The Hidden Monster of House Vale

Chapter 20: Chapter - 20 - Hunger

Lucien stepped out of the Void Tear, his golden eyes sweeping across the gathered crowd like a predator surveying its prey. His black coat with dark red border billowed gently in the rain-soaked wind. His long hair, damp from the cave’s humidity, clung to his neck.

The rain had stopped, but the ground still glistened.

”It’s been a while, Sarric.” Lucien’s voice was calm, almost friendly. ”I didn’t see you after the Astral Academy Arena Trial. Never thought you would come after me again.”

He smiled.

Sarric’s face twisted. ”You bastard. It’s true—it’s been a while. And today, I will have my revenge.”

”Revenge?” Lucien tilted his head. ”You mean you’ll use your dogs to take it for you?” His smile widened. ”Seems like men aren’t being born in the Mordric Family anymore.”

Sarric’s hand went to his sword. He lunged forward—but his retainers caught him, holding him back.

”Let me go! I’ll kill him myself!”

”Patience, young master,” Rendon muttered. ”He’s trying to provoke you.”

Lucien laughed. ”Well, whatever. I do have a present for you, my friend. After all, it’s been a long time since I gave you anything.”

He reached into the Void—his hand disappearing into crackling darkness—and pulled something out.

A head.

He threw it underhand, like a gift. Sarric caught it instinctively.

And looked down.

Darson Mordric’s head stared back at him. The eyes were still open, frozen in a final expression of terror and pleading. The mouth was slightly agape, as if begging for mercy that never came.

Sarric’s hands trembled.

”DARSON! ”

The scream tore from his throat like a wounded animal. Tears spilled down his cheeks. No matter how disgraceful Darson had been—no matter how much of a disappointment—he was still Sarric’s younger brother. Still family.

”You bastard!” Sarric’s voice cracked. ”You killed my little brother!”

”Today, I’ll kill you, Lucien Vale! I’ll tear your heart out with my bare hands!”

His retainers struggled to hold him back. Rendon wrapped his arms around Sarric’s chest. Heldon grabbed his shoulders. But the young master thrashed like a wild beast, his eyes red, his teeth bared.

Even Delian was shocked.

She had seen Lucien’s cruelty. She had watched him tear through enemies without hesitation. But this—killing a fourteen-year-old boy, then throwing his head to his brother like a party favor—

She did not hate it.

A Realm Master who does not hesitate, she thought. Who goes all the way, every time.

That is the kind of ally worth having.

Marson Mordric stepped forward. His white beard seemed to bristle with rage. His cold eyes burned.

”Lucien Vale.” His voice was low, controlled, dangerous. ”You have crossed every limit. Killing a young master of the Mordric Family—a child—is an act of war. I will kill you today.”

Lucien’s smile did not waver. ”If you remember your young master so much...” He spread his arms. ”I’ll send you to him as well.”

He laughed.

There was no regret in his voice. No hesitation. No doubt.

Marson’s jaw tightened. ”Rendon. Heldon. Celbeth.”

The three retainers moved.

”Attack together. Make his death as miserable as possible.”

They surrounded him.

Lucien vanished.

Shadow Predator.

He reappeared behind Heldon—the largest of the three, a mountain of muscle with fists like boulders. His combat style was pure brutality: no weapons, no tricks, just overwhelming physical force.

Lucien kicked him in the spine.

Heldon stumbled but did not fall. He spun, swinging a fist the size of a small child. Lucien ducked under it, pivoted, and drove his elbow into Heldon’s ribs.

Crack.

The sound was audible even from where Delian stood.

Heldon grunted but kept coming. Jab, hook, uppercut—each strike fast enough to shatter stone, powerful enough to crater the earth. Lucien weaved through them like smoke, his movements economical, almost lazy.

Then he punched back.

One strike. Straight to the sternum.

Heldon’s eyes went wide. His ribs caved inward. Blood sprayed from his mouth.

Lucien grabbed him by the hair and threw him.

The big man flew through the air like a discarded doll, crashing into a mountain face fifty meters away. Stone crumbled around him. He did not get up immediately.

Lucien turned to Rendon.

Discs of astral energy—sawblades of condensed light—spun through the air toward him. Five. Ten. Twenty.

Lucien slapped them away.

Each one dissipated on contact, disintegrating into harmless sparks. Rendon’s eyes widened. He summoned more—but Lucien was already moving.

Primordial Veins.

Blood-red tendrils erupted from the ground, stabbing through Rendon’s hands, his legs, his shoulders. He screamed, pinned to the earth like an insect in a collection. Still alive. Still conscious. But useless.

Lucien stepped over him.

Celbeth was waiting.

She was smiling.

She ran at him—not with a weapon, but with her body. Her hands were open, her stance loose, her red eyes gleaming.

Hand-to-hand.

Lucien met her.

Their fists collided in mid-air—a shockwave bursting outward, shaking the trees. They separated, then came together again. Punch. Block. Kick. Counter. Both of them moved faster than the eye could follow, their bodies blurring into streaks of motion.

Hellyn watched with her white eyes wide.

”Is this... is this how Late Spirit Forge Realm Masters fight?” she whispered.

Delian shook her head. Her arms were crossed, her expression calm despite her injuries.

”For Lucien, this is a walk in the garden.” She watched Celbeth’s attacks grow more desperate, more wild. ”It might look like they’re equal. But they’re not.”

Celbeth summoned a sword—a blade of pure astral energy, white-hot and humming.

Lucien materialized the Blood Moon Katana.

The forest became their arena.

Blades clashed. Sparks flew. Trees fell around them, cut down like twigs, their trunks sliced cleanly at impossible angles. Every strike sent shockwaves through the air. Every parry carved new scars into the earth.

Celbeth laughed.

She was enjoying herself.

”You’re interesting!” she called out, parrying a strike that would have taken her head off.

Lucien smiled. ”You’re not bad yourself. No one has pushed me this hard in a while.”

”First time for everything!”

She leaped back and raised her hands above her head.

Golden Radiance Rays.

Seven orbs of light condensed between her palms—each one dense enough to burn through steel, hot enough to melt stone. They spiraled around her, then shot toward Lucien.

He did not dodge.

The rays struck him—and did nothing.

When the light faded, Lucien stood within a cocoon of bloody veins, his Primordial Vein Heart shielding him from the attack. The veins retracted, and he stepped forward, unharmed.

Celbeth’s smile faltered for just a moment.

Then she grinned wider.

”It was fun,” Lucien said, raising his halberd—the World Root Executioner. ”But now it’s time to finish this.”

Celbeth raised her hands again. Golden Radiance pooled between her palms, condensing, compressing, collapsing into something darker.

A black hole.

She thrust it toward Lucien at point-blank range.

At the same instant, Lucien activated Black Sun Annihilation.

Two forces of destruction met.

The world went white.

When the smoke cleared, a crater fifty meters wide had been carved into the forest floor. Trees were gone. Stone was glass. The air itself seemed thinner, as if reality was still recovering from the shock.

Lucien stood at the edge of the crater.

His coat was torn. His hair was disheveled. A few scratches marked his face—but nothing serious. Nothing fatal.

Celbeth lay on her back at the crater’s center.

Her white robe was shredded. Her red hair was loose from its ponytail, spread across the scorched earth like blood on snow. She was gravely injured—her breathing shallow, her eyes open but unfocused.

Lucien walked toward her.

He stood over her, looking down.

She did not scream. Did not beg. Did not curse his name.

She simply lay there, staring at the sky.

”This is the first time I’ve lost,” she said. Her voice was quiet. Thoughtful.

”I know,” Lucien replied.

”How many times have you lost?”

”Never.”

Celbeth was silent for a moment. Then: ”There’s something in my heart. Like it wants to cry.”

Lucien crouched beside her. ”That’s the feeling of defeat.”

”I’ve never felt it before.” She turned her head to look at him. ”But I enjoyed our fight. It was fun. At least I didn’t get bored in my last battle.”

Lucien studied her. Her red eyes—sharp as knives, even now—held no fear. Only curiosity.

”Your eyes,” he said, ”scream of boredom. The Mordric Family must be quite dull.”

Celbeth laughed weakly. ”You have no idea.”

Lucien raised his halberd and placed the blade against her throat.

”Are you going to kill me?” she asked.

”No.” He did not move the blade. ”You’re just a retainer. A worker on a salary.” He tilted his head. ”How about this? Work for me.”

Celbeth blinked. ”Work for you?”

”Yes.”

”I don’t work for money. I work for thrill.”

Lucien laughed—a genuine sound, warm and sharp. ”I like that. Don’t worry. With me, you will never feel bored.” His golden eyes met her red ones. ”You will feel alive. Just like me.”

He sheathed his halberd and drew the Blood Moon Katana. He held it out to her, hilt first.

”Here. Take this.”

Celbeth sat up slowly, wincing at her wounds. She reached out and wrapped her fingers around the hilt.

Power surged through her.

The katana sang—a vibration that traveled up her arm, into her chest, into her soul. Her eyes widened. Her breath caught.

”What... what is this?”

Lucien raised his halberd again, taking a combat stance. ”Why don’t I show you what it means to be alive?”

Celbeth’s smile returned.

She stood.

”Dont mind me if I kill you in the process,” she said.

”Try.”

She attacked.

The Blood Moon Katana moved like it was part of her—faster than her old blade, sharper, hungrier. She swung, and Lucien blocked. She thrust, and he sidestepped. She spun, and he countered.

They moved at superhuman speed—blurs to everyone watching.

Hellyn could not track them. Her white eyes strained, searching, but the two combatants were simply too fast.

The sound of clashing blades echoed across the forest like thunder.

Celbeth activated the katana’s abilities without being told—the mist slashes, the vitality absorption, the bloodlust enhancement. She loved it.

Lucien countered with his halberd’s skills—Emperor’s Execution, Thousand Petal Burial, Horizon Splitter. He did not hold back.

They fought like monsters.

Finally, Celbeth’s astral energy ran dry. She stumbled, her sword lowering, her breath ragged. But she was still smiling.

”I accept my loss.” She held the katana out to him. ”Here. Your sword.”

Lucien shook his head. ”That’s yours now.”

Celbeth’s eyebrows rose. ”Quite generous.”

She tested the blade’s weight, feeling its hunger, its thirst.

”But you can’t acquire me that easily.” She looked toward Marson Mordric, who stood at the edge of the crater, his cold eyes watching everything. ”You were able to defeat us. But he’s still here. What are you going to do about that?”

Lucien smiled. ”How about this? If I kill Marson Mordric, you’ll serve me. With your Body and Soul.”

Celbeth’s smile sharpened. ”Of course. Body and soul.” She let her eyes drag down his form. ”Especially body.”

They understood each other now. Two fighters who had pushed each other to their limits and found something rare—respect.

”Seems like those retainers were useless.”

Marson Mordric stepped forward, his giant sword finally leaving its sheath. The blade was black as night, etched with runes that glowed faintly red. He held it in one hand as if it weighed nothing.

”I’ll have to kill you myself.”