Supreme Spouse System.

The Inferno Duel

Silver City's heart burned like a dying animal—ragged, furious, choking on its own death.

Flames tore through everything. Stone walls gave way, timber snapped like bones, and flesh melted without even a scream. Where once there was life, now there was only ruin. One by one, buildings collapsed into themselves. The air that had been thick with screaming moments ago was now clogged with smoke, ash, and silence.

And in the center of it all—in the shattered skeleton of what used to be a market square—six figures clashed under a blood-red sky.

Five of them moved together, smooth and precise. Their black robes twisted in the heat, flickering like broken wings. Hoods shadowed their faces, iron masks veiled them, hiding all but the sharp glint of their eyes—dark, unreadable, unfeeling. The firelight gleamed off their swords. There was a chill around them, too—a bitter cold that clung, like death had wrapped itself around their skin.

They weren't alone.

Leon stood in the wreckage, unmoving.

His shirt, once white, was scorched and half-burned, clinging tight to his chest. The sleeves were torn, exposing raw burns up his shoulder and neck. Soot streaked across his face. His black pants were stained dark with blood. Obsidian hair whipped behind him in the wind, wild and glowing at the edges from the fire around him. His eyes—those gold eyes—cut through the smoke like twin blades. Hard. Furious. Alive.

They circled him like jackals, trying to corner a lion.

"Kill him!" one of them barked.

They didn't wait.

Steel came for him—fast, sharp, unrelenting.

Clang! Chhk! The clash of metal tore through the firelight as Leon's sword met the first attackers. He turned, fluid, deflecting another strike from his side. A third came from below—he dropped into a roll, just barely slipping under the blade. Before he could rise, a fourth came in from behind—fast, vicious.

Leon twisted away, breath tight, just dodging the jab.

Five swords. Five killers. Five perfect angles of death. Every slash, every move, they came as one—precision, coordination, speed. Leon ducked, spun, moved between blades with barely inches to spare. He was caught in the eye of a storm.

These weren't amateurs. Their rhythm was clean, efficient, brutal. He felt it with every impact—four of them were easily his equal in raw power. The fifth? He was stronger.

The weight started to show.

Sweat mixed with soot on Leon's forehead, dripping into the torn collar of his shirt. Every muscle in his body burned. Still, he didn't fall. He didn't waver.

Then he roared.

Power surged off him in a burst—wind exploding from his body, knocking all five of them back. The broken stones around him scattered like dust caught in a hurricane.

"He's faster than we thought," one of them hissed, blocking Leon's next strike at the last second. The impact shuddered through both blades.

Leon didn't stop.

Steel slammed into steel again. Again. Over and over. Every movement in his sword carried the memory of war, of pain, of blood. His stance was firm, practiced. There was no hesitation. No fear. Only fire.

The wind picked up again, swirling around him.

Leon exhaled, low and steady. "Wind Blade."

The air shifted. From the tip of his sword, a narrow arc sliced forward—thin, invisible, lethal. It cut clean through the air, grazing two of the attackers. One cried out, blood spraying from his arm, but none of them faltered.

Their eyes locked on his.

And then, all at once, they struck.

[Fireburst!]

[Stone Javelin!]

[Water Lance!]

[Gale Thrust!]

[Fire Serpent!]

Spells ignited the air—magic slamming toward Leon with perfect timing. Fire shrieked, water slammed, wind screamed down the alleyway. Each spell aimed to kill, no warning, no mercy.

All five moved like one mind—magic overlapping, weaving chaos.

The sky turned red and blue and gold. Lightning crawled across broken rooftops. Water spiraled like drills. Fire exploded in arcs.

"You're strong," one of them muttered through grit teeth, "but you're alone."

Blood trickled from Leon's lip. He didn't even wipe it away. He spat to the side and said, quiet, certain—"Alone is enough."

Then he dropped to one knee and slammed his hand against the earth.

[Earth Wall.]

Stone surged upward with a deep rumble, rising between him and the spells. Fire struck first, burning across the surface. A second later, the water hit—exploding into a cloud of steam. The wall cracked, shattered, and the force of it hurled Leon backward.

He hit the ground hard, rolled once—twice—then twisted back to his feet. A shallow cut marked his cheek, blood running down to his jaw. He didn't flinch. Didn't even touch it.

He just smiled.

"Tch… why the hell is he still standing?!" one of them snapped.

Leon took a breath.

Energy surged in his blood, wild and brutal. His skin thickened. Bones hardened. Every nerve woke up like lightning. The Voidbreaker Martial Art kicked in—flooding every cell with life. Pain vanished. Wounds went numb. The world slowed.

He stepped—and vanished.

A blur behind one of the masked men—Clang! Metal rang out as blades collided. The impact made the ground jump.

The others rushed in. Their feet shattered cobblestones. The alley became a battlefield.

Steel flashed.

Leon moved like a storm—swift, brutal, unrelenting. He spun mid-air, slammed a boot into someone's ribs. The man flew—crashed into a crumbling wall—and didn't rise.

Another attacker came from the side, blade arcing toward Leon's throat. Their swords met once. Twice. Sparks flew.

Leon caught the next strike with a sharp parry—but not the one after.

A blade cut across his side.

He grunted, staggered slightly—but the wound was shallow. His body, hardened through years of war, soaked it like steel. He didn't stop. His sword moved again, sweeping through the firelight with speed and grace.

"Falling Petal Dance," he whispered.

The technique bloomed—fast, chaotic, elegant. An illusion of speed, a storm of motion. One of the masked men couldn't dodge fully. The blade caught him—clean. A deep slice across the shoulder. Blood arced into the air.

"You dare bleed one of us?!" the leader roared, fury boiling out of him.

His aura burst outward, pressing like thunder across the street.

Leon's lips curled at the corner. Pain lined his face, but his eyes were laughing. "I haven't even started."

Then the air changed.

Leon's palm lit up—dark, swirling. A black orb flickered into life, small at first, pulsing with a strange, terrifying gravity. His voice dropped to a whisper, barely audible under the roar of flame.

[Dark Bind.]

The very air warped. The light bent. Shadows thickened like tar.

The orb grew.

It pulled at the street, the rubble, even the air—like a void opening its mouth.

The five hesitated.

Dark tendrils slithered out of the earth—living chains of shadow. One of them coiled up around an attacker's leg and locked tight.

The man's eyes widened behind the iron mask. "D-Dark element?!"

"Impossible…" another gasped. "Dark magic is extinct!"

Leon's eyes narrowed. That golden glow shifted—darker, deeper, colder.

"Too bad for you," he said, voice flat and final. "I possess the dark element."

He raised his blade—one motion—and lunged.

The closest attacker raised his sword in panic—but too slow.

Leon's blade cut through him.

Steel howled. Blood sprayed. The man's mask cracked, and a second later, his head hit the ground—rolling to a stop near the flames. His body followed.

Dead silence.

The other four just stared.

"No… NO!"

"YOU BASTARD!"

"Our comrade is dead!"

"Kill him now!" the leader bellowed, voice shaking with rage.

Their swords lit up—glowing with elemental fury. Fire danced across steel. Water rippled. Stone cracked. Wind spun into knives. The air exploded with power.

Buildings collapsed under the pressure. Magic crushed down from every side. Fire swallowed whole walls. The cobblestones split open.

Leon's spells met theirs—element for element. Fire against wind. Water hissing into steam. Stone against steel. The ground shook with every blow. The street buckled.

A fireblast hit too close—blew apart what was left of a nearby house.

Leon staggered, heat biting at his face. Blood ran from his mouth. His body—cut and scorched—was trembling now. His shirt was gone, burned to nothing. His torso was slick with sweat and ash. The Voidbreaker Art still pulsed in him, barely holding him upright.

"You're not invincible," the leader said, stepping forward.

Leon raised his sword. Eyes steady. "No," he said, quiet. "But neither are you."

He tilted his head, cracked his neck. "Just got a little careless from that last attack…"

The enemy didn't answer.

One of them lunged.

Steel screamed.

Leon moved, met the strike with a blur of metal. Clink! Clang! Their blades crashed again and again—each impact heavier than the last. It wasn't finesse anymore—it was power. Rage. Endurance.

Sparks flew with every hit. The ruins around them trembled.

Neither man stepped back.

Their duel became a storm of motion. Each swing tore through smoke. Each step burned into the ground. Leon pressed forward. But the enemy leader raised his sword—glowing red, vibrating with magic and fury.

"I'll kill you myself!" he roared, slashing down with fire that split the air.

Leon met him head-on.

Their blades struck like thunder. Each clash sent tremors through the ground. Leon was forced back, boots sliding across ash. Another house behind him finally gave in—collapsing into fire and rubble.

Then came a brutal hit.

It caught Leon in the ribs—threw him into a burning wall. He raised his blade, barely caught the next strike, but the impact ran through his bones like a bell being rung.

Fire crawled up his chest. Fabric burned away. Heat ripped into his skin.

He didn't scream.

Instead, he gritted his teeth and slammed his palm to his chest.

[Water Veil.]

A surge of water burst across his body. Steam exploded around him. The flames died instantly.

When the smoke cleared, Leon stood—shirtless now, bare from the waist up. His black trousers were torn, ash-stained. His chest was covered in shallow cuts and bruises, muscles tight and trembling, skin gleaming with sweat in the firelight.

His breath came slow and hard.

All around him, the city still burned.

Then—without warning—another attacker broke from the group.

Blade screaming through the air. Aimed straight for Leon's throat.

Leon turned.

Too slow.

His stance wasn't set. His body was still recovering. His sword wasn't up.

The strike closed in.

Clink!

A second blade intercepted it.

Time stopped.

Steel locked in midair. Sparks flew. The attacker's eyes widened. Leon blinked.

Someone stood beside him now—sword drawn.

A familiar figure.

A familiar calm.

"Sorry I'm late," the voice said—cool, level, like a ripple in still water.

The attacker stumbled back, stunned. "You—?!"

Leon didn't move.

His eyes slid sideways—quiet. But something lit up in them. Deep. Fierce.

He breathed one word. Soft. Almost disbelieving.

"…You're here just in time."