The Grand Duke's Son Is A Heretic

The port had become a battleground of titans. The once orderly rows of containers now lay shattered and flung like toys, twisted metal and fractured concrete forming a chaotic landscape. The howling winds rushing in from the sea had grown even fiercer, caught in the storm stirred by the ferocity of the duel between Martina and the masked man.

The guards stationed at a distance tried to keep their footing, some bracing behind what little cover remained. The salty sea air stung their eyes, and the very ground beneath them quivered like a beast in fear.

One of the knights, wide-eyed and trembling, whispered, "W-what kind of monsters are they…?"

"They're not humans," another said, shielding his face from a wind blade that sliced past and embedded itself into the steel bulkhead behind him.

"She's in the top ranks of the Continental List… but him… who is that masked freak?" a third muttered, struggling to keep his composure as another explosive shockwave blasted across the field, forcing everyone to crouch low.

At the heart of it all, Martina and the masked man moved like lightning, their bodies a blur to most eyes.

Each step left behind cracked ground. Each swing of the sword birthed a visible arc of compressed air. When they clashed, the impact sent out a burst of vacuum pressure, ripping through the surrounding structures.

Martina spun in midair, her blade twisting into a downward spiral. The masked man blocked with his own curved blade, absorbing the hit and pivoting on one foot to unleash a horizontal slash. Martina caught the edge, twisted her sword to trap his, and slammed her foot into his chest, sending him skidding back with a trail of torn earth.

She didn't let him breathe.

Her style was precise—fluid like water but sharp like shattered glass. She came in again, her blade glowing with bluish energy. Her steps shifted as she changed her stance—Cloud Piercing Form—a famed technique said to ignore armor and rip through air itself.

The masked man barely managed to parry, forced to leap high and somersault backward. As he did, he raised one hand and released a wave of dark energy from his blade, shaping it into spikes of black wind that surged toward her like javelins.

Martina slid low, cutting through the attack with a rising slash that created a crescent wave, splitting the projectiles and dispersing the force.

She kicked off the broken railing beside her, spinning through the air, and aimed a fierce overhead slash that came down like the wrath of a falling star.

BOOM!

The ground caved in beneath them.

Dust, steel shards, and torn wires flew into the air. The cabin below was reduced to rubble. Flames sparked from severed fuel lines. A huge portion of the dock collapsed into the sea, waves crashing and throwing water high into the air.

From the upper platform, Bernard gritted his teeth.

"Don't approach them! You'll be caught in that mess and vaporized!" he yelled, pulling a trembling knight back who had foolishly stepped forward.

"This is like two disasters fighting," another muttered, pressing a hand to his chest. "The port's going to be reduced to nothing at this rate."

Back in the storm, the masked man landed hard, skidding to a halt. His cloak was torn in several places, his mask cracked at one edge. He wiped blood from the corner of his mouth.

"You're troublesome, woman," he growled.

Martina stood, her blade resting low by her side, a faint shimmer of aura rising off her like heat waves from a furnace. Her hair flowed freely, dancing in the furious wind, her gaze cold and murderous.

"You were never going to win this," she said. "Not alone."

"Hmph." The masked man adjusted his stance again, switching to Phantom Wolf Form, a brutal, dual-stance technique used for piercing high-speed targets.

Martina's grip tightened. She inhaled. And then—

They moved.

Their final exchange was too fast for the eye to follow. Shockwaves clashed midair, massive bursts of force colliding, tearing through cranes, shattering walkways, and flipping entire containers like leaves. Water from the sea surged up and sprayed across the field like a white curtain.

And then—silence.

The two figures stood back-to-back. One still. One trembling.

Blood sprayed into the wind.

The battle wasn't over.

...…

The heavy storm winds of the harbor roared behind them, mixing with the sound of boots pounding against the broken ground. Kael, Sol, Freya, Herion, and Linda pushed forward, bloodied but standing, cutting down the last remnants of the armored guards. They had almost reached the outer gate.

No more knights stood in their way. The path was finally open.

"We're almost out!" Sol shouted, grinning despite the exhaustion and blood on his cheek.

Freya, running just ahead, didn't look back. "Stop screaming and run, idiot!"

"Come on, don't be so tense!" Sol laughed breathlessly, swinging his sword onto his back. "Except for that masked bastard, does anyone even stand a chance against us? I mean—BOOOOM!"

He didn't finish his sentence. A thunderous explosion slammed into the ground just ahead of the gate. The shockwave hit them like a hammer, the ground splitting and air rupturing as if the world itself had cracked open.

Debris flew in all directions, and a violent gust tore through the battlefield. The blast sent Sol tumbling through the air like a leaf, his smug expression replaced by alarm.

Linda reacted just in time, gritting her teeth and throwing her hand forward.

" Aegis Varnis!"

A glowing golden barrier erupted in front of her, the storm of debris and pressure slamming against it. Sparks danced along the barrier's surface as the impact tried to crush it down. The magical field trembled, but it held, saving the group from being torn apart.

Kael, whose instincts were razor-sharp, dove backward the moment the tremor in the air began. His body flipped mid-air, landing with a crouch, eyes scanning the smoke.

The others weren't as lucky. Freya was thrown back, slamming into a splintered crate. Herion crashed through a pillar, groaning. Sol rolled along the ground in a mess of blood and dust.

The air was thick with smoke and power. A dull purple glow began to pulse from within the crater. The sound of footsteps echoed—slow, deliberate.

Out of the clearing dust walked a figure with long, wind-swept purple hair, and violet eyes glowing with malice. Her presence alone suffocated the air. She wore a skin-tight armored suit etched with imperial glyphs, the cape fluttering in the winds behind her like the wings of a fallen angel.

Her boots cracked the stone beneath her with every step. The murderous intent she radiated was overwhelming. It wasn't just rage—it was a deep, surgical intent to annihilate.

Kael narrowed his eyes.

Freya pulled herself to her feet, blood trickling from her lip. She gritted her teeth and drew her sword.

Sol, wiping dust from his face, stared in disbelief. "I was just joking, damn it... I didn't ask for a final boss!"