Chapter 15: TENSION

After that brief but warm conversation, silence once again blanketed the Zenith Estate's garden. But it was not a peaceful silence. The air felt heavy—thick with anticipation. Clive stood calmly, still holding his warm cup of coffee, while Nelson Valdez stared at him from ten meters away with an unreadable expression.

Slowly, Nelson's posture changed. The slight stoop in his back, a product of age and humility, vanished—replaced by the rigid stance of a spear. The aura of a loyal butler dissipated, replaced by the presence of a predator long dormant. The breeze that once gently caressed the garden now began to swirl violently around him, dancing to its master's will.

"I will begin, Young Master," said Nelson, his voice now cold and emotionless—the voice of a soldier who had seen a hundred battles. "And I assure you, I will show you no mercy. Prepare yourself."

"That's exactly what I've been waiting for, Nelson," Clive replied, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. He didn't see this as betrayal—but rather, the highest form of respect.

In the blink of an eye, Nelson vanished. The ground where he had stood cracked slightly from the force of his launch. The ten-meter distance between them became meaningless. He reappeared right in front of Clive—mere centimeters away from his face. Channeling the full power of his Black Tension into his right arm, he forged a gauntlet of pure shadow—pulsating with destructive energy. His punch flew forward, accompanied by a low, terrifying whistle, like a speeding train colliding with a mountain of ice.

Clive simply gave a thin smile. He didn't move, didn't dodge, and didn't form a visible shield. He just stood there, calmly facing the oncoming fist of darkness.

The black punch did not strike a hard shield. Instead, Nelson's fist seemed to sink into a soft green aura that gently radiated from Clive's body—like plunging into a glowing marsh.

The destructive force of the Black Tension hissed violently, like water poured over burning coals. It was neutralized and dissolved—particle by particle—by the pure life energy before it could even graze Clive's skin. A thin ozone-scented mist wafted between them.

Nelson was stunned. His eyes widened in disbelief as he felt his immense power vanish—absorbed without resistance. The loss of momentum made him stagger slightly. He leapt backward several steps, landing lightly and staring at his hand as if it had betrayed him.

"Green Tension?" he whispered, his breath shaky from shock. "That's... that's Cure Tension. Healing energy! What kind of sorcery is this?!"

"You're right, Nelson," Clive replied calmly, still holding his coffee in one hand. "It is life energy. And it's not sorcery. It's understanding. Something you can't learn from books."

"But... since when can life energy be used for defense?! That's impossible! It defies every natural law of Tension!" Nelson shouted, his beliefs—built over decades—now crumbling.

"Perhaps the laws you studied are outdated, Nelson," Clive answered with a mysterious smile.

Frustration and confusion pushed Nelson to unleash more of his power. The dark aura around him swirled and condensed rapidly. The surrounding air grew colder. The darkness no longer cloaked him—it took shape: a long, sleek, razor-sharp sword. The blackness was so dense it looked like a tear in reality, its tip curved like the fang of a beast.

"Young Master, allow me to introduce," Nelson said heavily, raising the sword with both hands, his posture perfect, "the Black Sword of Dark Tension. The sword of the Dark King—said to cut through anything in this world. Even the strongest steel splits like paper before it."

Grandfather Yuan once said, Clive recalled, Dark Tension is the sharpest spear for attack, while Gold Tension is the indestructible shield of defense. The perfect pair when working together. But I... do not possess Gold Tension.

Clive didn't step back. Instead, as Nelson prepared to strike, the green aura around Clive faded—replaced by a cold, suffocating blue. The lively garden was suddenly oppressed by a heavy, crushing pressure, as if the air itself had thickened.

Nelson saw the shift. His eyes narrowed. Green to Blue. So that's the evolution. Not Black. Every human can only wield two Tensions—one from birth, one through life's trials. With all he endured, it should have evolved into Black.

"Young Master," he asked, unable to contain his curiosity, "your Tension is blue? After all you've gone through... why not Black? Have you not carried hatred and rage through your growth?"

Clive gave a faint smile. "Oh, I carried them all, Nelson. Hatred, rage, pain, humiliation, exile... all those dark things—they're the fuel that forged who I am." He paused, his gaze distant. "But Grandfather Yuan taught me to master them... not to be mastered by them. He said I was rare." He chuckled softly, as if remembering a private joke.

"Then perhaps your teacher has misled you, Young Master," Nelson said, now focused again on the fight. His conviction returned. "According to the hierarchy of power, Blue Tension is about pressure and control. It will never overcome the raw destructive power of Dark Tension."

"Are you sure, Nelson?" Clive replied, his smile widening. "I told you—I'm one of a kind. Come."

That was all the invitation Nelson needed. With a suppressed roar, he shot forward—faster than before.

To Nelson, his slash felt like lightning cleaving the sky—a vertical strike designed to split Clive in two. But to Clive, the movement was slow, as if happening underwater. He saw every muscle fiber tightening in Nelson's arm, every weight shift, even the beads of sweat forming on the old man's temple. He didn't merely dodge—he was already in his next position before the sword completed its arc.

He stepped to the side with a grace so fluid, so light, he seemed like a leaf carried by the wind. The tip of the black sword passed mere millimeters from his cheek; he could feel its freezing air brushing his skin.

As he evaded, at the exact moment Nelson was at his weakest—after committing to his full swing—Clive smiled. And from that close range, he unleashed the full power of his Blue Tension.

"Damn it! I'm hit!" Nelson screamed in his mind as the silent tsunami crashed into him.

"Your guard is open, Nelson," Clive whispered—his voice sounding right beside Nelson's ear, now ringing violently.

It wasn't a physical blow. It was a psychic anchor, driven straight into his soul. The pressure felt like thousands of needles piercing his brain, while an invisible mountain crushed his chest. Nelson's vision blurred, and his heartbeat roared deafeningly in his ears.

Nelson was a master of offense. His defense—especially his mental defense—was his weakness. And Clive, with surgical precision, had struck exactly where it hurt the most.

In an instant, Nelson's focus shattered. The Black Tension surrounding his body and sword dispersed like smoke in a storm. The blade of darkness vanished into nothingness. Strength drained from his legs. His knees hit the ground hard. His hands clutched his head as he groaned in overwhelming pain, before collapsing to the side—lying limp upon the well-kept garden grass.

The duel… was over.

Clive stood tall above him—his coffee cup still in hand, not a single drop spilled.