Ch - 13 LeBron who? I'm the real 'King' around here, peasants.

Lewis sat comfortably in the carriage. The world beyond the carriage seemed to undergo a fascinating metamorphosis with each passing moment – the sophisticated architecture of the capital gracefully giving way to expansive fields and meandering roads. His eyes fixed on the ever-changing scenery unfolding beyond the windows. The trees outside turned into a blurry backdrop, gradually receding in the rearward motion, visually marking the journey toward Witton Fortress. The rhythmic clatter of hooves and the consistent hum of the carriage's wheels provided a continuous ambient soundtrack, harmonizing with the evolving landscape outside. A mere six days ago, his father had imparted the news that set these consequential events into motion. Now, he left the vibrant hustle and bustle of the capital behind, embarking on a journey fraught with uncertainties.

Witton Fortress lay five days distant from the capital. His father had entrusted him with a contingent of around five hundred men, bound to follow his commands exclusively. Given that the war declaration was still unofficial, the journey was likely to draw attention. To mitigate this, they had strategically divided the five hundred men into several smaller companies. At present, approximately thirty men were assigned as bodyguards, while the remaining forces had either already reached Witton Fortress or were en route to join the deployment.

"Do we really have to come with you? This place is hundreds of miles away from home, and why is your lord father sending you away? Is there going to be a civil war or something?" inquired Sickwid, one of Lewis's best friends.

For the journey, he had chosen to bring both of his best friends, Sickwid and Dell, along with him to stave off boredom. Absolutely, there was 'no way' he took them because he felt a tinge of fear after leaving his family behind. Absolutely not.

"There's no civil war happening; do you really think it's so easy to start a war? And you're coming because I need somebody to talk to. Those bodyguards are never going to chat with me like a friend; for them, I'll always be 'Young Master.' It's very exhausting hearing that all day," Lewis explained, justifying his friends' inclusion on the journey.

"Yeah, that is truly tiring. It must be even more exhausting to have people do everything you say, like they will drop everything if you say so. You must be weary now after having to go through that," Dell spoke sarcastically, his tone laced with irony.

"Shut up, you don't know anything. Anyway, you were telling about the book that mysteriously appeared on your bookshelf," Lewis swiftly changed the subject, not wanting them to tease him further.

"Yes. I don't know if I should call it mysteriously appearing or something. It might be that I forgot about the book after purchasing it. Here, this is it," Sickwid said as he pulled a red book out of his bag. Lewis accepted the book and read its title, "Phantom, Wit of the Wicked."

==================================================================================

The clash erupted into a fierce battle as the mysterious man skillfully parried blows with his now brilliantly illuminated sword. The blade emanated a radiant light, potent enough to inflict severe damage. His opponent, a man enveloped in a purple coating of crackling lightning from head to toe, retaliated with relentless strikes.

Despite both combatants sustaining mortal injuries, they pressed on, their determination eclipsing the pain. Each exchange of blows created a dazzling display of flashing steel and crackling energy. The purple-coated man unleashed bursts of lightning magic, weaving intricate patterns in the air, attempting to outmaneuver his adversary.

The air crackled with the intensity of their duel, and the once serene surroundings now bore witness to a clash of extraordinary forces. Yet, neither man yielded, fueled by a deeply rooted resolve that transcended the limits of their physical endurance. The echoes of their clash reverberated through the valley, creating an otherworldly spectacle as the forest, town, and night sky bore witness to their relentless struggle. But they never stopped.

In a strategic move, the mysterious man distanced himself by absorbing a blow instead of blocking it, surprising the purple-clad adversary. Although the purple man swiftly grasped the mysterious man's tactic, that fleeting moment of realization proved to be all the mysterious man required.

Once he achieved the desired distance, the mysterious man exclaimed, "Light domain – The end." Following these words, the radiance from the blade vanished, seemingly reverting to an ordinary steel appearance. Despite this, the man continued his downward slash with the now seemingly 'regular' blade.

The purple man's expression shifted from unwavering resolve to fight to one of fear. He came to a sudden halt, redirecting his focus to gather all the available lightning in the vicinity. "Lightning domain – Almighty defense," he spoke, and in an instant, a shield materialized before him. This shield bore every strand of lightning within a vast area, extending beyond a few miles.

A profound stillness enveloped everything the moment the shield materialized. The air ceased its flow, and even the creatures that had managed to endure froze in that moment, succumbing to an abrupt demise. The Earth itself halted its rotation. The once purple sky underwent a swift transformation, shifting to a blinding, complete white.

The instant the mysterious man's sword made contact with the ground, everything that had come to a standstill resumed its natural course. The deceased were restored to life, the Earth resumed its rotation, the air regained its flow, and the sky reverted to its familiar black, devoid of any lightning. The formidable shield that once stood vanished without a trace.

In the aftermath, only two figures lingered in the area — one, a man left with only half his body, and the other, the mysterious man, still gripping his sword. Slowly, the mysterious man rose to his feet and approached the severely injured figure, moving with deliberate steps aided by the support of his sword.

Seating himself beside the wounded man, the mysterious figure observed as the lone remaining eye of the purple-clad adversary tracked his movements. Speaking in a deliberate, measured tone, he uttered, "I warned you not to challenge me; victory was beyond your reach." With those words, he gently closed the eyelids of his fallen opponent.

Rising to his feet, the mysterious man resumed his discourse, "You remain unaware of my true identity and the depths of my abilities." He spoke as he distanced himself from the battlefield, initially at a leisurely pace that gradually quickened. Astonishingly, his injuries mended swiftly, and his eyes shifted from white to a dynamic shade of green-red.

The color of his eyes bore a hue that seemed unfit for this world, a shade forbidden by the gods of every realm that ever was or will be. Legends spoke of this color igniting wars that led to the annihilation of entire universes.

As the hood of the mysterious man lay in tatters, his face was unveiled for the world to witness. His skin was pale, almost translucent, and etched with intricate, otherworldly tattoos that glowed faintly in an eerie shade of crimson. His skin was pale, almost translucent, and etched with intricate, otherworldly tattoos that glowed faintly in an eerie shade of crimson. As the torn hood revealed more of his features, it became apparent that a single, menacing horn protruded from his forehead. The horn twisted and curved.

A green-red color which now belonged to demons.

============================= Act – 2 =============================