Chapter 822: The Wrong Approach

For the next two months, Ronan endures relentless training under Henwell.

Priceless extraordinary potions and all manner of extraordinary materials are poured into the boy as though they cost nothing.

Pain from the training and the torment of his hatred hammer Ronan's will again and again, tempering it like steel.

Everyone marvels at his perseverance. Ronan knows that another moment has come to decide his fate, and he refuses to waste the slightest opportunity.

Winter arrives beneath heavy snow. At the Arcane Academy, a ritual spell formation has been adjusted again and again until it reaches peak condition.

Ronan is scheduled to undergo the Soul-Devouring Ritual the next day.

That night, Henwell sits down with Ronan.

"Akta's squad will arrive later. You can talk with them for a while, but you need to rest early."

Ronan takes out a diary. "My lord, this contains everything about my family."

"If I die, please bury it with me. I will need these memories to find my family in the underworld."

Henwell takes the diary and glances at the crooked, childish handwriting inside. With a sigh, he puts it away in his desk.

Afterward, Ronan says goodbye to every member of the Lord Iron Guards he knows.

As Ronan turns to leave the study, Anzo of the Lord Iron Guards sighs. "To face death so bravely at his age is truly remarkable."

Dalton nods. "Indeed. A man prepared to die will always find life in a desperate situation."

Henwell suddenly goes still, his brow knitting.

A moment later, he says, "Send someone to notify the Arcane Academy immediately. Tell Gallagher and the others to get ready."

"Bring Ronan back. Tell him the ritual begins tonight. Give him any excuse you like, but it must begin at once."

Dalton and the others stare at him. "Why, my lord? If we rush it like this, won't the ritual be much less secure?"

Henwell sighs. "This is bad. I approached it the wrong way. Ronan's state of mind is wrong for this. A battle between souls is nothing like a duel on a real battlefield."

"It comes down to will. Preparation alone cannot win it for him."

"Ronan has already put every concern behind him and arranged all his final affairs."

"A willingness to die can drive someone to fight a flesh-and-blood enemy to the bitter end. In a battle of souls, it is suicide."

"He needs a fierce will to live. If he goes in tomorrow, he will certainly die. He will not have the slightest chance of survival."

Only then do the others understand, and they hurry to make the new arrangements.

Barbarossa, meanwhile, is already rolling across the floor with laughter. "Hahaha... Cunning Henwell, you finally figured it out!"

"Do you know how hard it has been for me to hold this in for the past two months?"

"Training his will? Teaching him techniques for fighting with spiritual power?"

"How naive!"

"Hahaha... A struggle between souls comes down to the desire to survive and to who can be more ruthless."

"You!"

"Oh, cunning Henwell!"

"Your own arrogance has tripped you up. Remember this: your conceit is what will kill him."

Henwell's face darkens. He strides out of the manor, and the group rides through the snow toward the Arcane Academy.

Gallagher and the others are ready by the time they arrive.

After hearing why they have rushed over, Gallagher lowers his voice. "My lord, there is no need to hurry this badly."

"You know as well as I do that even if every preparation is correct, his chance of surviving is still vanishingly small."

Henwell answers evenly, "Even so, he has a chance. I will not take it from him because I made a mistake."

Seeing that Henwell will not be swayed, Gallagher sighs and continues the final adjustments before the ritual begins.

Ronan still has no idea what is happening or why the ritual has suddenly been moved forward.

He has not said goodbye to Akta's squad yet, and the thought weighs on him.

But at this point, he has no other choice.

As he steps into the center of the ritual, he looks back at Henwell. Henwell gives him an encouraging smile.

For some reason, the smile strikes Ronan as deeply malicious.

It looks less like encouragement and more like the satisfaction of seeing a scheme succeed.

Ronan shakes his head, trying to cast the absurd thought from his mind.

With Gallagher, a Rising Sun-class Arcanist (Iron Rank), at its core, the ritual is supported by more than a dozen Dawn-class Arcanists.

Lines of light spread across the ritual spell formation and converge on Ronan at its center.

A moment later, Ronan's body goes rigid. His eyes turn ashen white, and he stands frozen amid the wind and snow.

The Soul-Devouring Ritual begins!

The battle between souls is underway!

Of everyone present, only the Arcanists controlling the formation and Henwell can see the brutal struggle.

From Henwell's perspective, Ronan remains calm, using the methods he was taught to manifest weapons and equipment in the spiritual world.

He carefully fends off the blue-haired water demon's attacks.

Ronan fights with discipline, while the water demon relies on brute instinct, repeatedly trying to close in, tear him apart, and devour him.

Barbarossa watches in delight. "Cunning Henwell, your little one is about to die!"

"Just as I expected, he listened to you and wasted his spiritual power on all those useless things."

Henwell lets Barbarossa's taunts wash over him and keeps his attention on the battle inside the formation.

Half an hour later, Henwell's expression has grown grim.

The commanders of the Lord Iron Guards cannot see the battle, but they too realize that Ronan is losing.

His hair is growing longer and gradually turning blue.

The boy's resolute features are also softening, slowly becoming more feminine.

The commanders of the Lord Iron Guards can only clench their fists and silently urge the boy on.

When the blue-haired water demon overwhelms Ronan and tears away one of his arms, Barbarossa's laughter grows wilder.

Henwell suddenly asks the jeering dragon, "Are you certain Ronan will lose?"

Barbarossa tilts his head. "Don't tell me you think he can win?"

"Give up those worthless good intentions of yours!"

"You are the one who pushed him into this. Have you forgotten?"

Henwell smiles at him. "Then let's wager on it. Will Ronan win or not?"

"If I win, you will submit to me and serve me for five hundred years."

"If you win, I won't release you, because I cannot. You know that I am not the one truly binding you."

"But if you win, I will no longer stop you from devouring flesh and souls. As long as you stay away from my family and subordinates, you may hunt as you please."

Barbarossa narrows his eyes, studying Henwell with open suspicion. "I have a feeling you're plotting something again."

Henwell says, "You provided the formation, and you have always believed Ronan would lose. Why are you afraid to bet with me?"

"This is your only chance. You will never have another opportunity to make me loosen my control over you."

Barbarossa considers the offer. When Ronan's other arm is devoured, he finally makes up his mind.

"How do I know you won't deceive me? You're a despicable human who even lies to children!"