THE GENERAL'S DISGRACED HEIR

. This skill was a legacy passed down from the Earl himself, bestowed upon their bloodline by the

Goddess of Retribution

1

as a reward for his legendary feat of slaying an elder dragon. The technique was a manifestation of divine power, channelling a fragment of the goddess's strength. However, since Eric had only achieved the rank of a master swordsman, he could only harness a fraction of this divine skill—

Descent

, the full power of the technique, was far beyond his current grasp. Despite this limitation, even a mere imitation of

was enough to make Eric a formidable opponent that no other master-ranked swordsman could hope to defeat.

As the power of the skill surged through him, an obsidian wing unfurled from the left side of Eric's back, its dark feathers glistening with an ethereal sheen. The weight of his newfound strength made his heart race, elevating him to heights he had never imagined. Eric knew from their previous encounter in the castle that David had also stepped into the realm of a master-ranked swordsman. But David, despite his raw, overwhelming power, had never been taught the family's sacred technique. This gave Eric a distinct advantage.

With a powerful flap of his obsidian wing, Eric ascended into the air, a gust of wind sweeping across the training grounds as he soared above. His sword gleamed menacingly in his hand as he hovered, the fallen angel ready to strike.

Eric's now crimson eyes glowed with a fiery intensity as he gazed down upon David from above, like a god poised to deliver divine retribution. His expression was cold, yet twisted with malice, the air around him crackling with energy that made even the most seasoned warriors shudder. "Any last words, little brother?" Eric taunted, his voice dripping with arrogance as his aura flared, sending ripples of discomfort through the onlookers. It wasn't just a display of power—it was a clear message that he was in control, and that David was nothing but prey beneath him.

But before David could respond, Eric cut him off with a sneer. "It matters not. You've crossed a line, and now I'll make you understand your place, you worthless trash," he spat, his tone brimming with disdain. "But don't worry, I'll be merciful. I'll only take your arm as payment for your insolence," Eric mocked, his voice rising to a roar as he brought the guard of his sword closer to his chest, preparing for the strike.

The weapon in Eric's grasp was no ordinary blade; it was the

Sword of Flight

, a first-class SR artefact bestowed upon him by the prestigious House of Elarionne. This weapon was infamous for its power, augmenting any plunging attack by a staggering 50%. It was a blade that had made Eric virtually unstoppable, and he knew it. With a wicked grin curling his lips, Eric flapped his obsidian wing, generating a booming sound as he launched himself toward David, diving like a bird of prey ready to claim its prize.

Below, Vice-Captain Sendric of the 7th platoon watched in alarm, recognizing the De Gor technique that Eric was about to unleash. He had seen the true form of

once before, during the infamous Crimson Moon War, when the Earl himself had wielded it against their enemies. The memory of that devastating power sent a shiver down his spine. "Is the Lord really going to use that skill on the young master?" Sendric thought, his mind racing. Even though David had proven himself to be a monstrous talent, the

was no ordinary technique—it was akin to divine punishment, a skill granted by the Goddess herself.

Meanwhile, the Vice-Captain of the 4th platoon, who had always harboured resentment toward David, could barely contain his glee. He revelled in Eric's display of dominance, confident that his commander's power would crush David and reaffirm the natural order within the De Gor household.

In what seemed like the blink of an eye, Eric descended upon David, his sword aimed with deadly precision. The speed of his attack was staggering, leaving little time for anyone to react. As the tip of the blade made contact with David, the impact was catastrophic. A shockwave erupted from the clash, a violent burst of energy that sent 1st to 3rd-ranked swordsmen hurtling through the air like ragdolls. Only the 4th-ranked swordsmen—Sendric and the other Vice-Captain—managed to hold their ground, though they too were pushed to their limits. The sheer force of Eric's strike was a testament to his overwhelming power, a power that transcended the bounds of human capability.

The training ground, once a place of discipline and rigorous practice, was now a scene of chaos. Dust and debris swirled in the air, the ground itself cracked and scorched from the intensity of the clash. Eric stood tall in the air, his obsidian wing still extended, his sword poised for another strike. But even as he prepared to deliver the finishing blow, a nagging doubt gnawed at the back of his mind. Had he truly bested his brother, or was there something more to David than he had anticipated?

Eric's eyes narrowed, his confidence unwavering, yet the seeds of uncertainty had been planted. He had always viewed David as an unworthy opponent, a nuisance to be swatted away. But now, as the dust began to settle and the echoes of their clash faded into the distance, the true nature of his brother's power remained shrouded in mystery.

But something was wrong. Eric's triumphant expression twisted into one of disbelief as he realized he couldn't move his sword. Both Vice-Captains squinted, straining to make sense of the scene before them. As the dust finally settled, their jaws dropped in unison, and their bodies trembled with shock. There, suspended in mid-air, Eric struggled to move, his wings flapping furiously, yet he remained frozen. The reason for this impossible sight? David.

David had halted Eric's attack—not with a powerful blow of his own, but with just two fingers. He held the *Sword of Flight* effortlessly by its tip, his grip unyielding. Eric, flapping his wing repeatedly, tried desperately to free himself, but it was all in vain. The more he struggled, the more futile his efforts seemed. "Is that all?" David's voice was cold, laced with mockery as his icy gaze locked onto Eric's bewildered, crimson eyes.

Fueled by desperation, Eric gathered the last reserves of his mana, his resolve hardening. If he couldn't pull away, he would drive the sword into David with everything he had. But once again, the sword refused to budge from David's grasp. Panic crept into Eric's heart as David's voice cut through the tension like a blade, "How low has this family fallen." The words were filled with such disdain that they seemed to freeze Eric mid-flight. Then, with a mere fraction of his strength, David applied pressure to the tip of the blade. The SR weapon, a masterpiece of craftsmanship, shattered into countless pieces, falling like glittering shards of despair.

Eric's shock was palpable, his mind struggling to comprehend what was happening. But it was too late. He lost control, his momentum carrying him helplessly toward David. As he neared, David exhaled a plume of dark and blue breath. *Heaven Whispering Palm,* David's technique, activated as his arm glowed with a slightly dark blue hue. This was no ordinary skill—it was a technique that held secrets only to be revealed after a thousand years of meditation. Yet David, a monster unparalleled, had grasped its essence in that moment.

A voice, as clear as rushing water, whispered in David's mind, "Mountain." With a gentle swing of his fist, David met Eric's face with devastating force. The impact was bone-crushing, sending Eric hurtling to the ground. A thunderous sound echoed through the training grounds as a small crater formed where Eric landed.

Silence hung heavy in the air, no one daring to move as they trembled from the brutality of David's attack. Eric lay in the crater, his face a mangled mess. The Vice-Captains exchanged worried glances, unsure if Eric was even still alive. But then, Eric sputtered, a mouthful of blood escaping his lips as he tasted the metallic tang of his own defeat.

"Still breathing, I see," David remarked, breaking the silence. He walked slowly toward Eric's broken form, like a predator savoring its prey, only to stop just short of him. "I am the light in the darkness," David proclaimed, his voice calm yet brimming with a terrifying conviction. His aura flared, a wild beast's energy covering the training grounds. As he raised his boot, ready to crush what remained of Eric, both Vice-Captains—Sendric and the 4th platoon leader—appeared before him in a blur, ready to intervene.

"Young master, forgive my rudeness, but I cannot allow you to harm a descendant of the De Gor House," Sendric pleaded, his voice steady despite the fear gnawing at him. The Vice-Captain of the 4th platoon, however, was less composed. "Step away from the Lord, young master," he warned, his tone edged with desperation.

But David remained unfazed. His aura flared even more dangerously, a dark and overwhelming presence that made the air itself heavy. "Let all darkness fall under my steps," David coldly declared, his sheer power pressing down on the Vice-Captains, forcing them to their knees. The pressure was unbearable, crushing their spirits as they realized the truth. David wasn't just a monster. He was the devil incarnate, a force that defied all reason.

also known as Goddess of reservation