Kaelan doesn't bother hiding his irritation.
He meant to speak—to seal Veena's submission—but the moment he opened his mouth, he had already *moved*, reflex faster than thought.
His palm slams forward.
A thunderous crack—lightning erupts from his hand and collides with a shadowy attack mid-air, scattering sparks across the night.
Veena snaps up from her kneeling position, death energy coiling around her like smoke.
"Who?!"
Kaelan's gaze shifts upward.
Atop a distant rooftop stands a figure cloaked entirely in black—so completely merged with the night that only the faint distortion of space gives its shape away. No breath. No spiritual fluctuation. Even his presence feels false—like a gap in reality rather than a person.
The figure says nothing.
Instead—
It attacks again.
This time the spell is silent—*countless razor-thin blades*, nearly invisible, sliding through the night like strands of shadow. Even with his spiritual perception, Kaelan only detects them because his instincts shriek danger.
Lightning erupts around him, forming a barrier.
Most blades shatter—but a handful slip through.
Cold steel cuts into flesh.
A heartbeat later, the blades dissolve into spiritual smoke—leaving behind thin, black curses that burrow into his wounds like hungry insects, preventing regeneration.
One or two wouldn't matter.
But five.
Now eight.
Now twelve.
They will accumulate—and *that* is the real danger.
Kaelan's eyes narrow.
*Not an assassin. A curse-caster.*
Veena leaps from the tower to escape the continuing strikes, landing in the field below. She thrusts a finger upward.
"*Death Ray.*"
A beam of pale grey energy shoots upward like a spear of winter.
For the first time, the attacker reacts.
A wave of cold darkness erupts from him, swallowing the spell and snuffing it out.
Kaelan seizes the moment.
His storm spell is still active—and with a thought, he forces it to deepen.
Wind howls.
Rain sharpens into needles.
Lightning thickens in the clouds.
In mere seconds, the gentle spiritual rain becomes a raging *storm*—a battlefield of thunder and tearing currents of mana.
Lightning spears downward toward the shadowed figure.
The figure finally speaks—not aloud, but like a whisper slithering into Kaelan's mind.
*"You cannot hide in storms."*
A massive hand of ice materialises behind the attacker. It tears through the storm, ripping apart clouds and redirecting lightning.
But Kaelan is no longer there.
The storm was covered—camouflage.
He appears in the attacker's blind spot, sword already mid-swing.
Steel meets steel with a ringing *clang*, sparks flying.
The figure is fast—faster than Song Yan, faster than the puppet officials.
He retreats back, feet barely touching the rooftop tiles.
Kaelan presses.
A second strike. Blocked.
A third. Forced back.
The two figures blur across rooftops—lightning trailing behind Kaelan's sword, shadow swallowing the stranger's movements.
Below, the burning city watches—helpless—while two shadows carve scars into the night.
Every clash sends roof tiles flying. Every movement cracks stone and splits beams beneath their feet. The air trembles with power.
Kaelan fights while thinking.
*Where did this one come from?*
The opponent's cultivation is clear—*Divine Mind Realm*, without doubt. But nothing else is. The voice carries no hint of gender. The aura is smothered. Even spiritual perception slides off them like water off ice.
Kaelan accelerates his mana flow, pushing his body and spirit to the limit. His strength surges—speed multiplying.
Yet—
The figure matches him perfectly.
Like a mirror.
A stalemate.
His mind churns as their blades clash again and again.
Two names surface:
Sieana—No. He fought her. This isn't her sword, her rhythm, her intent.
And Yuan Fengxin—Ice element, Divine Mind realm. A possibility.
But Yuan Fengxin left the capital yesterday.
And this attacker wields *ice and shadow*, not pure ice.
The uncertainty gnaws at him. The killing intent radiating from the figure—cold and personal—makes Kaelan certain of one thing:
Whoever this is, they didn't come to test him.
They came to *end* him.
A whisper slices the air.
"*Dead Bite.*"
Veena's death energy erupts from below—skeletal skulls materialise around the figure, jaws snapping as they swarm.
The attacker's aura spikes.
Speed—and strength—double.
Kaelan is forced backwards, boots scraping tile as three backsteps carry him to the edge of the rooftop.
Then—another whisper:
"*Night Strike.*"
Darkness condenses into countless sword shadows that slash the skeletons apart and turn toward Veena.
She dodges—but not perfectly. A cut opens across her shoulder, black energy eating at the wound.
Kaelan doesn't move to help.
He was waiting.
Because in those seconds, he *finished* his spell.
"*Fire Storm Strike.*"
A roaring cyclone of flame materialises behind him—heat warping the night air—then surges forward like a falling star.
The figure halts their follow-up attack.
Moonlight gathers around their arm.
"*Moon Shield.*"
Silver light forms a curved barrier—cold, luminous, divine.
Flame and moonlight collide.
The shield holds—but cracks, splinters across it.
The moment the flames fade, the attacker bursts forward—cloak burning at the edges, sword descending.
Kaelan raises his own blade—
But the force behind the strike is monstrous.
Steel meets steel—
and he is *launched*.
His body flies across the street—roof tiles explode, timber snaps, and a house collapses under the impact in a cloud of dust and splinters.
Kaelan doesn't lie still.
He *rolls*, instincts razor-sharp, and a blade of condensed darkness slams into the spot where he had been a heartbeat before—splitting stone cleanly in half.
Shadow-thorns erupt around him like a trap, stabbing toward his ribs and throat.
He dissolves—turning into pure lightning for a breath—escaping through the gaps before the thorns close.
A flash. Then he reforms mid-air, sword already swinging to intercept the attacker's next blow.
Steel meets steel—
And he's driven back *again*, slammed through another rooftop and dragged across stone like a thrown spear, leaving a long scar across the street before crashing into a second house and turning it to rubble under the force.
Dust rises.
Lightning flashes.
Kaelan blinks back into elemental form just before another dark strike cuts the air where his throat was.
But elementalization eats mana—fast. And he can only maintain it for seconds at a time.
*This won't last.*
Dodging another blade of shadow, he grimaces inwardly.
*Looks like I'll have to use it again.*
His *original strength*—the strength not of a wizard, not of a human…
…but of a *Void Monster*.
He had used it once already tonight—to end the Heavenly Officials.
Using it again was dangerous.
And irreversible.
But there was no choice.
His cells wake—something ancient and hungry moving beneath his human form. A sliver of that void-power bleeds into his mana, mixing with it, staining it darker, heavier—*absolute*.
Kaelan lands, physical again—eyes cold.
He swings.
His blade doesn't just clash—it *ignores* the attacker's sword for the first inch, slipping past resistance like reality itself bent aside. Then it bites down—the edge carrying destruction.
A black tear opens across the attacker's chest, the force sending the cloaked figure hurtling down into the street below.
Kaelan doesn't hesitate.
The moment the figure hits the ground, Kaelan releases another strike—an arc of destruction meant to finish it.
But the figure melts into shadow—vanishing.
A heartbeat later, he steps out of another shadow behind Kaelan.
Kaelan turns—cuts.
The figure disappears again.
Then again.
A deadly rhythm forms—attack, vanish, reappear—shadow to shadow, like the night itself is his battlefield.
The dance continues in streaks of lightning and blades of darkness.
And somewhere, in the shifting dark—
*Nyxarin frowns.*
Dodging another strike, irritation finally fractures the calm mask on the cloaked figure's face.
*So fast… and his strength suddenly increased? How?*
The neat assassination he planned?
Gone.
His certainty?
Cracked.
Because now, killing Kong Wuya was no longer a task—it was a *risk*.
For the first time tonight, Nyxarin admits to himself:
*I might not win easily.*
His teeth clench.
*"…I'll have to use my authority."*
He hadn't planned to. To hide this confrontation, he had already spread a *Divine Magic Power—Night Curtain*—blanketing the entire prefecture in an illusion of stillness. The Twilight Protoss, always vigilant, would sense any Divine clash if reality weren't concealed.
His plan was simple:
Let the Heavenly Officials kill Kong Wuya quietly.
Veena was supposed to assist.
One surrendered.
The others died.
And now Nyxarin stands alone—face-to-face with someone who should not be capable of forcing him this far.
*Unacceptable.*
Night energy rises—quiet and suffocating—as he channels only a *fraction* of his divine authority, careful, measured, so his sister and brother-in-law would not sense the breach.
The moment the Night Law enters his body, everything changes.
A blur.
Steel meets flesh—
Kaelan feels his sword sink into the attacker's torso—yet no real resistance, as if he were cutting through a shadow.
Shock flashes across his eyes.
Then pain.
A dark force slams into his back—hard enough to hurl him through the air.
He hits the ground rolling, gouging a trench through broken stone.
Kaelan rises in one motion—eyes cold now, no longer cautious.
He pulls deeper from the sleeping power in his blood.
The void wakes.
Space bends.
He meets the next attack head-on—*Destruction* against *Night*—two powers not meant to coexist.
The collision sends both fighters flying in opposite directions, shockwaves shredding streets, houses, and walls. Flames gutter. Stones lift. The ground trembles under the aftermath of every strike.
They clash again.
And again.
Each exchange is stronger than the last.
On the street below, Veena watches with wide eyes. Though a Divine Mind cultivator herself, she can't step into the battlefield.
"…monsters."
The word falls from her lips without emotion—only truth.
On the palace wall, Tang Luyan and the surviving elders meet each other's gaze.
What was once ambition—*challenge Kong Wuya and fight for dominance*—now evaporates completely.
Their eyes share the same conclusion:
*The plan must be abandoned.*
Li Xueyao's gaze never leaves the battle raging across the sky and ruins.
Her eyes gleam—not with fear, but fierce pride.
*Marrying him… was the best choice I ever made.*
Lin Zian watches silently, fingers tightening around his sword hilt. Admiration and yearning burn in his chest.
*Someday… I want that strength.*
But another thought follows:
*To grow, I must leave. I must walk the world.*
Others across the broken city—martial artists, cultivators, nobles—watch the impossible battle unfold.
All doubt vanishes.
The hesitation to adopt the Wizard Path?
Gone.
Hours pass.
Inside Kaelan's spirit space, the will of heaven and earth trembles—warning him.
He is drawing too much of his original void strength.
If he continues, the world will respond.
Punish.
Reject.
*Force his true form to surface.*
If that happens, the Wizard Path might be condemned before it takes root.
He stands at the edge of a choice:
Reveal what he truly is—
—or risk losing.
After a long breath of silence…
He prepares to reveal the *Crow Demon* he once was.
But before he acts—
The cloaked figure freezes mid-air.
Silent.
Assessing him one last time.
And then—
*vanishes.*
Not retreat.
Not wounded.
Simply *gone*, as if swallowed by the night itself.
A heartbeat later—
Dawn breaks over the horizon.
The first ray of sunlight cuts through dark clouds.
The long night ends.