Alpha's Regret: The Seventh Time was Forever

Chapter 792: Chapter 792 - We fight as humans

Voren was not afraid.

To him, Battal had only dug his own grave, had sealed his own fate with his arrogance and his greed. After all, every leader wanted to protect his subjects, and it wasn’t different for Voren.

Every decision he made, every battle he fought, every drop of blood he spilled was for them. Pure protective resolve burned steady and unbreakable in his chest.

His greatest fear was something happening to Seraphine and the pups in this war, so taking down Battal to end it was the best option, the only option, the path that would lead them all to safety. Pure determination left no room for hesitation.

His claws elongated, and he scratched his wrist, allowing a few drops of blood to fall to the ground, the crimson staining the earth as a solemn vow.

”This is my decree as King of the Alphas of the werewolves, and you as my queen, must adhere to it.” His voice was steady, unyielding, a vow carved into the very air, pure authority filling every word. ”Corvine, as the Alpha, you must ensure the smooth transition if it so happens.”

Corvine did not want to agree, his jaw tight, his eyes burning with protest that he could not voice, but when Seraphine did, he didn’t have a choice. Pure reluctant acceptance settled over him.

”I agree.” Seraphine said coldly, her voice steady despite the fear in her heart, pure trust in her mate overriding every other emotion.

Corvine agreed reluctantly, his voice heavy with reluctance that left the air thick. ”So do I.”

Voren glared at Battal, his eyes burning with a fury that could set the world on fire, pure lethal focus in the gaze.

”It’s your turn.”

For a moment, Battal paused, wondering if his plan would work, wondering if he had made a mistake. Voren did not seem afraid for even a second, and that scared him slightly, a cold tendril of fear curling in his chest that he quickly crushed.

Fear was an enemy’s greatest weapon. If an opponent was afraid, it was easy to use that fear to conquer them. But in Voren’s case, there was none, not a flicker, not a trace, not a single moment of weakness. Pure unease settled under Battal’s cold exterior.

Nevertheless, Battal could not go back on his words. As King, his words carried power and authority, carried the weight of his entire race. Pure pride and necessity drove him forward.

His claws elongated, and he slit his wrist, allowing drops of blood to fall to the ground, the crimson mixing with the earth as his own binding vow.

”I, Battal Legend, King of the Lycans, hereby declare that should I lose this fight to a mere werewolf King, me and my race shall be cut off from the outlands and wolf lands. We shall also no longer lay claim to the crown and the two white wolves at the Grimroot pack.”

He paused, his voice dropping to something almost like a whisper, pure calculated reservation in the final clause. ”But should we find any white wolf who isn’t affiliated to the Grimroot pack or other wolf lands under the jurisdiction of the wolf king, then they shall be ours.”

Indeed, Voren could not protect other white wolves if there were any, because of the covenant their forefathers had made with the Lycans, a covenant written in blood and magic and time. Pure acceptance of that limitation settled in Voren’s mind.

His only claim to Seraphine and Espe was because they were his wife and daughter, and now, even DNA would prove so, would prove that they belonged to him, that they were his family. Pure certainty in that truth left him unshaken.

”Deal.” Voren agreed, his voice steady, unyielding, pure finality in the single word.

Everyone stepped away, giving the two kings enough room to move around, enough space to fight, enough distance to kill. Pure tense silence filled the clearing.

”I’ll referee the fight.” Seraphine spoke, her voice cold, her eyes never leaving Voren’s face, pure quiet support and resolve in the declaration.

At this point, everyone who had changed back to human form was naked, but no one even noticed. It was a norm during wars, a necessity that had long since lost its shame. Pure focus on the coming fight left no room for anything else.

”I’ll do it.” A cold voice among the members of the Lycan army spoke, and Seraphine did not argue, pure practical acceptance in her silence.

Then the cold voice asked, pure formality cutting through the tension. ”What are the rules?”

It was clear that this was a Lycan style of resolving issues, so they were more abreast in things the werewolves weren’t, their traditions older, their customs darker. Pure cultural difference hung in the air.

”No shifts, and no use of black magic.” Voren said before Battal could open his mouth, pure strategic clarity in the demand.

Bloodfang had told him about how black magic had restricted him from using his powers, so if Voren couldn’t use his, then why should he let Battal? Why should he give his enemy an advantage? Pure refusal to yield any ground.

Had he not received the massive energy he knew was transferred from some of the Lycans to him by Quinn’s draining them, both he and Seraphine would not have been able to use the golden power. Pure gratitude for that edge settled quietly.

Enough of the dark magic. It was time to fight as men, and not as wolves or Lycans. Pure determination to end this on equal terms filled him.

Battal did not answer immediately, pondering through Voren’s words, his mind racing, his heart cold with calculation.

Before black magic, Lycans had always received trainings that no other creature could endure, trainings that had broken lesser beings, that had forged them into weapons. Pure confidence in that heritage rose in him.

”In that case, no powers of any kind.” Battal answered, his voice flat, his eyes cold, pure acceptance of the terms. ”We fight as humans.”

Voren could not agree more, a dark smile curving his lips, pure lethal readiness in the expression.

”Deal.”

The cold voice swept between Voren and Battal before announcing, the word echoing through the clearing, through the trees, through the very air they breathed, pure finality sealing the challenge.

”Fight.”