Chapter 103: An Unbelievably Powerful Foe

The Rejected Consort didn't move from his throne.

He sat there, one gauntleted hand resting against the armrest, his hollow violet eyes fixed on Ronan with an expression that might have been curiosity, or contempt, or both.

"You're supposed to be my final test?" Ronan said.

The figure tilted its head, the movement too slow and deliberate to be just any random action.

Ronan tightened his grip on the hilt.

Sebastian stepped forward first, fire licking along the length of his blade.

"Master, allow me to test its defenses."

"Careful."

Sebastian lunged, the flames around his sword flaring into a blinding arc as he closed the distance. The Rejected Consort didn't flinch. He raised one hand, and the shadows around the throne surged upward like a wall.

BANG!

The fire died against it.

Sebastian's blade stopped inches from the Consort's chest, caught in that writhing darkness. He tried to pull back, but the shadows held, coiling around the steel and creeping up his arm.

"Release!"

Ronan's command was immediate, and Sebastian dissolved into smoke before the shadows could consume him. He reformed at Ronan's side a moment later, his violet eyes wide.

"That... is not a normal shadow."

"What gave it away?"

Ronan stepped forward. The Consort's hollow eyes followed him, and that wall of shadow slowly lowered, retreating back into the throne's base like water draining into a pit.

The message was clear. The Consort didn't need to attack. It would wait.

[He who failed to move the Goddess's heart. He who passed every trial, only to be deemed unworthy.]

[Against the one that is loved yet completed no trial.]

[You are the first of many to obtain this test.]

Ronan read the notification before it faded, his jaw tightening at the implication. He wasn't just fighting some failed suitor from Sarael's past.

'Dark Heart is appropriate. I'll probably be the same as this guy if I spent that many stages fighting to just get rejected.'

"So that's it."

He said, rolling his shoulder.

"You're bitter."

The Rejected Consort rose from the throne.

The movement was slow, deliberate, but not sluggish. Every motion carried weight, the black armor shifting like liquid obsidian as he stepped down from the dais.

The crown of jagged darkness above his brow pulsed once, and the shadows in the throne room answered. They stretched along the walls, crawling across the statues of kneeling knights, deepening into pools of absolute black.

The Consort raised one hand, and a blade materialized from the darkness. It was longer than Ronan's sword, jagged at the edges, and dripping with something that hissed when it touched the stone floor.

What Ronan had said definitely struck a nerve.

"Try me."

The Consort moved.

Shadows surged up from the floor, coiling around Ronan's body before he could react. They wrapped around his legs, his chest, his head, a cocoon of darkness that tightened with crushing force, pinning him in place.

The Consort's jagged blade rose for the killing blow.

But then—

[Complete Darkness Achieved]

[Night's Caress Boost: 500%]

BOOM!

Ronan shattered the cocoon like it was made of glass. The shadows exploded outward, and he landed in a crouch, his blood singing with power he'd never felt before. The boost was staggering, five times his usual 50-point boost.

Even he was surprised. For a split second, he'd thought he was done.

But the darkness that should have killed him had made him stronger.

[Complete Darkness Lost]

[Night's Caress Boost: 500% - Disappears In One Minute]

Ronan's eyes snapped to the notification. One minute. One minute at five hundred percent.

"That's more than enough."

He swiped his hand across his sword's blade, and fire erupted along its length. Not the pale imitation of a spell or Sebastian's controlled flames, but true dragon fire.

John had told him the sword's history. An S-Rank raid against an ancient Dragon boss. Multiple hunters had gone in. Most hadn't come back.

John had taken the lion's share of the spoils. And now that sword belonged to Ronan.

[Dragon's Flame: Activated]

The fire roared, bright enough to push back the shadows choking the throne room. The Consort hesitated, its hollow eyes tracking the flames like they were something it recognized.

Something it feared.

Ronan didn't give it time to recover.

He launched himself forward, his boosted speed turning him into a blur of fire and steel. The Consort raised its jagged blade to block, but Ronan's sword crashed through the guard and carved a burning line across its chest.

Black ichor sprayed, and the Consort staggered.

Ronan pressed harder.

Each strike sent shockwaves through the throne room, cracking the obsidian statues and scattering the shadows. The Consort tried to counter, but it was too slow now.

Too weak against the fire, the speed, and the sheer overwhelming force of Ronan at five hundred percent.

CRACK!

The jagged blade shattered under Ronan's next blow. The Consort's hollow eyes flickered, and for the first time, Ronan saw something like fear.

But he didn't finish it quickly enough.

[Boost Deactivated]

"Shit!"

The power drained out of him like water through a sieve. The overwhelming strength, the blinding speed, gone. Ronan's body felt heavy, sluggish, wrong.

The Consort noticed immediately.

Shadows surged toward it, wrapping around its ruined hand and forming a new jagged blade in the space of a heartbeat. It lunged, faster than Ronan could track, and he barely managed to twist out of the way.

The blade carved through the air where his chest had been, close enough that he felt the cold kiss of its edge.

Ronan hit the ground rolling. The Consort pressed, relentless, each strike driving him back across the cracked stone floor. He couldn't match this thing anymore. Not without the boost.

He needed a shield.

He summoned the Flesh Golem.

The hulking behemoth materialized between Ronan and the Consort, its massive body blocking the next strike before it could land. The shadow armor Sarael had wrapped around it during the Verne fight was still there, pulsing faintly.

CLANG!

The Consort's new blade connected with the golem's knee, and Ronan watched in horror as the reinforced limb shattered like it was made of cheap plaster.

The golem staggered, one leg completely gone, its massive bulk tipping to the side.

Ronan's blood went cold.

The Consort had destroyed the flesh golem's leg with a single blow. A blow that had been meant for him.

The golem collapsed onto its side, still trying to swing its massive arms. The Consort ignored it, stepping over the broken body like it was nothing. Its hollow eyes locked onto Ronan.