Cycle of Destiny

The moment the Duke's defensive barrier appeared, the Elf Prince's attack arrived almost simultaneously.

The sword energy that the Elf Prince swung at the crowd shot through the air, growing larger as it flew. At first, it was just a crescent-shaped arc of light, but it expanded rapidly during its flight, and by the time it reached the barrier, it had become a giant blade more than ten meters wide.

Just as the massive, destructive blade, several meters wide, was about to engulf the crowd, it collided violently with the transparent arc of light unleashed by Duke Landon.

Time seemed to freeze for a moment!

Immediately, a ring of dazzling, spiderweb-like cracks exploded on the surface of the barrier, the ear-piercing sound of shattering like millions of crystals being crushed simultaneously. The giant blade did not break through immediately, but instead spun and compressed wildly at the center of the cracks, emitting a teeth-grinding shriek—it was pure energy tearing and annihilating each other.

The balance was broken in the next second.

The accumulated energy finally erupted into an ever-expanding incandescent sphere of light, illuminating half the harbor as bright as midday. Immediately following was an extremely deep, resounding boom, not from the outside world, but rather like a giant drum pounding in everyone's chest. A substantial shockwave swept out in a ring, ripping up and shattering the harbor's stone slabs, and crushing and tossing away all the fish caught in the harbor.

Although the crowd behind the barrier was not directly engulfed by the sword energy, they were still shaken and thrown about by the force. Some of those who were closer had blood seeping from their ears and noses and knelt on the ground in a daze; many more were overturned by the air currents and let out terrified screams amidst the flying rubble and wood chips.

Miss Catherine also fell to the ground from the impact of the airflow, looking quite disheveled. Harry, however, activated the defensive magic circle on his wand the instant he saw the Elf Prince ascend, making him the only one still standing.

As the light faded, Duke Langton remained suspended in place, her skirt showing no signs of disarray. The once impenetrable barrier before her had dissipated into scattered dust, slowly vanishing. The colossal sword aura that had been capable of cleaving the harbor was also completely annihilated in this earth-shattering clash, failing to breach the barrier.

Those on the ship were not so lucky. Although the Duke completely blocked the attack aimed at the port, the Elf Prince's sword strike aimed at the ship below hit its target squarely.

There were no fancy energy clashes, only pure destruction. The sword energy, like a red-hot knife slicing through butter, silently cleaved the steel hull in two. Then, the suppressed energy exploded from within—

Boom!!

A far more violent explosion than before tore the ship to shreds, and a massive fireball, tinged with dark red, shot into the air, instantly engulfing all life on deck. Crew members and passengers alike were reduced to dust along with the ship; no one survived.

Even more bizarrely, as the ship disintegrated, the grain that filled the hold was instantly burned by the disaster—potatoes, corn, and wheat were crushed and vaporized under the extreme heat and impact, mixing with flesh and blood remains to form a thick cloud of blood-red dust that smelled of burnt grain, suspended in the air above the sea like the smoke of a ritual.

In an instant, the salty sea breeze, the strong smell of blood, and the strange, charred aroma of toasted bread—several distinct smells mingled together violently, creating a nauseating and chilling stench of death.

Above the slowly descending crimson dust cloud, the perpetrator of the tragedy—the Elf Prince—hovered silently. A faint smile graced his face, a smile devoid of warmth, as if he had merely crushed a swarm of ants rather than carrying out a massacre.

His emerald green eyes coldly gazed at the hellish scene below, the pupils reflecting fire and blood, the air filled with countless screams and wails, but none of this diminished the smile on his face in the slightest.

When the crimson mist, a mixture of grain dust and flesh, rose from the sea, Duke Langton's body visibly trembled.

She slowly, inch by inch, turned her head, her gaze sweeping over the panicked crowd at the harbor, finally fixing on the elegant elven prince in mid-air. In those once beautiful eyes, it seemed as if molten lava was surging, and a chilling rage almost solidified.

"You..." The word was barely squeezed out from between her teeth, her voice hoarse and terrifying, like a broken bellows being forcibly pulled.

Her hands, hanging by her sides, clenched tightly, her nails digging deep into her palms, her knuckles turning white and trembling from the extreme force. Yet she stood ramrod straight, like a battle bow about to be drawn and drink blood, brimming with a sense of power stretched to its limit.

How dare he… The roar deep within her mind reverberated, and the Duke of Langton felt breathless. The “Alexander Langton,” the ship she had personally overseen, every nail and rivet bearing her beloved’s name, was instantly cleaved into two twisted, fiery shells; the mountains of potatoes, corn, and wheat piled high in the hold, which she had painstakingly purchased from the southern provinces, were now a blanket of scorched ashes. But what truly made her knuckles turn white was the sight of the sailors on deck who didn’t even have time to utter a sound—those crew members who needed three years of training and five years of combat experience to achieve perfect teamwork; it was the hundreds of civilians crammed shoulder to shoulder in the second class, many of whose families were already waiting for their return at the port, only to be crushed into a sweet, bloody mist by a casual sword strike. This wasn’t a battle; it was utter trampling!

All reason and consideration were burned away at this moment. She raised her head, her gaze like two poisoned ice spikes, piercing straight at the elf prince.

"Now," her voice wasn't loud, but each word was heavy, carrying a raging rage and undisguised killing intent, "you must die."

This statement didn't sound like a threat, but rather a given fact—the being standing high in the sky was already dead the moment she spoke.

The Duke's declaration echoed in the air thick with the stench of blood and burnt grain. The survivors in the harbor lay sprawled on the ground, their eardrums ringing. After a moment, some crawled away from the sea, clutching their heads, while many more remained frozen in place, staring at the still-burning ships and harbor, unable to utter a sound.

Harry gentlemanly helped Miss Catherine to sit down on the ground. Tears streamed down Miss Catherine's face. She didn't say a word, but trembled all over, like a maple leaf hanging on a branch, about to fall.

Harry was surprised by Miss Catherine's vulnerability, and he felt somewhat rude to glimpse such a tender side of her. His gaze quickly shifted to the two people in the air.

Faced with Duke Langdon's verdict, the Elf Prince was not angry; his smile deepened, and his tone showed no anger, but rather a very cheerful response.

"Then let's go."

His relaxed expression and tone made it seem as if he wasn't about to engage in a life-or-death struggle, but rather responding to a trivial matter.

The Duke of Langton spread his arms and angrily chanted some kind of incantation, his voice long and slow, like a lingering wind on the moors, carrying an ancient, almost sighing echo. The voice was not loud, but deep, emanating from the depths of his chest, with a slight, persistent hissing sound, like a leaky bellows or wind passing through a narrow crevice in the rocks. Key syllables were deliberately lengthened and distorted, accompanied by a guttural tremor, creating a low, mysterious rhythm that sounded both like a prayer and some kind of whisper from the depths of the earth.

As Duke Langdon's ancient and obscure incantation echoed through the air, the space before her began to distort violently. In the void, the silhouette of a ferocious beast rapidly materialized—its eyes were bloodshot, a pair of curved fangs protruded from its upper jaw, and it had the body of a lion but no tail. Though a semi-transparent phantom, its solidity and the menacing aura it exuded made it seem as if it were a real entity existing there.

This terrifying sense of oppression felt like a boulder pressing on their chests, causing the already wounded survivors in the port ruins to feel a tremor and fear from the depths of their souls.

The beastly shadow let out a silent roar, then transformed into a streak of purplish-black light, lunging towards the elf prince! The destructive energy it contained was so terrifying that the survivors on the ground only caught a glimpse of the streak of light out of the corner of their eyes, and felt a sharp pain in their eyes, forcing them to hurriedly lower their heads or close their eyes, not daring to look directly at the sharpness of this attack.

Even with his current level three magic power, Harry had to grit his teeth to resist the instinctive urge to close his eyes.

However, despite the ferocious attack that could tear the city walls apart, the smile on the Elf Prince's lips did not diminish in the slightest. He didn't even make a move to dodge; he simply flicked his wrist, and his longsword once again unleashed a crescent-shaped silver sword aura.

There was no earth-shattering collision. The moment the beast's shadow met the sword energy, it was like ice and snow melting in the warm sun, eroding and neutralizing each other, and finally silently disappearing into nothingness, leaving only a slowly spreading ripple in the air.

The embers of energy had not yet dissipated, and the resulting turbulence ruffled his long, silvery-white hair. He remained suspended in place, his feet not having moved an inch. The dark green armor, inscribed with unknown runes, hummed softly in the wind, elemental energy flowing within it, perfectly outlining his tall and powerful figure.

That blow, powerful enough to tear apart the city wall, seemed to have merely brushed away non-existent dust from his armor.

Harry felt his throat was dry and tight, and his heart was pounding wildly behind his ribs.

He had been fortunate enough to witness a grand mage unleash a ninth-level spell at the magic academy—the pinnacle of power attainable by ordinary people, possessing the might to level mountains and alter landscapes. The destructive aura emanating from that ferocious beast phantom, composed of pure energy, undoubtedly reached that level. No! It was far more terrifying than the ninth-level spell he had experienced at the academy.

However, what chilled him to the bone was not the attack itself, but the way the Elf Prince responded. It wasn't a full-force block; it was more like casually shooing away a noisy fly.

"...That's at least the power of a level nine spell..." he cried out silently in his heart.

To be able to withstand such an attack so effortlessly...

Just what level of monster is this elf prince?