Chapter Seventy: Tears Streaked by Starlight

This chapter is nearly four thousand words as well—everyone, please show your support by adding it to your favorites or casting a recommendation vote…

“A cauldron?” Malkavi’s heart tightened abruptly at the word. Of course he knew that the “Goddess” had tasked the Smith family with seeking out a small cauldron. If not for the presence of that cauldron, how could the entire vampire clan have achieved such a leap in power?

Now, seeing that Percival was here to demand the cauldron, and seemed determined to have it, did that not mean there was a cauldron hidden within his own estate? Excitement welled up in him. He thought, if he could find the cauldron and present it to the “Goddess,” wouldn’t he earn even greater favor in her eyes?

Just as Malkavi resolved to first send the Knights of the Round Table away and then thoroughly search his manor, a languid voice sounded behind him.

“Well, if it isn’t the great Knights of the Round Table? It seems fate truly brings us together again!” With a smile, Iceflame walked up to the group, turning deliberately to glance at Gaheris, Bedivere, and Geraint, his words heavy with implication.

Percival immediately felt a surge of anger. He believed Iceflame was deliberately humiliating the Knights of the Round Table. After all, the three knights had been utterly defeated by him the night before, unable to resist in the slightest. To bring this up now was nothing short of purposefully shaming them.

But Iceflame cared little for such concerns. With a casual wave of his hand, a rift appeared in the air, from which he drew a small, golden cauldron. “Is this what you seek?” he asked.

Percival, the other knights, and even Malkavi and the vampires were momentarily stunned. What kind of technique was this? With a mere gesture, he had split open space, using the rift to store objects. Wasn’t this an ability reserved for the gods themselves?

Their reactions, however, were sharply divided. The vampires, after their initial shock, grew excited—even reverent. The knights, on the other hand, regarded Iceflame as a formidable enemy; his simple display unsettled them, robbing them of some of their confidence.

“Great one, please entrust this holy artifact to us, the Knights of the Round Table. By the God of Light above, He will surely be pleased by your choice.” A middle-aged man standing beside Percival spoke, holding a chalice in his hands. He was Bors, one of the three knights acknowledged by the Holy Grail among the twelve.

Iceflame remained unmoved, even sneering faintly. Bors, one of the leading knights, felt his dignity wounded and was about to protest when Iceflame spoke: “I do not believe in the God of Light. Tell me, if a god on par with Jehovah—no, even higher—would concern himself with Jehovah’s happiness or displeasure?”

What he said was true. He was indeed more powerful than Jehovah, whose strength was likely only at the level of an Immortal Lord, while Iceflame himself had already reached the early stages of Immortal Emperor. The gulf between them was vast.

But only the vampires took his words to heart. To the knights, what Iceflame said was outrageous, even blasphemous. Such arrogance was nothing less than sacrilege against their faith.

Perhaps those like Percival, Bors, and Gaheris, being seasoned warriors, would restrain themselves out of caution for Iceflame’s power. But the other knights, proud and headstrong, were instantly enraged by his words.

“Ignorant heretic! How dare you blaspheme the God of Light before his faithful servants? I, Gawain, Knight of the Round Table, challenge you!” Gawain declared.

Percival seethed inwardly, cursing: Damn it, Gawain, you fool! Can’t you see the situation? We are clearly outmatched—can’t you endure for a moment? Do you really believe the Knights of the Round Table are unmatched? That may be true before the weak, but in front of one so powerful, you’re just seeking humiliation.

Gaheris was more direct, covering his face with his hand. Of all of them, he best understood Iceflame’s strength. The memory of that overwhelming force still left him trembling.

Malkavi, though angry, kept it to himself and settled in to watch the show.

“You challenge me?” Iceflame responded indifferently. “Are you even worthy? Come back when you’ve reached Jehovah’s level.”

“You—” Gawain’s face flushed red, as if about to retort or curse him. But before he could get a word out, Iceflame flicked his hand, sending a blast of force forward.

A transparent fist, only about the size of a human head, but immensely powerful and blindingly fast—before anyone could react, it struck Gawain squarely.

“Boom!” The sound was muted, a dull thud… Gawain’s body jerked to the side, flung several meters away, where he lay motionless for a long while.

Blowing lightly on his fist, Iceflame said coldly, “With strength like that, you dare make a fool of yourself?”

His words were merciless, a sharp blow to the knights’ pride. But Iceflame had changed since that dream; he was no longer indirect or feigning innocence, but had become direct, ruthless, and more true to himself.

To friends, he was as warm as spring; to enemies, as merciless as the autumn wind sweeping away fallen leaves, as cruel as winter’s chill.

The knights were incensed—Iceflame’s actions were a direct affront. For their own dignity and that of the Round Table, they could not let this go.

Swords and spears were drawn in a flash, the knights standing at the ready, as if facing a mortal enemy.

“If that is your wish, then I will oblige.” Motioning for the vampires to fall back, Iceflame stepped onto the cleared ground, summoned his violet sword, and stood, exuding the bearing of a true master. “Come,” he said softly.

Perhaps it was his contempt that spurred them on, for the knights’ fighting spirit blazed to life. Three in front, nine behind, they formed a wedge formation.

“God said: Darkness shrouds the world, but the flame of light burns hot and shall shatter its shackles and extinguish it. God granted me the Grail, and with it, the power of the Grail—the Flame of the Grail!” Led by Percival, the three Grail bearers chanted softly, and three beams of golden light, each of varying intensity but the same hue, shone forth from their Grails.

The dazzling light made the surrounding vampires shrink back, for the power of the Grail, after all, was especially potent against those of the night. All things have their counter, and perhaps the Grail was made to suppress the vampire race.

Percival, Bors, and Gaheris shouted in unison, and the Grail’s radiance grew suddenly stronger, its reach vastly expanding. Unlike the night before, when Gaheris had acted alone, now the three combined their efforts—their power was not merely additive, but multiplied many times over. Their tight formation, too, formed a special array, further enhancing the effect.

With Percival and Bors’s Grails as the axis, the plane formed by the three began to rotate, sending rays of light shooting outward. The beams arced away, then curved back, weaving strange, indescribable patterns. The lingering afterimages formed exquisite shapes, like the fleeting silhouettes of wild geese, interlacing and connecting to resemble an enormous, intricate structure.

At last, the light settled, and the onlookers realized in awe that a massive, complex magic circle had appeared before them.

A fleeting trace of surprise flashed across Iceflame’s face—brief, but real. The three knights’ technique had caught his interest. This magic array was more than just an instrument of battle; it was a work of art.

But how powerful was it? Battles were not won by the beauty of one’s moves, but by true strength. This array, however, had a fatal flaw: the time it took to cast. To a real expert, it would be simple to destroy it before it was ever completed.

Yet Iceflame did not take advantage of this vulnerability. He chose to wait, curious to see the true might of this splendid magic formation.

A flash of white light, sharp and dazzling, caught his eye. He turned to see that the remaining knights had not been idle. The nine of them stood in precise formation along the flanks, sealing off every possible avenue of attack.

Their faces were filled with compassion and righteous determination; their discipline and positioning spoke of long practice. Yet… Iceflame shook his head. This was a doomed contest—they would not win, not even a glimmer of hope.

With a flip of his hand, a powerful aura surged forth and swept toward the knights on either side. With a low cry, Iceflame unleashed an overwhelming, irresistible pressure upon them. The knights struggled to withstand it, but before Iceflame’s might, they seemed so small.

Defeat came like a landslide. Though the knights possessed some measure of strength, their abilities varied greatly, and such a formation was bound to have weak points. In the face of Iceflame’s power, one soon faltered. A mighty dam collapses from a single ant’s nest!

The knights’ twin defensive wings were instantly scattered. Next, the trio channeling the Grail’s power bore the brunt of the assault.

Fortunately, their combined Grail Flame was just ready to be unleashed. As it was about to burst forth, Iceflame spun, a fierce whirlwind erupting, striking with thunderous force. The faces of Percival and his companions turned deathly pale, as white as paper.

With his sword poised, Iceflame regarded them coldly. “You cannot defeat me. To covet the cauldron in my hand is sheer folly! If you stand down now, perhaps I will let bygones be bygones, as if none of this ever happened.”

At his words, Percival sighed, Gaheris seethed, and Bors fell silent…

After a long pause, Percival lifted his head, sneering, “We Knights of the Round Table believe in loyalty, courage, and honor. We may have our flaws, but none of us are cowards.”

His meaning was clear—the knights would not back down, and Iceflame had no intention of surrendering the Divine Dragon Cauldron of the Nine Provinces.

Conflict was inevitable. Iceflame regarded them solemnly. “Very well, let us prove ourselves in battle.”

As he spoke, his focus sharpened, and a torrent of explosive, violent energy surged from within him…

Percival and the others exchanged glances, as if resigned to their fate, and shouted in unison, “O Lord, your servants stand before you, earnestly praying for the radiance of glory. The Lord is with us! Grail Flame—Holy Cross Slash!”

Once more, the Grail Flame was summoned—now in the shape of a burning cross, a searing blaze that seemed ready to consume all impurity, roaring toward Iceflame.

Iceflame watched, his spiritual sense stretching out, unafraid. With a flourish, he let the violet sword hover in the air, freeing his hands to trace an arc in the void.

He chanted, “Fire as the point, flame as the surface, blaze manifests the ultimate mystery, scatters to dust, and gathers all chaos!”

Brilliant fire—its primal essence—dripped from his fingertips, forming beautiful streams in the air, like cold tears of flame, leaving glowing, scorching trails of pure energy…