Path To Godhood Begins With Marrying Wife And Gaining SSS Rank Skill Chapter 490:Trapped

The restraints shattered instantaneously.

CRACK! CRACK!

Shards flew in every direction as Rathlos broke free. The mage's countenance turned ashen.

"Fuck you bastards…" he uttered, his voice trembling.

"You dare lie to me…"

"Sending me after two Mythic ranks…"

"How is this any different than sending someone to their doom…"

Terror began to contort his features.

"…Run," he whispered.

"I must escape."

This was no longer a battle. It was a struggle for survival.

"This is utterly insane," he declared, lifting his staff with unsteady hands.

He initiated the casting of a spatial translocation spell, desperately seeking an escape.

But swift movement occurred.

A subtle glint of light sliced through the air.

Before he could even register it.

SWOOSH!

A blade of pure light passed by silently, causing the mage to freeze.

Slowly, his gaze descended.

His hand was gone.

It had been cleanly severed.

Blood erupted into the air as his staff tumbled from his grasp, clattering onto the ground.

"…Ah?" a bewildered sound escaped him.

Then.

"AAAAAAHHHHHHHH!"

A scream ripped from his throat as searing pain engulfed his being. He frantically clutched the void where his hand had been, his face contorted in sheer agony.

Before he could recover, more blades descended.

SWOOSH! SWOOSH! SWOOSH!

Multiple blades of light slammed into the earth around him in rapid succession. They embedded deeply, forming a cage-like barrier encircling his form.

Each luminous blade sundered the very fabric of space.

The air grew still.

His escape route was utterly extinguished.

The mage shivered within the glowing confines. His breaths grew shallow and erratic as an icy dread permeated his very bones.

Slowly, he lifted his head.

Ethan stood before him.

Ethan advanced a step, his gaze unwavering and frigid.

"Now… now…" he intoned softly.

"Old man, would you perhaps enlighten us as to why you initiated hostilities?"

The middle-aged mage trembled within the prison of light, his respiration strained and irregular as profound fear anchored itself deep within his marrow.

A mixture of sweat and blood trickled down his face while his remaining hand quivered uncontrollably. His eyes darted between Ethan and Rathlos, the former confidence he had projected utterly vanished.

"I… I…" his lips moved, but coherent words failed to emerge.

His throat, previously impaled, made coherent speech a struggle despite his willpower to remain conscious; the pain and pressure were immense. His eyes now reflected sheer panic, and for the first time, the chasm between their strengths became undeniably clear.

Observing this, Rathlos clicked his tongue in irritation.

"Why prolong this charade?" he remarked, folding his arms loosely.

"Simply employ—" he trailed off mid-utterance.

His eyes narrowed.

Ethan had already turned his head slightly, his focus shifting to the side. Rathlos followed this involuntary movement and glanced behind.

"Ensure he does not slip away," Ethan stated calmly, without turning back.

He then pivoted fully.

"Greetings, Miss…" he began, his tone remaining courteous yet sharp.

"I find it rather impolite to observe from a distance."

"May I inquire about your intentions?"

The instant his words concluded, the air rippled subtly.

A figure emerged from concealment.

Accompanying her, several guards materialized silently.

The woman stood with exquisite poise, holding a delicate fan that partially veiled her features. Her long, violet tresses cascaded down her back like liquid silk, and her hazy purple eyes held a soft yet perilous allure. Her physique was one of elegant seduction, and every subtle gesture emanated an innate grace.

Behind her stood guards in somber, reinforced armor.

Each exuded a formidable and imposing presence.

At least of Mythic caliber.

And one among them even radiated an aura nearing that of a Divine Knight.

"Fufufufu…"

A light, musical laugh escaped her lips.

"Marquise Ethan… you are indeed a noble and valiant warrior… what intentions could we possibly harbor?"

"This humble lady merely wished to observe and be entertained."

Ethan offered a faint smile.

"So, did you find it pleasing?" he inquired placidly.

"Indeed, I did," she responded, lowering her fan slightly.

Her gaze lingered upon Ethan's visage.

"After all, who wouldn't appreciate the spectacle of such a divinely crafted man?"

She slowly moistened her lips, her gaze deepening perceptibly.

Ethan chuckled softly.

"Thank the heavens. I feared I might prove an unwelcome sight. Who would have imagined I would capture the attention of Lady Regalina?"

"You speak as if you are unaware," Regalina remarked, rolling her eyes subtly.

A faint smirk played upon her lips.

Her intentions had been made clear previously; she desired Ethan.

She was even prepared to accept all the accompanying circumstances. Yet, he had declined.

He had no desire for a marriage alliance with her family.

Regalina regarded him once more, this time with a more serious expression.

"My proposal remains open."

"You are quite persistent," Ethan sighed lightly.

"Why do you doubt me?" she responded without the slightest hesitation.

"I am speaking of my lifelong happiness," he stated.

A single step was taken by her, slow and deliberate.

"I would have retreated before this moment… but now that you have taken Lady Amber as your wife, I am convinced you are prepared to grasp for more," she declared.

Ethan paused in his movements for a brief period.

Her declaration was undeniably forthright.

There was an absence of any shyness or trepidation in her voice.

He regarded her with a silent gaze, his countenance composed yet filled with contemplation. In truth, he too had extended a competing proposition previously.

The condition was her willingness to be wedded into his family.

However, a significant obstacle stood in the way.

A substantial one, at that.

Duke Lancelot was largely indifferent to societal standing.

Duke Osantara, however, was not.

As a patriarch of an ancient and respected noble house, the notion of his daughter marrying one of lesser rank was an affront.

Only an heir to a ducal title or a royal prince would meet his stringent criteria.

Ethan advanced a single, unhurried step.

A subtle keenness flickered within his eyes.

"Then you must bide your time," he articulated with tranquil composure.

"As a ruling lord, I cannot forsake my people to assume the role of a live-in son-in-law."

"And you, as a duke's daughter, cannot expect your father's blessing for a union with someone of inferior station."

He allowed a brief silence to fall before continuing. Then, his voice gained a measure of resolute conviction.

"However, you must be cognizant of my trajectory."

"I have ascended step by arduous step, from the lowest commoner to a baron, then a count, and now I stand as a marquise."

"It will not be long before I reach the pinnacle of power."

"As for lofty titles… they shall lose all significance when I attain a stature that commands universal deference."

Regalina's eyebrows lifted slightly in response.

A delicate smile graced her lips.

"Ara… ara…" she murmured with gentle affection.

"Your heartfelt confession makes my spirit soar."

She closed the distance between them with another small, graceful movement.

"I yearn to bestow a kiss upon that handsome visage… yet, I shall not do so unless you are unequivocally mine."

Her tone remained serene, but a profound intensity burned within her gaze.

"A few decades, or even a century, signifies mere moments in our existence."

"After all, we possess the potential for such extended lifespans."

She fixed her steady eyes upon him.

"Therefore, endeavor to expedite your ascent, Lord Ethan."

A hushed stillness descended once more upon the space separating them.