My Anime Shopping Tree & My Cold Prodigy Wife!
Episode : 90

Chapter : 179

Silence. Absolute, stunned, jaw-dropping silence filled the Grand Hall. Kenta stared at the empty air where his spirit had been, his mouth agape, his confident smirk completely erased, replaced by an expression of utter, bewildered disbelief. The crowd stared. Jothi stared. Roy Ferrum’s eyebrows had climbed halfway up his forehead. King ‘James’ was actually leaning forward in his seat, a look of fascinated delight on his face. Rosa… well, Rosa’s veiled expression remained unreadable, but Lloyd fancied he saw the faintest tilt of her head, a subtle indication of… analytical reassessment?

“Spirit… defeated?” the referee stammered, clearly as stunned as everyone else. “Victor of the spirit bout… Lord Lloyd Ferrum and… Fang.”

“This isn’t over, Cousin!” Kenta snarled, his eyes blazing with fury. He still had his Void power! He’d show this upstart, this lucky fool! Everyone knew Lloyd was a Void dud, barely capable of the most rudimentary Iron Body techniques! “You may have a fancy mutt, but you’re still just a weakling! Prepare to taste Ferrum steel!” (Or, you know, common iron, given Kenta’s branch family lineage).

He drew his practice sword – a blunt-edged, heavy iron training weapon – and lunged, roaring, aiming a clumsy, overhead chop at Lloyd’s head, relying on brute force and the assumption that Lloyd possessed no defensive Void capabilities whatsoever.

Lloyd watched the telegraphed attack approach with an almost bored sigh. Seriously? This is his grand counter-offensive? An overhead chop? Even his eighty-year-old self, armed with nothing but a sturdy walking stick and a bad attitude, could have dodged this.

He didn’t dodge. He didn’t even raise a hand to block. He simply shifted his weight fractionally, a subtle movement, and focused his will.

As Kenta’s iron sword descended, as he committed his full weight to the clumsy strike, an invisible, whisper-thin filament of gleaming steel – true Ferrum steel, imbued with Lloyd’s Void power – snapped taut from the floor, coiling around Kenta’s leading ankle with impossible speed and precision.

Trip.

Kenta, his forward momentum suddenly, inexplicably arrested at the ankle, yelped in surprise, his balance completely destroyed. He stumbled, windmilling his arms frantically, the heavy iron sword flying from his grasp to clatter uselessly on the stone floor. He crashed face-first, with a distinct lack of dignity and a rather impressive series of grunts and flailing limbs, into the unforgiving stone of the sparring circle.

Before he could even register what had happened, before he could push himself up from his humiliating, prone position, Fang was on him. Not with claws or teeth. But with a low, menacing growl, Fang simply placed one very large, very solid, now faintly crackling azure-lightning-wreathed paw directly onto the center of Kenta’s back, pinning him firmly to the floor. The message was clear: Stay down. Or things get… sparky.

Lloyd walked over calmly, dusting off his pristine tunic. He looked down at his prone, sputtering, slightly electrified cousin. "Well, Kenta," Lloyd said, his voice mild, almost sympathetic. "That was… invigorating. Though I believe the term you're looking for is 'checkmate'. Or perhaps, 'would you like to reconsider your earlier pronouncements about my tea-drinking habits?'" He paused, then added, for good measure, "And it's actually a wolf. Not a dog. He gets quite offended by the misclassification. Almost as much as I get offended by poorly brewed tea."

He glanced at the stunned referee, who was still trying to process the speed, the efficiency, the sheer unexpectedness of it all. "Time?" Lloyd inquired politely.

The referee fumbled with his water clock, then stared at it in disbelief. "U-under… under one minute, my lord," he stammered. "Total elapsed time from spirit summon to… to this… fifty-seven seconds."

Lloyd Ferrum nodded. Fifty-seven seconds. Spirit bout won. Opponent disarmed, humiliated, and currently being used as a very nervous lightning rod by a slightly smug-looking wolf. Not bad for a drab duckling with rusty skills. Not bad at all. He allowed himself a small, almost invisible smile. The soap empire was looking more secure by the minute.

----

The Grand Hall of the Ferrum Estate, still buzzing with the aftershocks of Lloyd’s shockingly efficient, sub-one-minute demolition of Kenta Ferrum and his unfortunate Fire-Hawk, had transitioned from stunned silence to a cacophony of excited chatter, bewildered speculation, and, in some quarters, grudging reappraisal. The ‘drab duckling’ hadn’t just avoided humiliation; he’d delivered a swift, almost contemptuously easy victory. His ‘dog’ – now correctly identified by a few more astute observers as a remarkably powerful wolf-spirit with a disturbing penchant for lightning – had vaporized an opponent’s spirit in seconds. And Lloyd himself, the supposed Void dud, had effortlessly, almost invisibly, disarmed and neutralized Kenta with a display of subtle control that hinted at a power far beyond the clumsy ‘Iron Body’ techniques everyone had assumed were his limit.

Chapter : 180

The tournament, however, waited for no man’s existential crisis or sudden onset of competence. The brackets were drawn, the matches announced, and the sparring circle quickly became a stage for a dizzying array of Ferrum youths eager to showcase their prowess, settle old scores, or simply avoid being the next Kenta.

Then, it was Jothi’s turn.

His sister stepped into the circle with a quiet confidence that was far more intimidating than Rayan’s boisterous arrogance. Her dark eyes, so like their father’s, were focused, intense, her expression calm, almost serene. Her opponent, another Ferrum cousin, this one a girl slightly older than Jothi with a reputation for fierce, if somewhat undisciplined, Void power, looked nervous, but determined.

Jothi, however, simply stood there, her hands clasped loosely before her. She didn't reach for a Spirit Stone. She didn't even seem to acknowledge the snarling snow leopard that was now circling her warily.

A murmur of confusion went through the crowd. Was she forfeiting the spirit bout? Or did she intend to fight the snow leopard herself?

Then, Jothi moved. Or rather, the air around her opponent moved. With a subtle, almost imperceptible gesture of her hand, a graceful flick of her wrist, the floor beneath the snow leopard seemed to ripple. Not the stone itself, but the faint, almost invisible metallic dust that coated everything in the ancient hall, the residue of centuries of Ferrum power, of iron worked and wielded. The metallic particles rose, coalesced, forming thin, almost invisible tendrils that snaked around the snow leopard’s paws, binding them, anchoring the surprised spirit to the floor with impossible strength.

The snow leopard yowled in surprise and frustration, struggling against the unseen bonds, its icy breath creating clouds of vapor, but the metallic dust-tendrils held firm, tightening with every movement.

Jothi still hadn't moved from her spot. Her expression remained calm, almost detached. She raised her other hand, fingers splayed slightly. The practice sword her opponent held, a standard iron training weapon, suddenly vibrated, then, with a sharp metallic screech, twisted in the girl’s grasp as if seized by an invisible vise. It contorted, bent, then snapped in two, the pieces clattering uselessly to the floor.

The girl stared at her empty, tingling hands, then at Jothi, her face a mask of stunned disbelief. She hadn’t even seen Jothi move. She hadn’t felt a surge of Void power. It was as if the very iron in the hall had turned against her, animated by Jothi’s silent, focused will.

"Opponent disarmed," Jothi stated calmly, her voice carrying clearly in the sudden, shocked silence. "Spirit immobilized. Do you concede, Cousin Lyra?"

Lyra, her face pale, her confidence shattered, could only nod dumbly. She’d been defeated. Utterly, comprehensively, effortlessly. Without Jothi even summoning her own spirit. Without Jothi even taking a single step.

The referee, after a moment of stunned hesitation, declared Jothi the victor. A ripple of awed, almost fearful, murmurs went through the hall. This wasn’t just skill; this was a level of Void power control, of precision, of sheer, understated dominance, that was terrifyingly impressive.

“Iron manipulation,” Lloyd breathed, setting down his teacup, genuine admiration shining in his eyes. His own Ferrum power, the true Steel and Fire, was potent, yes, versatile. But Jothi’s control over basic, unrefined iron, her ability to animate and manipulate it with such finesse, such effortless precision, without even manifesting her spirit as a conduit or an amplifier… that was a different kind of mastery altogether. She wasn’t just strong; she was an artist, a conductor, making the very metal of their heritage dance to her silent tune.

He remembered the whispers, the rumors that had circulated through the estate after last year’s Summit. That Summit, he hadn't attended, still mired in his own post-Bathelham disgrace and general apathy. But the outcome had been a topic of hushed discussion. Jothi Ferrum, barely fifteen at the time, had fought her way through the youth tournament with a ferocity and skill that had stunned everyone. She had reached the final round, facing off against Rayan Ferrum, who was older, stronger, his obsidian bear spirit a seemingly unstoppable force. The battle, they said, had been legendary, a clash of raw power versus controlled precision. Rayan, it was whispered, had come close, pushing Jothi to her limits. But in the end, Jothi’s superior control, her ability to outthink and outmaneuver her more powerful but less disciplined cousin, had won the day. She had emerged as the champion, the strongest of the Ferrum youth, a title Rayan had coveted, and lost, by the narrowest, most infuriating of margins.