The Lich of Glory Knight Spirit: Moving towards Krimasha!

"'How much is 'not a lot'?"

"Two million gold coins."

"Have there been any results? For example, establishing stable relations with any family or developing a new business?"

"Sorry, I... I didn't pay much attention."

"Alright, I understand. Leave now. Find out the situation as soon as possible, bring him back. Bring back the people he took with him as well."

"Yes."

...

Behind him, Adelle was growing frantic and shouted, "Jones! You don't need to accept his terms! If we all charge at once, we still stand a chance! Even if we don't, we can at least run away! I'll gather more troops another day! Believe me, I have reinforcements!"

Jones trembled slightly and raised his left hand to stop Adelle, who was about to continue speaking. He softly said, "No, I want to fight him now."

"You want... to fight him?" Adelle's eyes widened.

Count Dracula let out a slow laugh, "You want to fight me? Do you honestly think you can win?"

"Yes, I think I can win."

"What gives you such confidence? Under these circumstances, you still think you can defeat me?" Before Jones could reply, the enraged Count Dracula had already gripped his sword and charged forward. This time, he attacked, and Jones defended.

"Crash!" Jones firmly parried Count Dracula's sword.

"Today! I will show you that no matter how old you grow, I am still your father!" Count Dracula gritted his teeth, pressing forward step by step.

"Today! I will let you taste the skills I've learned outside!" Jones, gritting his teeth and trembling slightly, retreated under Count Dracula's relentless pressure, yet remained defiant, his eyes glaring wider than ever before.

Count Dracula swung his sword backwards for another strike. Jones blocked it again, but due to the lack of strength, he was sent flying five meters away.

With his left foot firmly planted on the ground, Jones hardly paused before launching himself back into the fray, thrusting his sword at Count Dracula. The father and son engaged in a fierce back-and-forth exchange.

The onlookers were dumbfounded.

They were father and son, yet their fighting style bore no trace of familial bonds. Count Dracula was furious to the extreme, every strike was executed with full force, showing no intention of holding back. Jones, although clearly exhausted, was visibly giving everything he had to defend and counterattack.

Growls and roars echoed through the mountain valley, mingling with the shrill clang of swords repeatedly clashing against each other under the midnight sky.

The unconscious Silver Hammer had awakened, looking around dazedly.

Duke Clement watched silently, his expression calm.

The wine barrel had its mouth wide open, while Adelle clenched his fists tightly.

This was a war between father and son; the others could only watch, unable to intervene.

In the vast expanse of history, Giant Snake City might experience countless wars, but this was undoubtedly the first and most significant—a battle that marked the true birth of Giant Snake City.

Many years later, when the name of the Hydra Knight was celebrated across the land, and Giant Snake City became one of the most prosperous and influential city-states in the Keltos Continent, the early residents of Giant Snake City—the dwarves—would still vividly remember this battle, unrecorded in the annals of the city's history.

This was the war between the mighty Hydra Knight, Blood Clan elder Jones Dracula, and his own father.

"Crash!" Jones was sent flying once more. His feet dragged two deep grooves in the dusty ground as he landed.

Count Dracula's face was flushed, his breath heavy and labored.

Jones was at the brink of exhaustion, his body swaying as though it could collapse at any moment. Yet he remained standing, his right-hand grip ripped open, dripping with blood. Silently, he switched the sword to his left hand.

Both swords—Jones's and Count Dracula's—were now scarred and jagged along the blade edges.

...

In the distance, unnoticed by anyone, a swarm of bats appeared in the sky.

"There! Oh my god, are those Deacon Council members? What's going on here? Has the young master lost his mind? Is he fighting with the Deacon Council members?"

"I knew this would be trouble, I just didn't expect it to be this bad. The master will be furious—not just him, the head of the family will rage as well. It wouldn't be surprising if the young master loses his family name altogether."

"What should we do?"

"Let's move closer and assess the situation..."

Silently, the swarm of bats lowered their altitude and disappeared into the pitch-black forest.

...

Wiping the blood from the corner of his mouth where Jones had kicked him, Count Dracula glared fiercely at his son, panting heavily, "You cannot beat me."

"You're wrong; I can defeat you." Jones, his face weary, softly told his father, "The reason I haven't done so yet is merely to confirm whether I could beat you with just this sword. Now, I'm certain—if we were both at full strength, I would win."

The wind blew gently, lifting the tattered cape on Jones's shoulders and the long, disheveled silver hair of Count Dracula—a mark they both shared.

"Heh… heh heh..." Count Dracula laughed, "Without using the sword, how do you intend to win?"

"Didn't you once ask me how I defeated Bailey?"

"Hmm?"

"Today, I'll show you." Jones pulled out the bone ring and placed it onto his sword-gripping left hand, "This technique was originally meant for Duke Clement, but he never gave me the chance to use it."

Upon hearing this, Duke Clement, who had been standing afar, slightly furrowed his brows.

"Oh? Heh heh heh, then come! Let me see how remarkable my son truly is!"

"Jones! Crush him!" Adelle shouted loudly.

In the forest, the lurking Blood Clan members widened their eyes silently.

The Deacon Council agents continued watching in quiet observation.

Jones lowered his body slightly, then dashed forward in an instant, charging directly at his father.

"Holy Light Technique!" The bone ring in his hand suddenly emitted a soft glow.

In the next moment, a ray of holy light descended from the pitch-black night sky, enveloping Count Dracula entirely. White smoke began to surge forth.

"What is this?!" Roaring in agony, Count Dracula bellowed loudly.

The dwarves present didn't fully understand, but every Blood Clan member stood frozen in shock—including Adelle, Duke Clement, the Deacon Council agents, Adelle's Blood Clan subordinates, and even the Blood Clan agents sent by Adelle's father to capture him.

"Crash!" Burned by the holy light, Count Dracula managed to block Jones's attack with his sword.

"Divine Bind!" Another shout rang out.

Huge glowing rings appeared around Count Dracula and swiftly closed in on him, binding him tightly.

As the rings made contact, his skin ignited and burned directly.

"Aah——!" Howling in panic, Count Dracula's face turned contorted. His sword had fallen to the ground, and he staggered before completely collapsing.

Before he could react, "Crash!" With a clear ring, Jones stomped on Count Dracula's chest, his blade plunging deep into the ground next to his father's cheek.

Duke Clement's eyes widened like never before.

Everything was seamless—the very same tactics he had once used against Bailey during the dance hall confrontation.

The world fell silent, returning to the tranquility of the night.

The wind lightly swept up the dust.

The holy light and divine bindings dissipated entirely. In the center of the battlefield, Jones stood with one foot pressed against Count Dracula's chest, his hands gripping the sword embedded in the ground, the blade brushing against his father's face.

So close, father and son stared quietly into each other's eyes.

Count Dracula shivered slightly, his eyes wide with shock and fear. Beads of sweat rolled down his forehead.

Holding the sword, Jones gazed at him calmly—with a trace of exhaustion in his eyes.

"This is how I defeated Bailey. Many people must have warned you that I could master holy techniques, but you never believed it. Of course, your son, the weak Jones, couldn't possibly know any holy magic, right? But a child grows up eventually, and they learn the courage to resist, to no longer remain merely a shadow of their parent." Jones gently released the sword hilt.

The sword trembled slightly in the wind.

Jones slowly stood up and softly said to his father lying on the ground, "Next time, I promise, my sword will not miss its target."