My Anime Shopping Tree & My Cold Prodigy Wife!
Episode : 96

Chapter : 191

He made a decision. No immediate spirit takedown. No invisible tripwires. He would meet her on her own terms, at least initially. He would let her showcase her skills. He would give her the respect she had, uniquely, shown him.

“Fang,” he said quietly, “engage. Defensive maneuvers only, initially. Let’s see what Aria can do.” He didn’t draw a weapon. He simply stood there, his hands clasped loosely behind his back, projecting an air of calm, watchful readiness.

Riva looked surprised by his passive stance, by the lack of an immediate, overwhelming assault from Fang. But she didn't hesitate. She was a warrior, and an opportunity was an opportunity. “Aria! Aether Bolt, high!” she commanded.

The Aetherspear Eagle shrieked, launching itself into the air with a powerful beat of its silver wings. It circled once, gaining altitude, then dove, its beak opening, a shimmering ball of concentrated, bluish-white energy forming with terrifying speed.

Lloyd watched it approach, his new Black Ring Eyes subtly active beneath his normal gaze, tracking the trajectory, calculating the speed, the energy signature. He could dodge it. Fang could intercept it. But that wasn’t the plan.

Just as the Aether Bolt was about to strike, Riva suddenly cried out, her voice sharp with warning, “Lloyd, look out! Below!”

Simultaneously, she stamped her foot hard on the stone floor of the sparring circle. The ground beneath Lloyd’s feet erupted. Not with an explosion, but with a series of sharp, metallic screeches as dozens of wicked-looking iron spikes, each as long as his forearm, thrust upwards from the stone, emerging from seemingly solid rock like the teeth of some subterranean metal beast. They shot up with incredible speed, aiming to impale his feet, to trap him, to create a deadly, impassable cage of sharpened iron.

Iron Spikes from the ground! Lloyd’s mind registered the attack instantly. Her Void power. A variation of earth manipulation, perhaps, combined with iron control. Clever. Unexpected. Using the Aether Bolt as a distraction for a ground-based ambush. Riva wasn't just a pleasant conversationalist; she was a cunning tactician.

But Lloyd Ferrum, the man who had danced with giant snakes, outwitted abyss monsters, and possessed senses honed by eighty years of often-lethal experience, was not easily surprised. And his feet, thanks to a lifetime of navigating treacherous terrain (both literal and political), were remarkably light.

Even as the iron spikes erupted, even as the Aether Bolt screamed towards him, Lloyd moved. Not with a clumsy leap, not with a desperate dive. But with a smooth, almost effortless, sideways flow, like water parting around a stone. His body seemed to blur for a fraction of a second, his feet barely touching the ground as he glided a mere six inches to the left, the erupting iron spikes missing him by a hair’s breadth, the Aether Bolt streaking past his shoulder to explode harmlessly against the far wall of the Grand Hall, leaving a smoking, fist-sized crater in a priceless ancestral tapestry depicting the heroic (and probably entirely fictional) subjugation of the Snugglepuff Wombats of Upper Cruddington.

He came to rest, perfectly balanced, his hands still clasped behind his back, a faint, almost invisible shimmer of displaced air the only evidence of his impossible, instantaneous movement. He hadn't used wires. He hadn't used Fang. He had simply… moved. With a speed, a grace, a preternatural awareness of his surroundings, that defied conventional explanation.

Riva stared, her attack thwarted, her mouth slightly open, her eyes wide with stunned disbelief. The Aetherspear Eagle circled overhead, screeching in confusion, its primary attack having missed its mark so spectacularly. The crowd, which had gasped in anticipation of Lloyd’s impalement, was now utterly silent, trying to process what they had just witnessed.

Lloyd offered Riva a small, polite smile. "An excellent combination, Cousin Riva. Well-executed. My compliments on the… aggressive landscaping." He paused, then added, his voice still mild, almost conversational, "However, perhaps you should aim a little lower next time. Or," his smile widened fractionally, a hint of something dangerous flickering in his eyes, "perhaps you shouldn't aim at all."

The semi-final, it seemed, was just getting started. And Lloyd Ferrum, the master of unexpected surprises, clearly had a few more up his deceptively plain, slightly soap-scented sleeve.

---

The Grand Hall was a vortex of bewildered whispers and stunned silence. Riva Ferrum’s combined aerial and subterranean assault – the Aether Bolt from her Aetherspear Eagle, Aria, and the sudden eruption of iron spikes from the very stone beneath Lloyd’s feet – had been a masterful display of tactical cunning and unexpected Void power. It should have been a checkmate. It should have left Lloyd Ferrum impaled, incinerated, or at the very least, deeply impressed and possibly slightly singed.

Chapter : 192

Instead, he had simply… sidestepped. Glided. Flowed. Like smoke in a breeze, or water parting around a rock. One moment he was there, the target of a seemingly inescapable pincer attack; the next, he was six inches to the left, perfectly balanced, hands still clasped behind his back, offering polite, almost academic, commentary on her ‘aggressive landscaping’.

Riva stared, her initial shock morphing into a frustrated disbelief that was rapidly giving way to dawning, horrified awe. How? How had he moved so fast? So precisely? Without a flicker of Void energy, without a discernible spirit enhancement? It was as if he’d known exactly where the spikes would erupt, exactly where the Aether Bolt would strike, and had simply… chosen not to be there. It wasn't just skill; it was preternatural awareness, an almost insulting economy of motion.

“But… how?” she stammered, her voice barely a whisper, the question echoing the silent bewilderment of the entire hall. Her Aetherspear Eagle, Aria, circled overhead, screeching in confusion, its attack having met nothing but empty air and a rather unfortunate ancestral tapestry.

Lloyd offered another of those faint, infuriatingly calm smiles. “Excellent reflexes, Cousin Riva. Years of… avoiding poorly thrown objects. And,” he added, his eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief, “a profound appreciation for not having my feet turned into Ferrum-kebab.”

He didn’t give her time to process. He hadn’t come this far, endured this much public scrutiny and questionable tea, just to engage in a prolonged, aesthetically pleasing, but ultimately inefficient, aerial ballet. He needed to conserve energy. He needed to win. And he needed to do it in a way that was decisive, slightly terrifying, and ideally involved minimal personal exertion.

“Fang,” Lloyd said quietly, his gaze flicking upwards towards the circling Aetherspear Eagle. “That bird is becoming… distracting. And it’s probably shedding feathers all over Father’s meticulously polished floor. Discourage it, would you? But try not to make too much of a mess. The cleaning staff have suffered enough today.”

Lloyd, simultaneously, focused his own will. Not on fine, tripping wires this time. But on something he’d experimented with during the unfortunate Ridge Runner incident. Solid projectiles. Refined. Controlled.

He cupped his hands loosely before him, and the air within them shimmered. Three small, dense spheres of gleaming steel, each no larger than a pigeon’s egg, materialized from the Void, spinning slowly, humming with contained kinetic energy and a faint, almost invisible, internal heat. Steel Bullets. His improvised ammunition, now crafted with greater precision, greater control.

“Aria! Evasive maneuvers! Aether Shield!” Riva screamed, sensing the shift in Lloyd’s intent, recognizing the dangerous, focused energy coalescing around him and his wolf.

The Aetherspear Eagle shrieked, its silver wings beating frantically as it tried to gain altitude, a shimmering barrier of bluish-white Aether energy beginning to form around it.

Too slow.

“Fang,” Lloyd murmured. “Suppressing fire.”

With a sound like a whip crack, Fang didn’t launch a lightning bolt. Instead, a concentrated beam of pure, azure electrical energy, thin as a needle but crackling with terrifying intensity, shot from his snout, not at the eagle itself, but at the nascent Aether Shield. The beam struck the shimmering barrier, and instead of deflecting, it seemed to… stick. To spread. To overload the shield’s matrix with a chaotic surge of raw power, causing it to flicker, sputter, and then collapse with a sound like shattering glass.

The eagle shrieked in alarm, its primary defense gone.

“My turn,” Lloyd said softly. With a flick of his wrists, he launched the three spinning steel bullets. They didn’t fly with the arc of a thrown object. They shot upwards with the flat, lethal trajectory of projectiles fired from a high-powered rifle, propelled by his focused Void power, spinning so rapidly they were almost invisible blurs.

Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

Three distinct, sickening impacts. One bullet struck Aria’s left wing near the joint, shattering bone and sinew. The second slammed into its right leg, crippling it. The third, a devastating center-mass shot, punched clean through the eagle’s breast.

The Aetherspear Eagle let out one final, agonized, broken cry, its silver plumage stained with dark, ethereal spirit-blood. It tumbled from the sky like a stone, its magnificent wings useless, its form flickering violently before it dissolved into dissipating motes of silver light just feet from the horrified Riva, leaving only a scattering of singed feathers and the faint scent of ozone and despair.

Spirit defeated. Again. With a casual, almost contemptuous, display of ranged, kinetic power that no one, not even his own father, had ever witnessed from him before.

Riva stared at the spot where Aria had vanished, her face ashen, her body trembling. Her spirit, her companion, her friend… gone. So quickly. So brutally. She looked at Lloyd, her eyes wide with a mixture of disbelief, dawning horror, and a profound, almost fearful, respect. This wasn't just hidden strength; this was… terrifying.