The Golden Lord has a perverted SSS-rank summoning system!

None of the lords accompanying Zael questioned his decision to accept the duel.

First and foremost, rejecting a challenge from a noble of equal rank was considered extremely dishonorable—a clear sign of cowardice in the eyes of any fellow noble.

Since both Ethan and Zael held the title of Count, Lord Fallenwinter found himself compelled, in the name of his own honor, to accept the confrontation.

Of course, such formalities carried little weight in the Eternal Forest, at least when compared to the significance they held in the Kingdom of Burning Ice, where every Lord’s honor was tied to families with thousands of years of history.

Still, Zael was a man of that region, and refusal was simply not an option his conscience would allow.

His eyes fixed on Ethan with a piercing coldness, trying to decipher what sort of strategy the young man might be devising to win the battle.

The blade of his sword glinted, enveloped in a deep, silvery-blue aura that pulsed faintly as energy accumulated within the metal.

Both men stood atop a hill blanketed in corpses, with Ethan occupying the higher ground on a gentle slope of perhaps ten degrees.

The muddy earth beneath their feet was soaked with blood, and the sickening stench of death hung heavy in the cold air, mingling with the metallic tang of iron and torn flesh.

Ethan held a slight advantage due to the elevation, but Zael Fallenwinter paid little attention to that detail.

His eyes narrowed, every muscle in his body bracing for the explosion of movement that would follow.

On the other side, Ethan also wiped the smile from his face, snapping his helmet shut with a sharp metallic click.

His expression hardened, becoming as cold as steel, and his grip tightened around the beautiful hilt of the God Slayer.

His blue eyes took on a deep golden hue, and the world around him seemed to lose its color, transforming into dull, grayish tones, as if only he and his opponent still existed in full vividness.

Ethan felt it the very moment Amelia’s buffs washed over him, the power flooding his body from the inside out as he activated his own buff abilities in sync.

At that instant, he would be only slightly weaker than Zael.

His muscles swelled beneath his armor, and every fiber of his body protested against the excessive pressure, yet he gritted his teeth and endured the pain.

His feet sank into the soggy ground as he executed the Steps of the Golden Lord.

His body vanished like a mirage the very instant the muddy, corpse-strewn terrain split into deep cracks under the force of his charge.

Under the astonished gaze of tens of thousands of soldiers, a third-stage warrior advanced against a fourth-stage one.

Zael noticed Ethan’s tremendous speed and the subtle change in the gleam of his eyes.

His middle-aged features hardened like stone as he sprang into action.

There was no mercy.

His blade sliced through the air with terrifying power, a high-pitched whine tearing through the atmosphere as he poured everything he had into that single strike.

He wanted to end it in a single motion, finish off the arrogant young man, and return home at once, leaving his men to carry out the final harvest before winter arrived.

The air around his sword warped as its blade met Ethan’s, which shone as though wrapped in a veil of liquid gold.

That veil left behind a trail resembling a golden cloak, dissolving into countless particles of light that drifted to the ground like sacred dust.

When the impact fully resolved, much to Zael’s surprise, Ethan did not go flying backward.

There was indeed a clear difference between the two, but it was far smaller than Lord Fallenwinter had imagined.

The blades ricocheted off each other with a piercing metallic clang, golden sparks bursting through the air as Ethan took three steps back and Zael retreated a single step, his boots sinking deep into the wet earth.

"Ah... the power of a fourth-stage specialist is truly incredible!" Ethan murmured with a low chuckle, feeling his arms tingle and go numb for a brief moment.

His black cloak billowed behind him, fluttering in the wind, and his aura shone with colossal intensity.

Zael didn’t give him a single second to catch his breath.

His body transformed into a flash of silver light, the blade slicing through the air toward Ethan’s neck with lethal precision.

The young Lord narrowly dodged the blow, using his own sword to push Zael’s weapon aside before lunging forward with a clenched fist from his left hand.

A loud crash echoed across the hill; the metal of Zael’s breastplate caved inward from the brutal impact, all the air in his lungs violently forced out in a strangled gasp.

He roared, overcome by rage and pain, retaliating with a powerful kick to Ethan’s flank.

Ethan blocked the blow with his left arm, the metal of his armor colliding with Zael’s in a deafening clash of steel.

The force was terrifying; Ethan’s feet tore up the ground as the impact hurled his body dozens of meters back, leaving behind two twin furrows that gaped open through the mud and the piled-up corpses.

Beneath his helmet, a thin trickle of blood ran from the corner of his lips.

That had been a truly powerful kick, and he could feel his ribs creaking, on the verge of snapping.

The initial clash had been pure brute force, but Ethan had already clearly sensed the power boiling inside Zael.

It was more than evident that, from that point on, Lord Fallenwinter would take the fight truly seriously.

Zael extended his right arm, his sword pointing into the empty air.

Ethan sensed the exact moment when the entire aura of the surroundings began to be drawn inward, as if a black hole had appeared there—thousands of swirling threads glowing silver-blue as they gathered around Zael’s sword, slowly coalescing into a single black, pulsating orb.

"Today, you die!" Zael Fallenwinter declared.

The orb of light warped and reshaped itself into something resembling a snarling wolf’s head as Lord Fallenwinter swung his sword, unleashing the ability toward Ethan.

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