreetly dismissed.

The guards, sent away.

Even the wind seemed to have decided not to make a sound.

Elizabeth tilted her head slightly, observing the two as if analyzing a curious scene.

“So…” she began, her tone too calm for the context, “…would someone like to explain to me why an important guest decided to try to decapitate a knight of my house at the main gate?”

Silence.

Damon stared intently at the ground.

Morgana opened her mouth.

Closed it.

Opened it again.

“I-I…” she cleared her throat, visibly uncomfortable. “It was… a personal matter.”

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow.

Just one.

“Personal matter,” she repeated, as if testing the taste of the words.

She then crossed her other leg with all the tranquility in the world.

“Interesting. Because, you see…” she continued, “…it’s considered extremely rude to attack one of my knights. Especially one I trained. Protected. And who is under my direct jurisdiction.”

Morgana began to sweat profusely.

“I didn’t know he—”

“Liar.” Elizabeth cut in, without raising her voice.

Damon swallowed hard.

Morgana blinked, freezing for a moment.

Elizabeth leaned forward slightly in her armchair.

“You knew exactly where he was. You knew who he was now. And you knew that this here”—she made a vague gesture with her hand—”wasn’t Arven.”

The silence grew even heavier.

Morgana clenched her fists against her thighs.

“I… lost control,” she admitted reluctantly. “But he disappeared. Out of nowhere. I—”

“I sent Damon to Arven,” Elizabeth said.

The sentence hit her like a hammer.

Morgana lifted her head in a start.

“…What?”

Damon also looked up, his eyes widening slightly.

Elizabeth pointed her thumb at her own chest without any ceremony.

“I,” she confirmed. “I found it useful. Strategic. A future diplomatic bridge.”

She glanced at Damon for a second.

“And he was obedient.”

Damon made a slight grimace.

“Technically…”

Elizabeth raised a finger.

“Silence,” she said calmly.

He immediately shut his mouth.

Morgana seemed to be trying to reorganize her brain.

“So…” she began slowly, “…it was you who—”

“And I was also the one who brought him back,” Elizabeth finished, with almost offensive nonchalance. “When I realized Arven was starting to look at him as property instead of a person.”

Morgana felt her stomach churn.

“So…” she murmured, “…why am I yelling at him?”

Elizabeth tilted her head to the other side now, analyzing her.

“Excellent question,” she said. “And I have a better one.”

She slowly uncrossed her arms and rested one elbow on the arm of the chair, supporting her face with her hand.

“Why don’t you just unleash that hatred on me?”

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