My Anime Shopping Tree & My Cold Prodigy Wife!
Episode : 103

Chapter : 205

The steel wires, excellent conductors, transmitted Fang’s desperate, last-ditch electrical charge directly into Rayan’s bound body. It wasn't enough to kill him, not even enough to cause serious, lasting physical injury. But it was enough to deliver a series of sharp, convulsive, full-body jolts that made every muscle in Rayan’s body seize, his teeth clench, his eyes roll back in his head. A strangled, gurgling shriek ripped from his throat as the electricity coursed through him, a sensation akin to being simultaneously tasered by a thousand angry wasps and licked by a very large, very static-charged cat.

The smell of burnt ozone and something vaguely like singed arrogance filled the air around him. Kongor, Rayan’s Ascended spirit, let out a roar of confused, sympathetic agony as the backlash from its master’s electrocution, combined with the sudden, violent disruption of their spirit bond, proved too much. Its massive obsidian form flickered violently, then, with a final, shuddering groan, it dissolved into dissipating motes of black smoke, vanishing completely. Rayan’s spirit connection, already strained, had been decisively, emphatically, severed.

Rayan Ferrum, his body still twitching from the aftershocks of the electrical assault, his eyes wide and vacant, collapsed bonelessly to the stone floor, landing in a smoldering, undignified heap. He was out cold. Unconscious. Thoroughly, comprehensively, and rather smellily, defeated.

Lloyd watched, his expression grim, devoid of triumph, only a weary, necessary satisfaction. He flicked his wrist, and the steel wires binding Rayan vanished as silently as they had appeared. Lesson delivered. Message received. And hopefully, he thought, a lasting impression made regarding the inadvisability of underestimating quiet cousins with a penchant for soap and surprisingly effective pest control methods.

The referee, who had been frozen in a state of horrified paralysis throughout this final, brutal escalation, finally seemed to find his voice. He stared at the unconscious, faintly smoking form of Rayan Ferrum, then at the bloodied, exhausted, yet undeniably victorious Lloyd, then back at Rayan. He swallowed hard.

“Lord… Lord Rayan Ferrum… is… incapacitated,” the referee stammered, his voice trembling slightly. “The victor… and champion… of the Ferrum Family Summit Youth Tournament… is… Lord Lloyd Ferrum!”

The announcement, when it finally came, was met not with a roar of applause, but with a profound, stunned, almost disbelieving silence. The entire Grand Hall seemed to be holding its collective breath, trying to process what they had just witnessed. The drab duckling hadn’t just won; he had dominated, humiliated, and then, for good measure, mildly electrocuted, the previously undisputed powerhouse of their younger generation.

Then, as the reality began to sink in, as Lloyd, with a visible effort, pushed himself to his feet, swaying slightly, Fang limping weakly to his side, a different sound began to fill the hall. A slow, hesitant clapping, starting from the section where King ‘James’ Bethelham sat, his face a mask of fascinated, almost delighted, disbelief. Marquess Kruts joined in, his expression one of profound, respectful awe. Then, slowly, hesitantly at first, then with growing volume, other members of the clan, the allied houses, began to applaud. It wasn't the wild, enthusiastic cheering that had greeted Rayan’s earlier victories, or Jothi’s displays of effortless skill. It was something different. A mixture of shock, respect, perhaps even a touch of fear. They were applauding not just a victor, but an enigma. A force they didn’t understand, but could no longer ignore.

Jothi watched her brother, her earlier anger, her disappointment, her confusion, all swirling together into a complex, unreadable emotion. He had won. Against all odds. Against Rayan. He was injured, exhausted, but he had won. And he had done it with a ruthlessness, a power, a terrifying, almost alien, competence that she had never imagined he possessed. This wasn't the Lloyd she knew. This was… someone else entirely.

On the dais, Arch Duke Roy Ferrum observed his elder son, his face still an unreadable granite mask, but his eyes… his eyes held a new light. A flicker of something fierce, something proud, something… undeniably, profoundly, fatherly. He had set a challenge. And Lloyd, against all expectation, had not just met it; he had shattered it. The future of the Ferrum line, Roy Ferrum thought, a slow, almost imperceptible smile touching his lips, was suddenly looking very, very interesting indeed.

And then, as the applause, hesitant but growing, finally began to wash over him, Lloyd Ferrum felt it. The familiar, almost smug, chime in his mind.

[System Notification: Exceptional Performance Detected!]

[Analysis: User participated in and successfully won a high-stakes, politically charged, intra-familial martial tournament, overcoming significant personal injury, superior opponent power levels (Ascended Spirit), and deeply ingrained societal preconceptions of mediocrity. Multiple innovative and/or terrifying applications of Void and Spirit power noted. Psychological warfare effectively deployed. Opponent left unconscious and smelling faintly of regret and burnt hair. Overall performance: Surprisingly not terrible.]

[Conclusion: Victory achieved. Dominance asserted (somewhat). Future therapy bills for traumatized cousins: probable.]

[Bonus Reward Issued: 200 System Coins (SC)]

[Current System Coins: 113 (Previous) + 200 (Reward) = 313 SC]

Three hundred and thirteen! Lloyd’s eyes widened, the exhaustion, the pain, the lingering adrenaline, all momentarily forgotten. Two hundred coins! For winning a glorified schoolyard brawl that had escalated into a near-death experience involving Ascended gorillas and mild electrocution! This, he thought, a grin of pure, unadulterated, System-Coin-fueled delight finally breaking through his weary facade, was considerably better than picking cursed flowers or investigating overly aggressive swamp fungi. Maybe, just maybe, this whole ‘being a surprisingly competent and terrifyingly powerful heir’ thing had its perks after all. Now, if he could just avoid being grounded by his father for ‘excessive use of unconventional combat electrotherapy on a cousin’, his day would be complete.

Chapter: 206

The applause, a strange, disjointed sound born of shock and fearful respect, finally faded, leaving a silence in the Grand Hall that was heavier and more profound than before. Rayan Ferrum’s unconscious, faintly smoking form was being discreetly, if rather unceremoniously, carried from the sparring circle by two stone-faced household guards. His father, Viscount Rubel Ferrum, watched them go, his face a mask of such pale, thwarted fury that it seemed carved from ice. The victory he had so arrogantly anticipated, the political coup he had so audaciously attempted to engineer, had not just failed; it had imploded, spectacularly, humiliatingly, in front of the entire clan and their most powerful allies.

Lloyd Ferrum, leaning heavily on Fang for support (the wolf-spirit, though depleted, was a surprisingly sturdy crutch), pushed himself fully upright, ignoring the screaming protest from his bruised ribs and the throbbing ache in his side. He had won. The drab duckling had not just survived the piranha tank; he’d somehow managed to convince the piranhas that he was, in fact, a particularly grumpy and surprisingly electric shark. The feeling was a bizarre cocktail of bone-deep exhaustion, grim satisfaction, and the lingering, almost giddy, disbelief that his improvised, borderline-insane tactics had actually worked.

On the dais, Arch Duke Roy Ferrum rose to his full, imposing height. The earlier, fleeting glimmers of paternal pride had been ruthlessly locked away, his face once more the unreadable granite slab of the ruler. His gaze, cold and deliberate, swept over the assembled nobles, lingering for a fraction of a second on the ashen face of his brother, Rubel, before settling on the lean, scholarly form of Lord Kyle Ferrum of the Ironwood branch.

“Lord Kyle,” Roy’s voice was calm, yet it resonated with an authority that cut through the lingering tension like a blade. “You spoke earlier of the Steel Blood. Of the true Ferrum legacy.” He paused, letting every ear in the hall hang on his next words. “Your knowledge is commendable. Your loyalty, unquestioned.”

Kyle Ferrum, a man whose life had been dedicated to the study of Ferrum history and the preservation of their traditions, inclined his head respectfully, his expression a mixture of vindicated excitement and fearful reverence.

“Your branch of our family, the Ironwood Ferrums,” Roy continued, his voice gaining a hard, decisive edge, “has long been the keeper of our histories, the guardians of our lore. You, more than any other, understand the weight of our name, the responsibilities that come with it.” He then turned his gaze fully onto Viscount Rubel, and the temperature in the Grand Hall seemed to plummet several degrees.

“Viscount Rubel Ferrum of the Ashworth branch,” Roy stated, the formal title sounding like an indictment. “You have also spoken today. Of strength. Of succession. Of what you perceive to be the best path forward for our house.” His voice was utterly devoid of warmth, each word a carefully polished stone of disapproval. “You have leveraged your position, your influence, your son’s ambition, in an attempt to subvert the established line of succession. To challenge my authority as Patriarch. To sow discord in this very hall, before our honored guests and our kin.”

Rubel visibly flinched, color finally returning to his face in the form of a mottled, furious flush. “Brother! Your Grace!” he protested, his voice tight with desperation. “I did no such thing! I merely expressed a father’s pride! A loyal vassal’s concern for the strength of our future leadership! My son, Rayan—”

“Your son, Rayan, was defeated,” Roy cut in, his voice sharp as broken glass, silencing Rubel instantly. “Defeated by the very heir you sought to displace. Defeated by a display of power you clearly failed to anticipate. A power you, in your ambition, have proven yourself unworthy to wield or even comprehend.”

He let the damning pronouncement hang in the air, then turned his gaze back to the wider assembly. “For years, the Ashworth branch has been designated the primary cadet branch, second only to the main line. A position of honor, of trust. A position that comes with significant influence over our family’s military resources, our strategic holdings, our very security.” His eyes narrowed. “Viscount Rubel, you have abused that trust. You have mistaken privilege for right. You have allowed your personal ambition to cloud your judgment and threaten the stability of this house.”

Roy took a deep breath, his next words delivered with the finality of a judge passing sentence. “Therefore, effective immediately, by my authority as Arch Duke and Patriarch of House Ferrum, I hereby strip the Ashworth branch of its designation as the primary cadet family.”