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Chapter 397: Duel at the End of the World
🕑 Added 2025-11-06 17:46:25 +0000 UTCThe throne room was a ruin. The once grand walls were split open by deep fractures, and the ceiling had collapsed in several places, letting snow fall in slow, constant sheets. The cold inside was merciless. Luke felt as though he’d been plunged into a frozen lake; every breath burned, scraping his lungs raw. Snow had piled in corners and swallowed the shattered stone. Fallen pillars lay like broken bones. The place had been a fortress once. Now it was dying.
Only a handful of blue torches still burned, their flames flickering weakly, as if even fire was losing hope. Soon they would go out. The cursed winter was reclaiming everything, steady and absolute. And when the cold finished devouring this place, nothing living would remain.
Only Luke and Allison stood there in that fading fragment of a world. Seven minutes. That was all that was left.
Allison stood in front of him, katana in hand. The blade glowed with a deep violet heat, glowing cracks along its edge like embers under glass. The steam rising off it curled into the frigid air like something alive. Her stance was steady, exact, eyes locked onto him without wavering.
Luke held only a small throwing knife. One he had formed from the last scraps of his mana.
[Mana Points (MP): 21/5100]
He glanced at her sword, then back at his meager weapon. A tired half-smile tugged at his mouth.
“This is a little unfair.”
He reached down to his leg holster and drew another throwing knife, light and plain.
[Mana Points (MP): 16/5100]
Two small knives. Against a katana forged from a Lord’s power.
“So you knew what I intended,” Allison said. Her voice was calm, but there was something beneath it—heavy, restrained, waiting. Her eyes were sharper than her weapon.
“Yes.”
They began circling each other, slow, watchful. A silent dance. A duel that hadn’t truly started yet. The portal pulsed behind Luke, unstable and breathing like a wound in reality. Being forced into it now would end everything.
“When?” she asked. “When did you realize I wasn’t planning to go back to Earth?”
“Does it matter?” he countered.
Allison stepped forward. Luke stepped back. Luke shifted in, Allison retreated. No waste. No openings. It was like watching two thoughts move.
“It matters to me,” she said, after a heartbeat. “Was it when I volunteered to be the Midnight King’s host?”
Luke checked the time.
[Estimated Time Until End: 07 minutes 02 seconds]
That was how long he had to drag Allison Rhiannon through that portal.
“You gave up on going back long before that,” he said.
A thunderous crack tore through the room. Part of the ceiling collapsed. Both of them moved instantly, rolling back, taking cover behind opposite pillars. Snow and dust filled the air in a choking cloud. The castle was falling apart, piece by piece. The cold wasn’t the only thing killing it. Something fundamental was unraveling. And Luke couldn’t afford to think about that. Not now. He only had one task left. One fight. One person he refused to lose. Even if she wanted to be lost.
“I noticed the signs,” he said. “A long time ago. It was just… hard to make sense of it. Someone trying so desperately to leave, but clinging just as hard. It didn’t add up.”
Allison’s footsteps were the first sound to break the silence. Light against the snow. Her voice echoed through the cold chamber.
“I needed to prove to myself that I could walk away from this place.”
She emerged from behind a pillar, and Luke understood everything a fraction of a second before it happened. He dashed aside. A compact sphere of snow tore through the air and exploded against the stone where he’d stood, scattering shards of ice.
“I could die to something like that! My HP’s low!” he snapped, catching himself against another column.
“Your gear would absorb most of the damage.” Her voice was steady, but there was an edge beneath it. “And if you know you could die, then stop wasting time and go through the damn portal, Luke.”
She moved before he could respond. She’d used double jump without touching the snow—no sound, no warning. The katana came down in a sweeping arc. Luke threw his arm up on instinct and stumbled backward.
She tricked me.
The realization came too late. He fell into the snow, and she was already coming in again. He reacted purely on instinct: he flung one knife, and with his other hand scooped a handful of snow and hurled it into her face. Allison’s eyes shut, just for a second. It was enough. He lunged, and they both hit the ground, rolling through the white.
Allison’s kick landed hard. Pain shot through his ribs. His second knife left his hand, thrown blind toward her face. She sliced it out of the air with her katana—metal rang sharp—and he was already moving forward again, using that instant of distraction.
“Stop being an idiot!” he snarled as they grappled in the snow, arms locked, breaths ragged.
Allison raised her hand.
A burst of frost detonated between them. A wave of cold slammed through him like he’d been thrown into frozen water. His muscles responded late, sluggish.
“I held back,” she said, already on her feet. “But I don’t mind using more if that’s what it takes to stop you.”
Luke staggered, chest burning, hands shaking. He reached for his sheath.
Two knives left.
[Mana Points (MP): 6/5100]
“All this time, I was trying to understand why,” Luke said, voice low. “It’s your family.”
Allison didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away. Not even for a heartbeat.
“The moment I step through that portal, I’ll be back in their house,” she said. “There is nothing waiting for me on Earth. Nothing. I’d rather die here a hundred times over than go back.”
“You don’t know,” he said, still retreating. “Erza said there’s a chance the portal leads somewhere else.”
“You want me to gamble on that tiny possibility?” Her voice cracked the air. “I’m staying, Luke. So stop being stupid. Go through. Go home. And let me die here.”
Luke grit his teeth. The knives trembled—not from the cold.
“No. You’re the stupid one. The dumbest damn person I’ve ever met. You hate your family? Fine. Leave. You’re eighteen. Just… go. Live.”
Allison charged. Luke met her head-on. Steel collided. Small blades against the long edge of a katana. Heat against cold. Two heartbeats clashing. The steam rising from her blade nearly brushed his cheek, burning the air between them.
“You don’t understand,” she said, each word hitting with the same force as her strikes.
He stepped back, deflected, shifted forward again.
“They would find me.”
They broke apart for a breath, then clashed again, steel and breath and cold.
“Then just don’t go home, you idiot!” he shouted, voice ragged in the freezing air.
“I am a Rhiannon.” Her double step came fast. The kick slammed into his chest like a hammer. Luke flew back into a cracked pillar. The impact knocked the breath out of him.
He forced himself upright, even as his ribs screamed.
“So what?” he rasped, spitting snow. “What the hell does your last name have to do with anything?”
Allison didn’t hesitate.
“I don’t get to run, Luke. I’m worth too much. I don’t get to disappear. If I try, they drag me back. If I return, they lock me away until I die. That’s the end of the story for me.”
Luke felt something tighten low in his chest—not from the hit.
Snow cracked under their steps. Allison moved first, Luke met her at the exact second, blocking her katana with one of his knives. The clash was uneven—her blade carried weight and heat and history; his knives were quick, but too light, too breakable. Even so, he moved like he had trained beside her for years.
Steam flared between their faces where cold air met burning steel.
“You don’t know,” he said, pushing back with everything he had. “Erza said there’s a chance we—”
“I heard,” she cut him off, pressing harder. “And I’m not gambling my life on a chance.”
Luke disengaged. Allison followed instantly, no pause, no breath wasted. He darted sideways, kicked snow into her face, and rolled left. She pivoted, her body turning in one smooth arc. He blocked again—and the heat of her blade skimmed so close the hair on his arm curled.
Their breath came loud, harsh, filling the cavernous silence of the dying throne room.
“You don’t understand,” she repeated. “They will always find me.”
“So run,” he shot back. “Break a door. Jump a fence. Take a bus. Fake a passport. Change your name—”
“You say it like it’s easy,” she snapped, frustration cracking through her voice.
She pushed in again. Luke parried, but his arm was starting to feel heavy. His muscles trembled—not just from exertion, but from the cold digging into him like claws.
“I am a Rhiannon,” she said again, louder this time.
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