Grand Dad Is The Pervert God
Chapter 176: Violet Meets The Black Lightning Dragon

Chapter 176: Violet Meets The Black Lightning Dragon

...Luke didn’t move.

Even as Violet twisted in the air like a purple-streaked comet, her sword already halfway to cleaving his skull, he stood frozen. Somewhere in his pride-blinded mind, he believed she wouldn’t really go through with it. That this was still politics. A performance. An act to intimidate him.

But as the blade closed in, he looked up, and he saw it.

The glint in Violet’s eyes. The faint upward curve at the edge of her lips.

It wasn’t rage

It was pleasure.

She wanted this. She had waited for it. And now, she was going to take it.

There was no hesitation in her swing. No restraint. Luke’s heart skipped, his soul energy was still dormant, and now, his pride was turning into raw panic.

But before the blade could strike—

A flash of golden light burst between them.

A set of prayer beads spiraled through the air, hovering in a glowing formation. They shimmered with sacred energy, forming a spiritual barrier just inches from Luke’s head. Violet’s sword collided with the light—and stopped dead.

A loud clang echoed in the tent. Light crackled.

Violet’s brows furrowed as her blade hissed against the glowing wall, unable to pierce it. Her attack had been perfectly halted.

Luke, blinking in disbelief, turned toward the one who had intervened.

Standing with calm grace, hands pressed together in a prayer seal, was Young Master Jan.

"Amitabha," he said, his tone soft yet resolute. "Ladies and gentlemen... fighting will not help us now. I pray that you refrain from it."

His robes fluttered slightly as the soul energy dispersed and the beads fell back into his hand.

Violet exhaled sharply and sheathed her sword. Her face betrayed a flicker of regret—as though she had just missed a much-anticipated reward. She turned and walked calmly back to her seat, now pretending nothing had happened.

Christiana and William, however, saw it clearly. So did Luke. His spine was still cold, his breath still shallow.

He would have died.

He gave the monk a brief, grateful nod... then rubbed the side of his neck, still feeling the phantom edge of Violet’s blade.

He turned toward Christiana. "You all saw that. She tried to kill me," he said. His voice trembled with forced restraint. "Me. An heir of a Grand Duke title."

Christiana rolled her eyes in visible disgust. "And what would you have me do?" she said coldly.

She gestured toward Serra to continue. She stepped forward and produced two softly glowing orbs, one in each hand. The orbs pulsed dimly, then burst into floating holograms of the dungeon interior, casting eerie patterns of light across the tent walls.

Christiana continued, "The survivors only returned with two of these map orbs. We’ve already tried—they cannot be copied. Not by spell, soulprint, or memory transference. The interior of the dungeon warps over time. Only these two maps can track the puzzle changes and updated layouts."

At such a time, Violet moved.

In one sharp step, she snatched one of the orbs from Serra’s hand, her fingers tightening around it like a dragon clutching treasure. She turned toward the assembly, her voice sharp and laced with challenge.

"If you want to join the Fanged Earth Tiger Family into the dungeon," she said, "come to my tent. I’ll test your strength myself. Personally. And if you pass, you’ll earn your place."

Her eyes moved from face to face like a predator choosing meat.

"I leave at dawn."

And without another word, she turned on her heel and left the tent. Her steps were heavy with purpose, the orb glowing faintly at her side.

Serra, eyes narrowed in calculation, quickly closed her other palm around the second orb—just as Luke’s gaze latched onto it. She didn’t say a word, but her message was clear: Not yours.

That orb, carefully sealed now in Serra’s protective custody, was meant for William Icemake and the Royal Family.

In this way, the grand gathering dissolved.

Whispers replaced speeches. Glares replaced toasts. And nobles began filtering out, clutching at egos, schemes, and shattered alliances.

But one figure did not move with them.

Hidden in the shadows, Eros remained still, eyes fixed not on the tent... but on the path Violet had taken.

She had the map he needed.

And she was now a target.

Of the many paths before him, Eros had weighed the dangers and distractions—and Violet, though fierce, was the easiest to navigate. Not because she was weak, but because she was emotional.

And emotions made people predictable.

---

Later that night...

The wind howled with dry snow, and the moon sat low behind veils of cloud. The cold bit hard, but within the northern side of the temporary camp, firelight flickered in the tent of Violet Saul.

She had kept her word.

One after another, representatives from various noble families came forward—hoping to be chosen, to enter the dungeon under her command.

One after the other... she broke them. And oh, was she wicked about it.

If one were to guess, they would say that she really had no intention to agree in the first place.

The first was a knight from the House of Sable Horn. He had barely stepped into the dueling ring when Violet disarmed him with a single sweeping kick that shattered the tendons in his shoulder.

The second, a soul-caster from the Azure Rain Clan, tried to overwhelm her with spirit illusions. Violet had laughed, dashed through the phantoms, and slammed her blade into the caster’s gut, nearly rupturing his core.

The third, a twinsword warrior from the Noble House of Varnis, thought he was fast enough to match her. He was wrong. She broke both of his swords—and his arm.

Each time, she turned away with disgust.

"Cowards," she muttered. "Not worth dying beside."

By midnight, not a single representative had passed her test.

And many were beginning to fear coming up to her. After all, Violet was still a known genius of her family. But more than that, she was also brutal.

Her tent’s fire still burned bright. And the orb with the dungeon map rested not far from her reach, glowing faintly like a captured star.

Outside, snow drifted through the dark.

And from the shadows... Eros moved.

He entered into the tent slightly. He did not hide in the shadows, but he had his mask on his face.

After all, he did not come as Eros, but as the black lightning Dragon...