Chapter 19 Strategic Maneuvers

Manning's ever-smiling face finally shifted, his jet-black hair billowing wildly.

The stage darkened, enveloped in shadows.

Sacre waved his hand casually, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "Don't panic, don't panic! We're not done yet. Did you really think I didn't know who you are? Hmm, Manning?"

Manning's complexion slowly returned to normal. "How could you not know? If you didn't by now, how could you be 'the one'?"

"Heh, I heard you've been looking for me for quite a while? My apologies!" Sacre's fingers twisted Manning's black strands tighter and tighter, threatening to snap the resilient hair.

"Indeed, but I never imagined you'd be hiding in Buchilis, let alone in the form of a dragon."

The black hair seemed to possess a life of its own, writhing in the opposite direction, trying to escape Sacre's grasp.

"I thought it was a lovely place, fresh air, plenty of sunlight." Sacre smiled.

The audience murmured in disbelief.

"Fresh air? Sunlight? Is he seriously talking about Buchilis?"

Manning nodded, "Indeed, it's quite a suitable place for beings like us."

"So, what business do you have with me?" Sacre asked.

Their conversation was relaxed, as if two old friends were simply catching up.

Yet beneath their calm exchange, their actions were anything but.

Sacre's hand was already ablaze with black fire, and when it touched Manning's hair, the scent of scorched protein filled the air.

He maneuvered effortlessly through the web of hair, narrowly evading the strands that seemed to embrace him like a love-stricken maiden.

With a mocking tenderness, he lifted a lock to his nose, inhaling deeply.

What appeared as a fleeting gesture of affection from a young man admiring a flower, sent waves of searing black flames surging through the air.

The flames traced along the hair towards Manning, only to be entangled and smothered by more strands, gradually extinguished, robbed of their fuel.

"You're trying to tell me you didn't know?" Manning chuckled softly.

"No, I just wasn't sure if you wanted to bring me back, or…"

Sacre spun gracefully, dodging the cluster of hair that lashed out at him from the side.

"To kill me?"

"Heh, why would I kill you? My father has made it quite clear I'm to bring you back unharmed. How could I disobey?"

Manning plucked a lock of hair, tossing it towards Sacre.

What had been soft strands transformed into arrows, speeding towards Sacre's chest.

Sacre leaned back, catching the arrow between two fingers.

"But I thought you might choose to kill me, then return to tell your father that it was the High Priest's fault, that 'the one' had never truly arrived."

"Why would I do that?" Manning's smile bloomed like a spring flower.

"Anyone with a brain would. After all, you've spent your whole life under the weight of expectation, striving so hard, only to have someone else—just because of their birthright—suddenly take everything from you. Wouldn't you?"

Sacre's hand, sharp as a blade, severed a large swathe of black hair.

Manning fell silent.

"Being the most important one for so long, only to be cast aside—no longer acknowledged. That kind of fall, it's unbearable, isn't it?"

Sacre's words carried a weight only the two of them could understand.

In the stands, the audience was utterly confused.

They only knew that the two combatants were far from the harmonious allies they had once appeared to be. In fact, it seemed there was a deep-seated enmity that could only be resolved with bloodshed.

Thinking back to yesterday's duel between Cain and Reef, they couldn't help but wonder how the Queen's team had made it this far.

Not just them—Lancaster himself was bewildered.

He now realized that his meeting with Manning had been no coincidence. Everything since then, perhaps even now, had been carefully orchestrated by someone.

"So, I truly knew nothing at all!" He chuckled quietly, turning to leave. "Manning, what else have you been hiding?"

Through the web of hair, Sacre glimpsed Lancaster's departure. In a flash, a lock of black hair brushed his cheek, leaving a red mark.

"That child has finally realized how little he knows, but it's not too late!" Manning mocked.

It was perhaps the first time today he had gained the upper hand in their mental battle.

"What did you tell him?"

"Nothing, really. Just helped him lift the veil."

Sacre's anger flared and faded in an instant. "You didn't have to do that! I have no desire to return! It's your father who is so desperate to invite me back. Frankly, it's a bit troublesome for me!"

Losing something precious is painful enough. But when someone else dismisses it as mere dust, the pain is even more unbearable.

Beneath the veil of hair, Manning's face began to twist in frustration.

His attacks became slightly erratic.

But after a brief pause, his renowned calm and rationality returned.

"So, are you saying you're giving up?"

"No, no. That was my plan initially, but now that I think about it, reclaiming those things might be worthwhile. After all, you wouldn't want people to say I simply handed it to you, would you, Manning? Besides, having a servant like you doesn't sound so bad." Sacre taunted, his hands moving without pause.

The once-cloudlike mass of black hair had been significantly reduced.

"Accept your fate, Manning!" With a sweep of his hand, another thick lock fell to the ground.

"How can one know without trying? Destiny? I've never believed in it! Sacre, no one is born inferior!"

"Oh, really?" Sacre teased. "Aren't you destined to sacrifice everything for me?"

Suddenly, Manning ceased his attacks. His hair, now calm, retreated behind him, uneven in length, pooled in a disheveled mass.

"Sacre, I'm done playing. Let's settle this properly. If you win, I swear to serve you faithfully, never crossing the line again."

"Ah, now that's more like it! Straightforward!" Sacre settled at one corner of the stage.

Manning clasped his hands before his chest, his expression solemn.

"Let's begin!"

His hair, now fully restored, shimmered with a ghostly blue hue, even more otherworldly than before.

In the stands, an elderly man who had once cried out "Five-Petaled Orchid" turned pale, dropping his pen and leaning halfway out of his seat.

"My god, Fal! He's... he's from the Shadow Abyss clan!"