The Conquerors Path

Chapter 929: Chapter 927-A Quick Small Spar.

"Ready for a beating?"

I asked with a smile on my face as my mother stood opposite me, the same playful curve tugging at her lips. There was a familiar warmth in that smile, but also a trace of her power. We both knew what was about to follow. I had already cut off any external vision into this place, isolating the world to just the two of us. She stood firm, sword in hand, her stance straight, sharp, and commanding, while I remained relaxed, almost lazy, arms hanging loosely, a faint grin plastered across my face.

"Oh, I remember well enough all the beatings I gave you as a child,"

My mother replied, her tone carrying that dangerous mixture of nostalgia and pride. My lips twitched at her words, but before I could answer, the ground trembled, and her aura exploded.

The Crimson Warlord was awakening.

Blood-red energy surged violently out of her body, blooming like a storm of roses drenched in battle. The space around us warped under the pressure, small explosions rippling in the air like fireworks. Her battlefield sovereignty made the very air heavy, oppressive. I could feel her intent—the will of a commander, the authority of a woman who had led armies, broken enemies, and carved victory into the soil with nothing but blade and blood.

Her eyes shifted, dangerous and sharp. Gone was the smile of a mother—what stood before me was the Crimson Warlord, the Princess of the Battlefield, the Red Rose that blooms amidst carnage.

"Don’t go easy on me, Austin," she said, her voice calm but cutting. "Show me the monster you’ve become."

I chuckled softly, tilting my head, "You won’t last long if I do that."

Spectral roses began to materialise around her, each petal radiating an ethereal crimson energy. Her Rosemark Authority was activating, each rose a potential weapon, a potential chain, a potential source of power. I stood relaxed, a slight smile playing on my lips. My mother might be powerful, but I was no ordinary opponent.

Grace moved first, her sword cutting through the air with a precision that would make lesser warriors tremble. The blade seemed to carry the weight of countless battles, each movement a testament to her years of martial mastery.

<Bloom of Carnage!>

The roses around her suddenly expanded, transforming into razor-sharp projectiles. They shot towards me, each petal capable of slicing through steel, each thorn carrying the potential to drain life force. I didn’t move. Instead, I raised my hand, and the roses seemed to hesitate mid-flight. Blue energy began to wrap around them, freezing their momentum. With a subtle gesture, I redirected the roses, sending them spinning back towards Grace.

Her eyes widened momentarily—a rare display of surprise—before she twisted her body, her sword becoming a blur of motion. Each rose was cut down with surgical precision, crimson petals falling like rain around her.

"Not bad," she said, her voice carrying a hint of pride and challenge. "But let’s see how you handle this."

And then she moved.

Her body blurred, the ground beneath her feet cracking as she launched forward with frightening speed. Her sword came crashing down, a strike filled with pure force and deadly precision. To anyone else, it would have looked unstoppable—an arc of crimson light, roses blooming midair from the sheer intensity.

But to me... it was slow.

I raised a single finger and tapped the flat of her blade.

Clang!

The sword shuddered violently, the energy behind her strike dispersing in a wave that shook the field. Grace’s eyes widened for a split second, then narrowed, and her lips curled into a smile.

"You’ve gotten cocky," she muttered, twisting her body as the crimson aura wrapped around her blade, roses bursting outward in dozens, each petal glowing with spiritual resonance. They turned into razor-sharp thorns that shot toward me like crimson rain.

I didn’t move. I simply let the thorns reach me, and as they touched my body, they shattered, dispersing into harmless petals that fell around me.

"Nice trick," I said softly.

Her eyes flared. She swung again, faster this time, pouring her will into the strike. A rose bloomed at her feet, its petals rising and swirling into a chain of thorns that coiled around me, binding me tight. The air screamed as the Crimson Warlord’s aura flared, her chains constricting with the force to crush steel.

Grace’s sword gleamed blood-red as she slashed downward, intending to cut me in two.

I sighed, shaking my head.

With the slightest flex of my arm, the chains snapped like paper. My other hand caught her descending blade between two fingers. Her strike, which could split mountains, froze midair as if it had struck an immovable wall.

"Mother," I said softly, "this isn’t enough."

Her teeth clenched. She leapt back, crimson roses blooming beneath her steps. Each petal she left behind pulsed with energy, glowing faintly before turning into spectral warriors, their forms vague but their intent sharp. Her battlefield sovereignty was trying to create a domain here, summoning phantoms to fight for her.

Ten, twenty, thirty... soon a hundred crimson soldiers stood between us, each holding a weapon, their eyes glowing with red fire.

"Impressive," I said, stretching lightly.

She raised her sword high, her aura burning brighter, a blood mist spreading across the arena. Her Crimson Banner manifested above her—a fluttering flag drenched in red, glowing with authority. The pressure in the space intensified, as though the battlefield itself had shifted into her control.

"Rose Banner Dominion," she whispered, and her soldiers roared as if alive.

The ground shook as they charged at me in unison. A tide of crimson steel, a storm of blades and spears, all aiming to bury me under sheer numbers.

I walked forward.

That was all.

One step, and the first wave of soldiers shattered into petals. Another step, and the second row fell apart, bursting into harmless roses that fluttered to the ground. My aura alone was enough to erase them, their existence crumbling like illusions before the tide of reality I carried.

Grace bit her lip, eyes burning with determination. She spun her blade in a wide arc, roses exploding outward in a massive bloom. The air turned crimson as the Bloom of Carnage activated, a devastating explosion that threatened to rip apart everything around it.

The shockwave rolled toward me, a sea of roses that sought to sap my will, crush my spirit, and bind my body.

I raised my hand.

The entire explosion froze midair, roses suspended in time, petals caught in the air like they were trapped in glass. I flicked my wrist, and all of it shattered, dissolving into nothingness.

Grace’s breath hitched. Sweat trickled down her cheek. But she didn’t stop.

"Not bad," I said. "But still too slow."

Her aura flared to the limit, crimson rain falling from the sky as she invoked her higher powers. Her sword pulsed violently, dozens of roses blooming at once around us, their thorns rising into the air like a cage.

"Elegy of the Fallen Rose!"

The roses converged, forming into a colossal figure—a knight wrought of crimson petals, its eyes glowing with the light of fallen souls. It roared, its massive blade crashing down toward me with enough force to shatter mountains.

I stood still, watching as the enormous sword descended.

Then, almost lazily, I raised my palm.

BOOM!

The knight’s sword stopped in my hand, the shockwave tearing apart the ground beneath us. The colossal figure trembled, cracks running through its body before it shattered completely, scattering into petals that rained around us.

Grace staggered, her breath heavy, her sword trembling slightly in her hands. She had gone all out—every strike, every ability, every ounce of her profession poured into this duel. And yet, I hadn’t moved more than a few steps.

"Why..." she whispered, her voice hoarse. "Why can’t I reach you...?"

I walked forward slowly, my aura pressing down gently—not crushing, not dominating, just enough for her to feel the difference.

"Because, Mother," I said softly, standing before her, "you’re fighting with everything you have, while I... haven’t even started."

Her eyes widened, lips parting in shock. Her sword slipped slightly in her grasp, though she tightened her hold almost instantly. I smiled faintly and tapped the tip of her blade with my finger. The sword cracked.

Her breath caught, her knees nearly buckling under the weight of that small action. And yet, she didn’t falter. Her eyes still burned with that same fierce determination, the will of the Crimson Warlord refusing to bow. I sighed softly, pride flickering in my chest as I looked at her.

Realising her initial approach wasn’t working, my mother unleashed her Bloom of Carnage. Crimson roses erupted violently around her, their petals spinning in the air like blades, each one carrying the intent to drain the will of her enemy while fueling her own spirit.

The battlefield she created would have been devastating to any army. Those roses could sap morale, heal allies, or bind enemies in thorny chains. Against me, though, they felt almost... playful. Beautiful, yes, dangerous to anyone else—but to me, they were little more than sparks in the wind.

I let mana gather into my limbs, just enough to remind her I wasn’t standing still. My movements cut through the storm of roses with controlled precision, powerful yet restrained. It reminded me of the fight I once had with Rina—showing just a fraction of what I could truly unleash, never more.

With each exchange, the gap between us became clearer. My mother fought with the full might of her Crimson Warlord profession, every strike steeped in the authority of her Bloodline Command. I could almost feel the echoes of the invisible army resonating behind her—soldiers she had commanded in her lifetime, their wills amplifying her power.

But me? I was still holding back, enjoying the rhythm of the fight, savouring the clash with the woman who had once trained me, scolded me, and protected me.

Each time we clashed and strikes met, boom—sonic detonations tore through the air, the barriers of the training hall groaning as they absorbed the shock. My mother’s attacks grew sharper, more desperate, her creativity shining as she pushed her abilities to the limit—summoning spectral soldiers, weaving illusions of a battlefield, using both martial ferocity and spiritual resonance in tandem.

And I matched her. Step by step. Effortless, playful, as if I were dancing. I knew it must have been infuriating for her.

But beneath the clash of steel and the thunder of our strikes, there was more. She wasn’t just fighting me. She was testing me. Pushing me. Measuring the distance between the child she raised and the man I had become.

And I, in return, wasn’t just playing around. I was showing her respect—matching her abilities, not crushing them outright. Every time I countered, every time I stopped her attacks without strain, it was my way of telling her: I see you. I acknowledge your strength.

Nearly an hour passed before the momentum finally broke. My mother stood in front of me, shoulders heaving, her crimson aura flickering like a dying flame. Her sword trembled slightly in her hand, roses fading one by one around her.

Meanwhile, I stood untouched, not a hair out of place, my breathing calm.

"Huff..." she exhaled, sweat glistening on her brow. Then she looked at me, her lips curling into that familiar mixture of frustration and pride. "You are a monster."

Her words carried no malice—only exhaustion—and love.

"You’re strong, Mother. Stronger than anyone else could ever know. But against me..." I paused, tilting my head. "You’ll never win."

The field grew silent. The crimson aura that had filled the space began to fade, roses wilting into nothingness. Grace’s shoulders trembled as she lowered her blade, exhaustion finally catching up to her. I reached forward and placed my hand gently on her head, ruffling her hair like I had when I was a child.

"You’ve given me enough beatings in the past," I said with a grin. "Consider this my payback."

She laughed softly, weakly, shaking her head. "You little brat..."

But in her eyes, there was no defeat—only pride.