Lucian, using the precision of Shadow Steps, appeared before Gideon Silversword in an instant. His original goal had been to eliminate Caius Voltaris, the Thunder Sovereign, but circumstances had shifted—forcing him to alter his plan slightly.
Gideon's eyes widened in shock. "I cannot sense Caius's presence."
Lucian, his expression calm and unbothered, replied, "Don't worry. You'll hear his voice soon enough… in the afterlife."
Gideon's gaze sharpened. "To slay a National Hunter and even dare to threaten another… You certainly have nerve, future Dark Emperor."
Lucian smirked. "What else would you expect? The blood of the Blackthorne runs through my veins."
Without hesitation, Gideon commanded his hunters, "Formation! Celestial Convergence!"
The moment his words fell, the four S-rank hunters of The Celestial Swords moved in perfect sync, activating their guild's ultimate formation. Gideon unleashed Celestial Blade, while his subordinates combined their techniques in harmony. A radiant wave of celestial energy erupted, sweeping across the battlefield, purifying the surroundings and empowering their bodies with divine clarity.
Lucian's eyes remained indifferent as he evaded the devastating slash aimed at him. In response, he activated Dissonant Abyss, a seventh-class array that defied the fundamental logic of the world itself. A dark void spread across the battlefield, warping reality, slowing the movements of his enemies, and draining their power. While Gideon managed to resist its effects to some extent, the S-rank hunters suffered immensely.
Wasting no time, Lucian invoked the Fifth Form – Eclipse of Desolation. His sword cleaved through the approaching hunters, crushing two of them in a single, merciless strike. The air trembled with their last, fading screams.
Gideon's fury erupted. "You bastard!" He unleashed Heaven's Descent, a strike that carried the force of the heavens themselves.
Lucian's form blurred as he dodged the attack, seamlessly shifting into Sixth Form – Phantom's Requiem, vanishing into the shadows. He reappeared in an instant, merging Seventh Form – Nocturne's Ascendancy in a devastating combination. The remaining S-rank hunters barely had time to react before their bodies were cleaved apart, leaving only the Sword Saint standing.
Gideon gritted his teeth. "You think you can face me alone?"
Summoning every ounce of his remaining power, he conjured ten additional swords from pure mana, activating his ultimate technique: Resonance of the Celestial Blades. The air shimmered as eleven swords floated around him, each radiating divine energy.
Lucian's expression remained composed. With a single step forward, he activated Eighth Form – Shadow's Wrath. His blade moved with terrifying speed, shattering Gideon's conjured swords one by one, the celestial constructs dissolving into nothingness.
Gideon gasped, his strength faltering. He desperately attempted to form another blade, but his exhaustion was evident. The sheer exertion of using Resonance of the Celestial Blades had drained him completely.
Lucian's voice was low but final. "You fought well, Sword Saint. But in the end, this is the fate of those who stand in my way."
With a single, decisive strike, Lucian's blade severed Gideon's head from his body. The once-great Sword Saint collapsed, lifeless.
Lucian exhaled, standing victorious. Though uninjured, his muscles stiffened painfully. The strain of using Dissonant Abyss had limited his ability to wield techniques above the fifth form. Recognizing this, he silently turned and vanished into the night, retreating deep into the forest—back to the ruins of Blackthorne Mansion. There, he would refine his knowledge of ancient arrays, further unlocking the lost power of his lineage.
Meanwhile, in Caius Voltaris's now-deserted mansion, Ignatius Emberlord, the Inferno Monarch, stood beside the corpse of Gideon. His gaze lingered on the lifeless body, his mind racing.
Alaric Spellbinder, the Arcane Sovereign, stepped forward, voice laced with certainty. "There's no need to think too hard about this. It's the Blackthorne brat. Only their bloodline could take down a National Hunter in a direct fight."
Leonidas Wildborne, the Beast Monarch, clenched his fists. "Then what do we do? Out of seven National Hunters, three are already dead."
Alaric smirked. "Simple. You should disappear from the public eye. Announce that you're going into training and wait for the brat to come find you."
Leonidas frowned. "And why, exactly, should I do that?"
Alaric's eyes gleamed with cunning. "Because he will come for you next. We can't track him, so the best way to catch him is to make him come to us."
Ignatius furrowed his brows. "Are you certain he'll go after Leonidas?"
Alaric nodded. "If his goal is to wipe out all seven of us, then yes—Leonidas is next on his list."
Leonidas exhaled sharply. "Then should we inform Aldric Voss?"
Alaric waved him off. "No. If we let Aldric in on this, he'll demand his share of the spoils after we kill the brat. And I, for one, want everything the Blackthorne family has hoarded over the centuries."
Ignatius smirked. "You have a point. The Blackthorne family received countless priceless artifacts from the Hunter Association in exchange for completing high-level raids."
Marcus Ironfist, the Martial Saint, finally spoke. "That's true. If we claim their treasures, it would be fitting. The Blackthornes trace their lineage back ten thousand years. Had it not been for that gate, they would still be untouchable."
Ignatius's expression darkened. "That cursed gate… it slaughtered half of the Blackthorne clan and many National Hunters. Only Maximilian survived."
Alaric's voice was cold. "Don't remind me of that damned past. That raid was a nightmare."
Twenty years ago, an SS-rank gate had opened in the heart of the continent. Unlike any previous gate, it held no demons or monsters—only dragons.
A single entity ruled over them: The Dragon King. A being so powerful that, had Azrael Blackthorne the Grandfather of Lican not sacrificed his life to slay it, the world itself might have been annihilated.
In that battle, countless Blackthorne elites perished, and five National Hunters were lost. What was once the mighty Blackthorne Clan was reduced to nothing more than the Blackthorne Family—a shadow of its former glory.
For the Hunter Association, however, it had been a blessing. The Blackthorne's downfall allowed them to seize power, tightening their grip over the hunter world.
In the end, before Maximilian could rebuild what was lost, they ensured his demise.
Now, the last Blackthorne had returned. And he was hunting them down one by one.