Chapter 5: The Frostbound Conflagration

A year had passed since the deaths of Caius Voltaris and Gideon Silversword. Their absence sent ripples through the Hunter Association, shaking its grip on power. Without the might of the National Hunters, fear waned among the common people, and trust in the Association faltered. The world was beginning to change.

Now, only six National Hunters remained. Among them, Leonidas Wildborne, the Beast Monarch, had supposedly gone into seclusion for training. That was what the public believed.

In the frozen expanse of Eternal Frostspire, a mountain wrapped in a thick, unbroken shroud of white forests, a hidden cave lay buried in the snow. From the outside, it appeared no different from the hundreds of other caverns carved into the mountainside by time and nature. But within, powerful magic kept the temperature warm, an unnatural oasis in the biting cold. At its heart, a crimson array pulsed ominously, radiating tremendous energy.

Leonidas sat in its center, his beast-like eyes closed, his breathing deep and controlled. He was waiting.

Across the ravine, Lucian Blackthorne stood atop a jagged peak, his piercing demonic gaze analyzing the intricate spells woven into the mountain itself. Layers of magic. Defensive barriers. A concealment array. A trap.

Lucian smirked.

"Clever, but not enough."

A blink later, he was gone.

Lucian materialized inside the cave. The air crackled with tension as Leonidas' bloodshot eyes snapped open.

"I was waiting for you, ember of Blackthorne," Leonidas growled, his voice deep and guttural.

Lucian's aura had transformed over the past year. No longer a mere vengeful shadow—he exuded the presence of a demonic calamity, an entity that belonged more to nightmare than reality. His once-boyish features had hardened, his body sculpted by battle, and his mere presence sent waves of dread through the chamber.

"Were you waiting for me?" Lucian's voice was calm, his eyes gleaming with cold amusement. "I think you were waiting for your trip to hell, Leonidas."

A chuckle echoed through the chamber. From the darkness behind Leonidas, Alaric Spellbinder stepped forward, his robe billowing with an unseen force.

"Lucian Blackthorne," Alaric mused. "You walked into this trap yourself. A pity your family's intelligence did not pass on to you."

Ignatius Emberlord, the Inferno Monarch, sneered. "A Blackthorne walking into certain death? I almost respect the arrogance. Almost."

Another figure emerged from the shadows—Marcus Ironfist, the Martial Saint. He said nothing, but mana surged around his fists like a coiling tempest.

Lucian remained unfazed. Instead, he spread his arms mockingly. "I appreciate the warm welcome. Since you've all come to greet me… shall we begin the ceremony?"

With a flick of his pendant, Marcus vanished.

The Black Maw Ocean swallowed him whole.

A stunned silence fell over the chamber.

Alaric's face twisted in rage. He unleashed a high-powered mana beam, a searing lance of energy that threatened to consume Lucian.

Lucian dodged effortlessly. The beam obliterated the cavern's entrance, shattering the mountainside and sending avalanches cascading down the cliffs.

"Using a destructive spell in an enclosed space?" Lucian scoffed. "Are you trying to bury yourself alive, you idiot?"

The ground trembled.

Ignatius roared, unleashing his domain—Hellfire Cataclysm.

The entire chamber erupted into an inferno, the walls melting into molten rock, air distorting from sheer heat.

Lucian's eyes gleamed. Cold mana surged from his body, freezing the very flames that sought to consume him.

"Useless," he muttered.

Ignatius snarled. "Damn your cursed bloodline! You shouldn't exist!"

Leonidas, watching the exchange, decided to strike. He hefted his massive battle-axe and hurled it with inhuman force, the weapon tearing through the air like a meteor.

Lucian twisted mid-step, deflecting the axe with his blade in a calculated strike. Sparks erupted as steel clashed against steel. Without hesitation, he lunged toward Alaric.

Alaric, seeing his impending doom, began casting another high-tier spell. Lucian moved faster.

His sword sliced through the forming magic circle, severing it in half. A violent burst of mana detonated outward.

Alaric staggered back, clutching his bleeding hands. "Impossible! No one should be able to cut a completed circle!"

Leonidas and Ignatius charged, their killing intent like a storm.

Lucian smiled.

Two sword techniques activated at once.

With unparalleled fluidity, Lucian blocked both their attacks, his afterimages flickering like ghostly mirages.

Leonidas gritted his teeth. "You can produce afterimages now? You came prepared."

Lucian chuckled. "Oh, Leonidas. Are you afraid of mere illusions? I expected more from a so-called monarch."

Leonidas' rage boiled over. He activated his ultimate technique—Wildfang Havoc.

With monstrous force, his axe tore through the air in a berserk flurry of strikes.

Lucian raised his hand. A black thread extended from his fingers—a sting of pure darkness.

Leonidas' arm flew through the air, severed at the shoulder.

A guttural scream echoed through the cave.

Without pause, Lucian executed Phantom's Requiem, the sixth form.

Leonidas' body shattered into countless pieces.

Ignatius stumbled back, eyes wide with horror. "H-He's a demon…! Alaric, you deal with this monster—I refuse to throw my life away in this madness!"

Lucian turned to him, his mana warping the air. "No one is leaving."

Alaric, in desperation, summoned a fifth-tier array, trying to contain the battlefield.

Lucian's demonic eyes gleamed. The array shattered. Reality itself bent before his gaze.

With a flick of his blade, Shadow's Wrath and Abyssal Exile combined into one devastating strike.

Ignatius' body was consumed by darkness.

Alaric collapsed, his torso nearly bisected. He gasped for breath, fear clouding his eyes.

Lucian loomed over him. "You look disappointed, Alaric. Were you expecting a different outcome?"

Before he could deliver the final blow, a portal of swirling blue-black energy tore open.

A figure stepped through.

Marcus Ironfist had returned.

He surveyed the battlefield—his fallen comrades, the shattered mountain, the aura of utter devastation.

His fists clenched. Mana surged around him, forming an impenetrable shield.

"You must be exhausted, young man," Marcus said calmly.

Lucian smiled, tilting his head. "How kind of you to worry. But I assure you… I feel fantastic."