Ancestral Lineage

Chapter 133 Christel versus Ethan. A Pre-battle For The Future

Bright red hair, crimson eyes, extremely pale skin, and an imposing height that made him tower over most people—these details struck Christel like a hammer as her gaze locked onto the figure standing before her. The man was exactly as she had heard in the stories and seen in pictures. There was an undeniable charm about him, a raw charisma that radiated confidence and power. His carefree expression, almost like he was taking a leisurely stroll in the park, did little to hide the undeniable danger lurking beneath.

Christel faltered for a moment, her steps hesitating. He was, without a doubt, too handsome for her liking. His features were so striking that she found herself momentarily questioning whether she could even swing her sword at him.

There he was—the so-called rightful heir and son of Princess Madeleine, the infamous royal who had run away from their clan under circumstances cloaked in mystery. Ethan Smith stood before her, clad in nothing more than his academy tracksuit. No armor. No weapons. No spirit beast to guard him. Just him and his fiery presence that seemed to command the very air around him.

"Ethan Smith," she said, her voice breaking the silence.

At the sound of his name, Ethan raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth quirking in mild amusement. "Huh? Do I know you from somewhere?" he asked casually. His voice carried an effortless confidence, as if he wasn't addressing someone who had clearly come to confront him.

Christel stiffened. Something about the way he looked at her—like she was nothing more than a curiosity to him—made her blood boil. His crimson eyes roamed her form, noting the familiar features: red hair, green eyes, red horns, and her dark, sun-kissed skin.

Recognition dawned on his face. "Oh," he said with a mocking grin, "you're part of them, huh?"

Her grip on her broadsword tightened. "Don't you dare sully my clan, outcast," she spat. Her initial hesitation was gone, replaced by a burning rage. She took everything back—every thought of him being handsome or charming. To her, he was nothing but ugly and evil, the kind of person you kill on sight without hesitation.

Ethan's grin widened. "I don't remember ever being part of that clan to begin with. Do you?"

"That's the whole reason why you're an outcast," Christel shot back, her voice laced with venom. "An outcast has no place in the clan."

"Yeah, yeah," Ethan said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Blah, blah, blah. Like I'd ever beg to be part of that shithole you call a clan."

Christel's eyes narrowed. "The same shithole your mother was born in," she said, her tone mocking.

Ethan's expression froze for a fraction of a second before his smirk returned. "And she was wise enough to escape from it."

The tension between them was palpable, the air charged with unspoken challenges. Christel's team, who had been standing as silent spectators, exchanged uneasy glances. They had heard the tales of Ethan Smith, the rising star of AMA, but seeing him in person was a completely different experience. His mere presence was suffocating, exuding an aura that demanded both attention and caution.

Despite Christel's height—taller than most of Blackstone Academy's third-years—she looked almost like a teenager next to him.

"Bastard!" she snapped, her anger reaching a boiling point.

"I want to kill my father too," Ethan replied nonchalantly, his tone almost bored.

"Son of a bitch!"

"I'd prefer if you didn't really mean what you just said," Ethan said, his crimson eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

"What if I do mean it?"

"Christel!" Lysa shouted, her voice tinged with panic as she and the rest of the team rushed to her aid.

Ethan's eyes flicked toward them, his expression bored. "Stay out of this," he warned.

They didn't listen. Mikhail unleashed a gust of wind aimed at Ethan's legs, while Ren charged at him with his axe raised high. Lysa flanked him, her daggers flashing in the dim light.

Ethan sighed. "Fine."

With a single motion, he dodged Mikhail's attack and closed the distance to Ren. Grabbing the axe mid-swing, he yanked it from Ren's grasp and delivered a crushing backhand that sent the larger man sprawling.

Lysa came at him next, her daggers aiming for his neck. Ethan caught her wrists with ease, twisting her arms until she dropped the blades with a cry of pain. He flung her aside like a ragdoll, her body slamming into a tree.

Mikhail hesitated, his wind magic faltering as he watched his teammates fall. Ethan's crimson eyes locked onto him, and with a single step, he was in front of the wind mage. A devastating punch to the stomach sent Mikhail crumpling to the ground, gasping for air.

"You should've stayed out of it," Ethan said coldly, turning back to Christel.

She was already on her feet, her armor scorched and dented, her breath labored but her resolve unbroken. Fire surged around her once more, the heat distorting the air.

"This isn't over," she growled, gripping her sword tightly.

Ethan's expression softened into a smirk. "Good. I was worried you'd give up too easily."

The grove seemed to hold its breath as the two advanced fighters squared off again, the air between them charged with energy. Christel lunged first, her sword blazing with fiery power, while Ethan moved to meet her with nothing but his bare fists.

He was really angry now and Christel was the cause of it.

Firstly, he was teleported to a place faraway from his team, then his device's signal was jammed and now some arrogant lady dares to drag his mother's sweet name in the mud.

Unacceptable!

He could accept the first two although he was angry but touching his mother was one of his reverse scales and he wouldn't forgive anyone who does that, especially not one from that shitty Smith clan.

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They'd already shamed his mother once but a twice would never be accepted. Not now, not ever! He'd rather die than allow that to happen.

He will show that idiot lady the consequences of insulting his mother.

The battle wasn't over—it had only just begun.