Judgment

Everyone in the Cathedral hall was silent.

Conall stood again at the head of the table. Ready to open his mouth and speak, but he never got the chance.

A sound cut through the meeting. It was the sound of boots colliding against stone.

Every head in the room turned.

Gilbert Bradforde Froste rose from his simple chair by the pillar. He didn't push himself up; he simply levitated. He took a single step forward, from the shadows he was in into the light filtered through the stained glass.

His golden halo was faint. It reflected the light above his black hair.

His pale blue eyes looked at Conall.

He walked toward the enormous table. The vampire lords instinctively stopped moving. They pulled their chair back, creating a path for him.

He stopped at the side of the table, his gaze not leaving Conall. He raised a hand, pointing at Conall.

"You," Gilbert said. His voice neutral, it filled the hall. "You are an enemy of humans."

He let his words seep into the minds of everyone present.

"Your presence is an offense. You foul this place with your words." Gilbert made a statement.

Conall's smile didn't change. However, it widened. This was a gift. Lord Varnhame's words might have made some people here have doubts.

But when a sage directly challenges him? This was a threat everyone understood. And to defeat a living weapon of humans, here in front of the other lords, it was the ultimate proof. It will burn away all doubts.

"Sage of the Froste family," Conall said, his voice amused. He spread his hands wide. "You find me offensive? Good. The strong are always offensive to those who fear change. If you wish to cleanse this hall of my presence, you are welcome to try."

He looked directly at Gilbert. "I accept your challenge."

Gilbert put a smile on his face, as if laughing at Conall. He had not issued a challenge; he was simply going to kill everyone here. But he found it amusing. "As you wish," he said.

A duel between a lord of a great house and a sage was an event not seen in years.

They filed out of the great hall. Moving from the cathedral into the grey sky. The island was a small, desolate circle of rocks. Surrounded by the frozen sea.

The cold wind whipped at everyone's cloak.

The servants, including Taro, Eden, and Roman in their Vernhame disguises, followed the others. Taro's heart quickened; this was wrong. It was something none of them could've predicted.

As the lords found positions a safe distance away, forming a loose circle, Gilbert paused. He stood facing Conall on the open field under the rocks. In a gesture of nonchalance, he raised a hand and delicately brushed an invisible speck of dust from the shoulder of his white robe.

Gilbert didn't see Conall as an opponent; he saw an irritation.

Across the circle, Taro looked at Lilith. Who stood near the edge of the rocky clearing. She had materialized from the shadows without a sound.

Her gaze was on Conall, who began radiating a terrifying aura, which made the air around him switch. Again, her eyes looked at Taro. She let out a small sigh before standing there and doing nothing.

Energy distorted the air between the two fighters. Gilbert, with a lazy flick of his wrist, had made a containment field. The sound of the wind and the sea was instantly cut off.

"Let us begin," Gilbert whispered.

Conall threw his right hand into the air, and blood orbs formed, making a pitch-black sword in his hand. Then his black hair started turning from the roots into pure white.

His red eyes started making afterimages, and in his head, a pure black halo formed. He was using the power of his father and all of the vessels before him.

Gilbert's half-closed eyes didn't change. But the pure golden halo above his head started rotating even faster, becoming brighter. So bright that it hurt to look at it.

Conall didn't bother with subtlety. And dashed, putting his hand forward, his sword making a mix of black and red energy. Erupting towards Gilbert.

Gilbert didn't move or dodge the stab. He simply raised one finger, and then the moment all the energy collided with him, it disappeared, stopping the sword in place. The energy splashed and boiled against him.

With a slightly bored frown, Gilbert pushed his finger forward. Then a bright yellow light shot across the arena, carrying all the black and red energy Conall released. Conall was forced to leap aside, dodging his own attack.

The energy smashed into the far wall of the dome, causing the entire ground beneath it to be destroyed.

Conall changed tactics. He stomped his foot, and the rock beneath him cracked and split. Hands, made from mana formed from the ground, clawed their way out of the earth. Dozens of them, all reaching for Gilbert. Simultaneously, he also summoned lances made of pure darkness in the air. Sending them towards the sage from all directions.

For any other opponent, it would have been the end. Gilbert sighed. He rose a few inches off the ground, his white robes unmoved by the attacks. "Tedious."

A perfect sphere of pure light radiated outward from him, an utter nullification of magic itself. All the hands dissolved into nothingness. The lances evaporated into mist. The ground around him was clean, leaving a circle of smooth rock in the middle of what looked like a battleground.

Conall was thrown back, blood leaking from his nose. The power he wielded was too much for his body to handle.

"Is that all?" Gilbert asked, his voice full of genuine disappointment. "I was told the Winfield line had some notable strength. This all looks like it's just... accessories."

He decided this was over. He pointed at Conall with his index finger, then a thin, pure golden light as big as a needle shot across the arena faster than any eye could follow.

Conall barely managed to make a shield against it, which just shattered on impact, the force of the blow sending him flying.

Before he could recover, Gilbert made a fist. From the sky within the dome, a rain of light needles began to fall.

Hundreds of them, each one full of incomprehensible energy. Descended upon Conall. He screamed from pain as he desperately formed shields, teleported around, and blasted back. But he couldn't stop them all; the light arrows pierced him, searing his skin.

He was losing. His body was being dismantled, piece by piece. The other lords watched in silence.

One could read about the power of a sage, but to witness it firsthand was something else entirely. Albescu and Morvai's faces were pale with horror.

Driven into a corner, his body smoking from dozens of burns, Conall's face regenerated again. He had already accomplished his goal. The seeds of rebellion he had planted in the minds of the other lords would grow, as long as Gilbert didn't simply annihilate them all.

"If I am about to fall," he said, catching his breath, "I will drag you down into the filth with me!"

He began to gather his power; the air inside the dome grew hotter. The light in the grey sky seemed to become even darker as if it were night. The pitch-black halo began to melt, creating a terrifying energy.

It began to fall on Conall as he extended his hand, and it fell into it.

A life-draining curse. It was the final act of a vessel's ritual.

For one to take over the vessel, they had to either absorb it or destroy the vessel's soul itself.

Most people using vessels to become immortal absorb souls since it is easier and has fewer negatives.

However, for the other method, it was a way to not kill the soul but unmake it from existence. It would drain the life, the magic, and the very target and feed it back to the caster. A power that could, in theory, kill anything.

But it was unstable. Unleashing it here wouldn't just target Gilbert. It would drain the life from Conall himself and everyone within the barrier, potentially consuming the entire island and sinking it into the frozen sea.

Conall hoped that it would kill Gilbert, and because of how much power he has, it wouldn't kill the other lords, so his message would be continued. But rage was fuelled, and I couldn't stop another second.

Across the arena, Gilbert watched the foul energy gather. His expression shifted from boredom to one of profound disgust. This filth-born creature was attempting to stain his very soul with its unclean power.

It was an insult.

He said one word: "Abomination." The single word felt like a death sentence to all.

His golden halo exploded into a miniature sun. The light grew from blinding to a transcendent pure white that took all color from the island.

He was done with all of this nonsense; he would not just kill Conall now, he was going to destroy the entire island. He would erase all the vampires and the ground they stood on.

Outside the barrier, Taro, Eden, and Roman. All of the audience felt the pressure; the ground trembled. The air cracked because of the unnerving energy.