My Anime Shopping Tree & My Cold Prodigy Wife!
Episode : 102

Chapter : 203

He knew the Black Ring Eyes weren’t just about projecting physical rings of energy, as the System’s initial, simplistic description had implied. That was merely its crudest, most overt manifestation. The true power, the terrifying subtlety of the Austin legacy, lay in its ability to manipulate not just the physical, but the metaphysical. To place seals, not just on objects, but on concepts. On senses. On energies. On the very pathways of life itself.

It could seal a wound, yes. Or seal a door. But it could also seal a memory. Seal a flow of magic. Seal a nerve.

And that, Lloyd realized, lying on the cold stone floor, his transformed eyes fixed on the flailing, disoriented Rayan, was the key.

Rayan was still stumbling blindly, shouting in terror, his world dissolved into a silent, featureless grey void. He couldn't see. He couldn't hear. His senses, his connection to the reality around him, had been… severed. Not by a physical blow, not by a magical illusion. But by a seal. A precise, targeted, metaphysical seal placed directly onto the neural pathways governing his sight and hearing.

Lloyd hadn’t needed to project external rings. He had simply… looked. Focused his will, channeled the unique energy of his Austin bloodline through his transformed eyes, and placed an invisible, intangible, yet utterly effective, seal upon Rayan’s senses. He had, in effect, turned off Rayan’s ability to perceive the world, plunging him into a terrifying, isolating sensory deprivation chamber of his own mind.

It was an application of the Black Ring Eyes he vaguely remembered reading about in that ancient grimoire, a technique spoken of in hushed, fearful tones. ‘The Seal of Severed Perception’. Subtle. Insidious. Utterly devastating. And requiring a level of control, of focused intent, that was far beyond mere brute force.

The crowd stared, utterly bewildered. They saw Rayan’s inexplicable collapse, his panicked cries. They saw Lloyd’s terrifying, transformed eyes. But they couldn't see the invisible seals, couldn't comprehend the metaphysical attack that had just occurred. To them, it was sorcery of the highest, most baffling order.

Even Arch Duke Roy Ferrum, for all his power, all his knowledge of Ferrum lore, looked profoundly, deeply, unsettled. This wasn't Steel Blood. This wasn't familiar. This was something else, something ancient, something… Austin. And it was being wielded by his son with a terrifying, instinctive precision that defied all explanation.

King Liam Bethelham, however, leaned forward, his earlier shock replaced by an intense, almost predatory, fascination. His eyes, sharp and analytical, were fixed on Lloyd, then on the flailing Rayan, then back to Lloyd. He was a ruler, a strategist, a man who understood power in all its forms. And he recognized, with a clarity that sent a shiver of something akin to excitement down his royal spine, that he was witnessing the emergence of something truly, terrifyingly, unique. This Ferrum heir wasn't just a potential political asset or a source of good soap. He was a weapon. A weapon of unknown, perhaps limitless, potential.

Lloyd, ignoring the pain in his side, ignoring the gasps of the crowd, ignoring the complex geopolitical recalculations undoubtedly occurring on the dais, focused his will again. He could end it here. He could leave Rayan a blind, deaf, terrified wreck. It would be a brutal, decisive victory.

But that wasn't his way. Not anymore. The eighty-year-old pragmatist, the soldier who understood the value of a clear message delivered with minimal collateral damage, asserted itself. Humiliation was a more effective, more lasting, deterrent than mere physical destruction.

With a subtle, internal command, Lloyd released the seals.

Instantly, the world crashed back in on Rayan Ferrum with the force of a physical blow. Light. Sound. The roar of the crowd, the feel of the cold stone beneath him, the sight of Lloyd Ferrum lying on the floor, watching him with those terrifying, now-normalizing, dark eyes. The sudden, overwhelming rush of sensory input after the profound deprivation was disorienting, nauseating.

Rayan stumbled, clutching his head, his mind reeling, trying to process the sudden, inexplicable return of his senses. He looked around wildly, his earlier rage replaced by a dazed, terrified confusion. What had just happened? One moment he was victorious, the next… nothing. And now… everything again.

He saw Lloyd, still on the floor, but pushing himself up slowly, painfully, with one arm. He saw Fang, limping but alive, growling weakly at Kongor, who stood confused, its Ascended power still thrumming but its master’s commands suddenly absent.

Rayan looked at Lloyd, and for the first time, he saw not the drab duckling, not the lucky trickster, but something else. Something cold, ancient, terrifyingly powerful, lurking beneath the surface of the unassuming heir. He had no idea what Lloyd had done to him, but he knew, with a certainty that chilled him to the bone, that he never, ever, wanted to experience it again.

Chapter : 204

The fight was gone from him. The arrogance, the rage, the desperate need for vindication – all extinguished, replaced by a primal, shaking fear.

Lloyd, finally managing to struggle to a sitting position, his side screaming in protest, looked at Rayan. He didn't speak. He didn't need to. His eyes, now back to their normal dark brown, held a quiet, unwavering message.

It’s over.

Rayan stared back, his face pale, his bravado shattered. He opened his mouth, perhaps to shout, perhaps to curse. But no sound came out. He simply… deflated. He looked at his discarded sword, then at his still-powerful, still-confused Ascended spirit. Then back at Lloyd.

Slowly, shakily, Rayan Ferrum lowered his head.

“I… I concede,” he mumbled, the words barely audible, thick with shame, with disbelief, with a terror he would likely never fully comprehend.

The words, however faint, echoed through the stunned, silent Grand Hall like a thunderclap.

Lloyd Ferrum had won.

----

Rayan Ferrum’s mumbled concession, thick with shame and disbelief, hung heavy in the stunned silence of the Grand Hall. He had yielded. The arrogant scion, the master of brute force, the self-proclaimed true power of the Ferrum youth, had been broken, not by overwhelming strength, but by something far more insidious, far more terrifying – the utter, inexplicable negation of his senses.

He stood there, head bowed, defeated, his Ascended spirit Kongor still a hulking obsidian presence beside him, confused by its master’s sudden surrender, its red eyes darting uncertainly between Rayan and the still-prone, bloodied form of Lloyd Ferrum. The crowd held its breath, waiting for the referee’s official declaration, for the end of this bizarre, almost surreal, final match.

But Lloyd Ferrum was not quite finished.

His Black Ring Eyes had receded, his gaze returning to its normal dark brown, but the cold, calculating glint within them remained. He had won the battle of wills, yes. He had shattered Rayan’s arrogance, exposed his vulnerability. But the eighty-year-old pragmatist, the soldier who understood the value of a decisive, unambiguous victory, knew that a lesson merely learned was often a lesson unheeded. A lesson felt, however, a lesson seared into muscle memory and primal fear… that was a lesson that stuck.

Rayan had escalated this. He had taken a ‘friendly contest’ and turned it into a brutal, almost lethal, assault. He had reveled in Lloyd’s pain, prepared to deliver a finishing blow with undisguised malice. Such actions, Lloyd knew, demanded not just defeat, but consequence. A clear, undeniable statement that crossing certain lines came with a significant, personal cost.

With a grunt of effort that sent a fresh wave of agony through his injured side, Lloyd pushed himself further upright. He didn’t try to stand; he didn’t need to. He simply focused his will, drawing on the last, sputtering embers of his Ferrum Steel power. It wasn't much, his reserves were scraped nearly dry, but it would be enough. Enough for a final, emphatic exclamation point.

The air around the still-dazed Rayan, who was just beginning to straighten up, his mind still reeling from the sensory whiplash, shimmered almost invisibly. Dozens of whisper-thin steel wires, finer than spider silk, yet imbued with the unyielding strength of Ferrum blood, erupted from the stone floor, from the very air itself. Before Rayan could even register the new threat, before Kongor could react, the wires snapped taut, coiling around Rayan’s limbs, his torso, binding him instantly, completely, in a gleaming, inescapable net.

“Wha—?!” Rayan yelped, surprise and fresh terror flooding his face as he found himself suddenly, inexplicably, immobilized, trussed up like a particularly uncooperative festival hog. He struggled, but the wires held firm, biting into his training leathers, a cold, metallic promise of pain.

Simultaneously, Lloyd’s gaze flicked towards Fang, who lay panting near the wall, his magnificent form still smoking faintly, his golden eyes dull with exhaustion but still holding a spark of fierce, unwavering loyalty. “Fang,” Lloyd rasped, his voice weak but carrying a clear, undeniable command. “One last spark. The cousin needs… a reminder… about the perils of overconfidence. And perhaps… a lesson in basic electrical conductivity. Keep it… memorable. Not lethal.”

Fang, despite his injuries, despite his near-total depletion, seemed to understand. With a visible effort of will, a final, desperate surge of his remaining Spirit Power, a tiny, almost pathetic, yet undeniably present, flicker of azure lightning coalesced around his paw. It wasn't the glorious, ear-splitting Thousand Chirp Strike. It was more like a single, very angry, very determined firefly with a bad attitude.

The wolf-spirit limped forward, dragging one slightly singed hind leg, and placed his faintly crackling paw directly onto the steel wires ensnaring Rayan.

The effect was instantaneous. And deeply unpleasant for Rayan Ferrum.