From Outcast to Overlord The Unyielding Heir (Leander Ashcroft) novel Chapter 399

The towering figure before them was Galen. He held the whisk in his hand, and with a casual sweep, a fierce gust tore through the banquet hall, scattering tables and chairs. Even the guests seated at them were swept aside, chairs and all.

Between Galen and Leander, a clear channel opened, as if the rest of the world didn't exist. Five captain generals, including Darrow, stood nearby, but Galen acted as if they were invisible, his cold gaze fixed only on Leander.

"Jeff, make your move."

The words fell from his lips like ice. The air beneath his feet erupted, propelling him like a rocket straight into the void.

Everyone craned their necks to the transparent glass above. A streak of white light shot skyward, then transformed into a flickering figure, hovering in midair, feet suspended as if holding up the heavens themselves.

"What…"

In the hall, only a handful—Darrow, a few seasoned captain generals, and the four families known for their martial prowess—remained calm. The rest were frozen, faces pale with shock.

Logan and Dorian, despite their frequent dealings with Homer, had never seen Homer in action. Now, they were wide-eyed and horrified.

Darrow and Leif exchanged a glance. Their memories of reports and records suddenly clarified Galen's identity.

"This… this is Galen Pierce, leader of Mount Martial. Ranked third in the International Combat Units."

Leif nodded slowly, his voice low and steady. "General Ashcroft ranks fifth in the International Combat Units. Facing a third-ranked opponent… I have no idea how this will end. Should we ask the military to intervene?"

Darrow paused for a moment, then shook his head.

"This is a fight of the martial world. This is General Ashcroft's battle alone. Let him handle it. He's a Wyvern Blade general and a Guardian Medal holder. He won't lose."

Leif could only nod. All eyes turned toward Leander.

"This fight… is indeed inevitable," Leander murmured. He planted his foot and shot toward the heavens. The tempered-glass ceiling shattered under his force. Two figures—one blue, one white—stretched across the sky, facing each other from afar.

"Ginny… who is Leander, really?"

Arden's eyes were fixed on the blue figure above, her expression frozen.

"He's the strongest sovereign of our time," Ginny said softly. She knew a fierce battle was about to erupt.

"Must it come to this?"

Leander stood in the night sky, one hand in his pocket, his gaze calm but piercing as he addressed Galen.

"It must," Galen replied coldly. In the next instant, without hesitation, he flicked his sleeve lightly.

That single motion sent the winds of heaven and earth into a frenzy. A broad streak of white, dozens of feet long, appeared in the night sky. It arced like a whip of foamy water, aimed directly at Leander.

A soft sigh escaped Leander's nose. This was the first fight he didn't want to fight.

He made no move. The white streak came crashing down, and he remained still, waiting.

Bang!

The streak struck his chest with a deafening thud. Leander's body became like a cannonball, flying hundreds of feet before skidding across the night sky, leaving a streak of blue in its wake.

Hundreds of feet away, Leander finally came to a stop. His chest bore a tear in his clothing, revealing skin both flawless and strong, with a faint mark etched across it.

"Hm?"

Galen's eyes flickered, and he tapped the whisk. A sweeping arc of energy surged outward. Ripples of raw innate vitality cut through the air like a blade, slicing diagonally toward Leander's chest.

Yet Leander remained unmoved. He met the strike head-on, barely reacting.

Boom!

Whoosh!

Galen's eyes narrowed, his voice low but sharp. "Jeff… why are you doing this?"

He had unleashed three attacks in succession, yet Leander had neither blocked nor countered a single one. He had taken every strike head-on.

Leander wiped the blood from his lips with the back of his hand, a faint, confident smile on his face.

"You once taught me much… that debt I will never forget. So for this fight, I'll let you have three strikes."

Gareth and the others stared, hearts pounding. Galen's mastery was beyond compare—ranked third in the International Combat Units, his strength far exceeding that of Ares and Enderman Briggs-Higgins combined. And Leander had just absorbed three of his most devastating attacks without retaliation. In a duel between masters, such courage—or recklessness—could have been fatal.

"Jeff… do you really think that by doing this, I'll hold back?"

Galen's voice was low, heavy with menace.

Leander smiled faintly and waved a hand, stretching his neck. The subtle cracking of his joints echoed through the air, a signal of power coiling within him.

"The three strikes are over. Now… I won't hold back."

He lifted his left hand slightly, fingers curling, while his right palm shot upright—forming the precise starting stance of the Eternal Flow Technique.

"Tailcatch?"

Galen's eyes narrowed sharply, his body tensing.

Leander's lips curved into a calm, confident smile. The energy around him thickened, folding in on itself, sealing off all space as though the world itself had been contained. No beginning, no end—limitless and unbroken.

"I'll face your Eternal Flow Technique… with my own."