More than half of the hospital courtyard was enveloped in a ghostly white mist, obscuring the ongoing fight.
The guards of the Theosbane clan had pushed the gathered crowd, forcing them to step back and create a wide ring that served as a makeshift arena for the father and son to duel in.
But with visibility reduced to zero, the onlookers were growing restless and impatient.
“What’s going on? I can’t see a thing!”
“Whoa! Did the ground just shake? Is this an earthquake?”
“Can someone clear the mist? Don’t we have any Awakened here?”
“And risk interrupting a duel between two Theosbanes? No, thank y—Ahh! Watch out!”
Then, all of a sudden, a massive stone spike burst forth from the mist, hurtling past the crowd and slamming into the ground with a thud.
Had its trajectory been just a little to the left, it would have impaled several bystanders.
Fortunately, no one was injured, but the incident only heightened the crowd’s anxiety… and curiosity.
What the hell was happening at the center of the fog?
Earlier, Lord Samael had been struggling to keep up with his father, who appeared to have the upper hand in their fierce confrontation.
Nothing Samael did, not even launching a barrage of fireballs and raising a fiery hell on earth, slowed the Duke down even a bit.
The fight seemed hopelessly one-sided until the young Theosbane activated one of his Cards, cloaking the entire area in a sea of mist.
That happened a few minutes ago, and the ground had been shaking uncontrollably since then.
Even Juliana was finding it hard to keep her nerves calm at this point. No, really! What was going on in there?!
Before the duel commenced, she was sure that Samael would lose instantly. But as the battle progressed, it became evident that her young master had some sort of plan in motion.
This was… unexpected.
In the past, Samael’s approach to combat was simple: an all-out assault designed to overwhelm and subdue his foes through sheer might.
Basically, savagely attacking his enemy into submission.
It didn’t matter to him who his opponent was or how formidable they might be… he believed in hitting first and hitting hard.
But today was different.
Instead of mindlessly charging at his father like a brute, Samael demonstrated a level of restraint and analytical thinking she had not expected from him.
He had a clear goal in mind. His movements were precise and calculated, as if he was executing a carefully devised strategy.
For the first time in a while, he seemed to be using not just his brawn but also his brain.
It was not enough and it wasn’t anything special. His strategy was simple, even Juliana could see through it. But the intent was undeniably there.
She couldn’t help but wonder, ‘What happened to him?’
Hadn’t he always claimed that planning and tactics were for the weak, that the strong should fight “like a man” without relying on petty tricks?
How come the sudden change?
‘Interesting,’ Juliana mused, narrowing her eyes and gently touching her chin. ‘Very interesting.’
But her intrigue quickly turned into a wide-eyed shock as the mist began to thin, revealing the chaotic aftermath of the battle.
The land lay in ruins. Burn marks and deep craters littered the earth, while concrete lances jutted out through the debris like jagged teeth.
The entire scene was one of utter devastation.
Amidst the dissipating fog, the first thing to catch the eye was the stark crimson of blood against the otherwise bland, gray backdrop.
Then, two silhouettes slowly became visible through the haze.
The crowd strained their eyes, eager to see.
They did not have to wait long. Soon, the mist cleared, and the scene unfolded with painful clarity.
A boy, seemingly in his late teens, knelt on the ravaged ground. His royal blond hair was matted and disheveled, and his once-bright golden eyes were now dull and unfocused, devoid of their usual vibrancy.
His breathing was labored, and his face was etched with pain. The pristine attire he wore at the start of the duel was now tattered and stained red.
His Cards flickered over his kneeling figure, then vanished in a cascade of light particles, retreating into his soul as his concentration to keep them materialized wavered.
In front of him stood the Golden Duke, Arthur Kaizer Theosbane himself, like an imposing figure of authority and dominance.
The Duke’s cold and unfeeling eyes gazed down at his son with an expression of profound disappointment.
Despite a deep gash on his lacerated wrist, Arthur was otherwise unscathed. And the cut wasn’t even bleeding.
It was as if even the blood itself feared him too much to come out.
In stark contrast, the boy kneeling before him was in dire straits.
A collective gasp rolled through the crowd as they noticed the dagger planted in Samael’s abdomen, blood flowing freely from the wound, pooling beneath him like a macabre halo.
The dagger soon vanished, along with the Card that had summoned it, but the blood continued to gush out… even more rapidly now.
“What is happening?” someone whispered from the crowd, their voice tinged with disbelief.
“His Grace won’t kill him… His own son… Surely, he won’t, right?” came another hushed voice.
But the murmurs were silenced next when Arthur opened his mouth to chuckle coldly… before speaking in a voice that lacked any amusement:
“So disappointing. I had no expectations from you, and yet you still somehow managed to let me down! You made too many mistakes to count, and your plan was predictable from the start. Your sister would have done much better than this.”
Samael coughed violently, desperately trying to draw a weak breath as he vomited a mouthful of blood on the ground.
His body trembled and an ungodly amount of pain constantly wrecked through every inch of his existence.
But despite it all, he managed to lift his head, meeting his father’s gaze with a defiant smirk.
With quivering lips, he tried to speak – a soft whisper struggling to form on his bloodstained lips, but the words refused to come out, stuck in his throat.
Arthur frowned and leaned in closer, trying to hear what his son was attempting to say with detached interest.
—Thwap!
But Samael suddenly lunged forward, his arm flailing wildly as he connected a loose fist to his father’s face, snapping Arthur’s head to the side.
The crowd watched in horrified silence as the Duke’s expression twisted into one of infuriated rage.
Samael, on the other hand, began laughing like a madman.
“…Ha! Ahaha! Aaah! Haha!”
His voice was hoarse and ragged, grating on the ears, yet there was an appalling allure to him that kept everyone’s eyes glued.
“…Y-You insolent wretch!” Arthur bellowed, losing all sense of composure like a deranged bull shown red.
In a fit of wrath, he seized the top of his son’s head, pinned him to the ground, and mounted him.
He then began pounding the boy’s face with his massive fists, delivering a relentless onslaught of brutal punches.
—Tham! Tham! Tham!
Blood splattered with each blow, and the shockwaves from the impacts made the ground quake.
Yet Arthur did not stop, even when Samael’s face became an utterly unrecognizable mangled mess.
No one knew what to do. They wanted to look away, but they couldn’t. The sheer brutality of the scene held them captive.
Even Juliana didn’t dare to move.
Some of the weaker-willed ones among the crowd hardened their hearts, struggling not to throw up, while others simply stood frozen and transfixed in terror.
Shouldn’t anyone try to stop him?
Could anyone even?
Who here… or anywhere… was strong enough to stop the Dawn’s Scourge?
The Duke could kill every single person present here with a mere thought if he so desired. How could they ask such a man to stop?
Mercifully, though, after what felt like an eternity, Arthur ceased on his own.
He stood up and stepped back, clenching his jaw tight. His chest was still heaving with chained anger.
His entire presence exuded a dreadful sense of bloodlust, making it clear that he was only barely managing to keep himself from killing the boy on the ground.
“You’re no son of mine,” Arthur spat through gritted teeth, extending a hand over Samael, who now lay unconscious, beaten half to death in a quite literal sense.
Immediately, a golden Card woven itself from sparks of light over the Duke’s shoulder.
It was his Origin Card:
«Extraction»
In the next instant, all of Samael’s Acquire Cards were forcibly drawn out of his soul and appeared in Arthur’s hand.
Without so much as a split second of hesitation, he crushed them in his grip, reducing them to nothing.
Then, turning around, he walked away as the crowd silently parted before him, fear and awe mingling in their eyes.
The guards and aides hesitated, unsure whether to leave the youngest son of the clan in such a pitiful state or to help him.
After all, disowned or not, Samael was still a Theosbane, and it was their duty to serve the family.
Ultimately, however, they chose to abandon him, following Arthur out of the courtyard and into the parking lot, leaving the broken young man on the ground.
