"Did I keep you waiting?"
"Not at all. You arrived right on time. But the one behind you is…"
Harald spoke as if it were nothing, but Lucian couldn't simply let it slide.
If something unforeseen happened, it could complicate matters.
Noticing Lucian's discomfort, Harald gave a bitter smile.
"Pay him no mind. I'm just going to stand him there like a wooden post."
"May I ask the reason?"
"My last lingering attachment."
At those words, Lucian could roughly guess what Harald was feeling.
A son who was eager not to uphold the traditions of the North, but to tear them down.
It was already too late to mend their relationship, but perhaps he hoped that through this duel, his son might feel—or learn—something.
Torik, for his part, said nothing, merely turning his gaze away.
Understanding the situation, Lucian nodded and stepped forward.
"Very well. When shall we begin?"
"There's no need to keep the spectators waiting. Draw your blade."
Thud.
The heavy axe dropped to the ground, the impact reverberating through the area.
It carried a tone distinctly different from the axe he had swung before.
'That's no ordinary axe. A relic?'
A legacy of a bygone age, forged with ancient techniques now lost to time.
Even a low-grade relic fetched an exorbitant price, while a mid-grade one was worth as much as a noble house's treasured heirloom.
Naturally, its power was as remarkable as its rarity.
'Looks like he has no intention of holding back at all.'
Shrring.
Lucian smiled faintly and drew his sword from his waist.
It might not be a relic, but it was a blade alloyed with precious adamantium.
In terms of durability alone, it would more than withstand the strikes of a relic weapon.
The outcome of this duel would be decided by pure skill.
"May this duel be an honorable contest, unashamed before the Eight Gods."
Tap.
Raymond, acting as the arbiter, completed the brief rite and stepped back.
At the same moment, Harald lunged toward Lucian, the air bursting around him.
Faced with such absurd speed, Lucian let out a silent, incredulous laugh.
'The power of a relic!'
Runes that had been hidden along the axe now began to glow, revealing a surge of magical energy.
An ordinary knight would never have dared to meet it head-on and would have retreated instead.
But Lucian swung his sword with all his strength.
The thick axe and the slender blade collided.
KRAAANG—!
A deafening roar erupted, and a shockwave blasted outward in all directions.
Puhwaak—!
Palmyr, a knight of the House of Count Calyx, could hardly believe what he was seeing.
Each collision between sword and axe sent shockwaves rippling through the air, enough to make his entire body tremble.
If it were him, even trading a single exchange would have shattered his arm.
Yet the two men in the duel were exchanging such blows again and again.
It's so absurd I can only laugh.
That Count Harald possessed such martial might was astonishing, but still within the realm of understanding.
He was a man who had earned the title of "Wolf-Slayer" from veteran knights and the former lord, a warrior who had made his name in his youth.
With his naturally powerful build, a body honed through relentless training, countless battles' worth of experience, and now the added power of a relic—it wasn't strange that he could wield such strength.
But that boy… Does that even make sense?
What Palmyr simply could not accept was Lucian.
He was barely sixteen years old, still a greenhorn, with a build that was—at best—average.
At most, he might have some minor experience campaigning in war, and he certainly lacked years of accumulated refinement.
Even his sword, aside from being exceptionally sturdy, carried no magical effects whatsoever.
So how is he fighting Harald on even terms?
KWAANG—!
Another thunderous boom rang out as a shockwave swept across the surroundings.
After a flurry of clashes, the two combatants finally sprang apart.
"Huhahaha—hahahaha!"
A booming laugh burst from Harald's mouth.
The astonishment still hadn't faded from his eyes, but an even greater exhilaration now coursed through his body.
I thought he might have been hiding a trick or two, but never to this extent!
He had brought out even his treasured relic and poured every ounce of strength he possessed into the fight.
Not because he sought victory, but because he wanted to show what the North truly was.
If Lucian couldn't withstand even this level of pressure and his resolve broke, it would be better for him to leave the North quietly.
No matter how much spirit one had, the difference forged by years of combat experience and training could not be erased.
That was why Harald had expected that, even if Lucian were to win, it would be thanks to a greenhorn's reckless gamble or some desperate trick.
But he's trying to bring me down head-on!
It felt as though a heart long thought dead had begun to beat again.
This wasn't the mere thrill of battle.
It was closer to the excitement of realizing that the promising youngster he'd taken for a talented upstart was, in fact, an egg destined to hatch into a hero.
I thought all this talk of unifying the North was nothing but nonsense…
Perhaps it truly was possible.
If the heroic seed now swinging his sword before him were to step forward in earnest—
If he were acknowledged by the people of the North as the rightful heir of Grimaldi—
Then perhaps the glory of the old kingdom could truly be restored.
"Are you satisfied?"
A calm, unhurried voice reached Harald's ears as he reined in his excitement.
Still gripping his axe tightly, Harald stared at the boy before him.
Despite trading so many blows, that smile suggested he still had plenty of strength left.
"Oh, I'm more than satisfied! Have you got more to show me!?"
"If you wish."
As Lucian answered without hesitation, blue mana flickered around his body.
The knights watching erupted in collective shock.
"Mana made visible!?"
"This is insane…!"
For mana within the body to overflow to the point of being visible to the naked eye meant one of two things.
Either one's control over mana had reached a sword-saint-level realm,
or one possessed a quantity of mana that defied all common sense.
The former meant a once-in-a-century genius; the latter meant a body closer to a dragon's than a human's.
Either way, it was nothing short of monstrous.
"Heh. In all my years, I don't think I've ever been this shocked."
Feeling the waves of mana brushing against his skin, Harald tightened his grip on the axe.
If possible, he wanted to keep trading blows and find out what else Lucian was hiding.
However, having pushed the relic with all his strength, his aging body was already starting to creak in protest.
If the fight dragged on any further, his strength would only drain away, leaving him throwing feeble, unsightly blows.
"It's a shame, but I'd like to settle this in the next exchange. What do you say?"
"Very well. Come."
"Hahaha! You really are something, right to the very end!"
Seeing Lucian take up a defensive stance, Harald laughed once more.
In battle, the one who attacks always holds the initiative.
And yet Lucian was yielding even the opening strike of the final clash to Harald.
Then I should live up to that expectation.
Wooooong—
As if answering Harald's fighting spirit, the runes carved into the axe flared brilliantly.
The radiance intensified, soon shining more dazzlingly than even in his prime.
At last, the moment came when the spectators' vision blurred under the overwhelming glow of the runes.
KWA—A—A—ANG!
A thunderous detonation erupted, and an immense vibration rippled across the entire territory.
Some of those watching nearby collapsed while clutching their ears; others stumbled back or were knocked off their feet.
When the light and clouds of dust finally cleared, the onlookers were barely able to make out the result of the duel.
Of the two standing close together, only Lucian still held a weapon in his hand.
Harald stood with empty hands, his arms angled downward as though he had struck something that was no longer there.
Thud.
A sound followed a beat later, and the crowd's gaze snapped toward it.
By the time anyone realized it, the axe that had flown from Harald's hands was embedded in the castle wall.
Harald, his hands trembling, let out a sigh and gave a shrug.
"Well now. I've lost so completely that I've nothing left to say."
"Then this is my victory."
"Yes. Your victory."
With a faint smile, Harald clasped his hands together and bowed deeply.
It was not a courtesy shown to a younger man, but the respect due to one warrior toward another.
"Forgive my earlier discourtesy. Harald Osgor greets you once again—as a descendant of Grimaldi and as a warrior of the North."
Terrifying. Just how strong must he have been in his youth?
Lucian clicked his tongue while rubbing his sore wrist.
The physical amplification granted by the relic had been considerable, but the flawless trajectory of Harald's swings and his optimal distribution of strength were abilities that belonged purely to Harald himself.
His power had been overwhelming to begin with, and when wielded with such perfection, its might was enough to astonish even Lucian.
If it weren't for the eye opened by drinking nektar, I would've had to dodge and weave instead of meeting him head-on. Good thing I finished my preparations before coming here.
Until recently, Lucian had sparred endlessly with Felicia.
If he wanted to rely on evasions, counters, and deceptive techniques, he could have done so with ease.
But the North valued steadfast power over flashy technique.
To earn true recognition here, he had needed to win through a direct clash of strength against strength.
Still, the hardship was worth it.
By now, the spectators were silently staring at Lucian.
It wasn't that they couldn't accept reality, nor that they doubted the outcome of the duel.
It was closer to not knowing how one was supposed to react to a marvel they had never witnessed before.
Harald seemed to notice this as well, smiling as he gave Lucian's shoulder a pat.
"The duel's over. Let's head back and talk. If we keep standing here, they won't even dare to move."
"Very well. We'll be passing through—could you make way?"
"Y-Yes, yes!"
Rumble—
At Lucian's words, the townsfolk parted to the left and right, creating a path far wider than necessary.
Seeing how carefully they stepped aside, as though afraid to even tread on his shadow, Lucian let out a small chuckle.
Feels like I've become some legendary hero.
"Come on, then!"
Harald gave Lucian's back a light push and started forward, as if urging him to savor the respect he had earned with his own hands in the North.
Lucian did not refuse, following behind Harald toward the lord's manor.
As everyone watched the two men's retreating figures with eyes full of awe, there was one man whose face remained rigid.
This is bad.
Palmyr clenched his fist, soaked through with sweat.
That a sixteen-year-old youth was monstrously strong was a problem—but an even greater problem was the boy's political instinct.
Those without eyes to see would praise the duel as nothing more than a clash between warriors, a man's fight and nothing else…
But to Palmyr's eyes, the very style of fighting—meeting strength with strength—had been carried out under meticulous calculation.
It was all a blur, but he always moved a fraction later than Count Harald and still knocked the axe aside. If he could respond perfectly while moving a beat late every time, how could he possibly be incapable of dodging the attacks altogether?
And yet Lucian had deliberately traded blow after blow with the axe, displaying his strength to everyone watching.
It meant he understood exactly what the Northerners wanted, what kind of fight captivated them.
Sure enough, all around him were people gazing at Lucian as he departed, as though he were an idol.
If we let this go on, he'll become a thorn in the side of the House of Count Calyx. We need to cut him down before he grows any further…
Of course, "cut him down" did not mean assassination.
With Palmyr's level of skill, he wouldn't be killing Lucian—he'd be the one getting killed.
But while brute force was impossible, binding him with politics was another matter entirely.
First, I need to face him directly. If I can just discuss his "rights" with him face to face, that alone would be half a success.
Unlike Dain, who had returned without even managing to seize a proper pretext, Palmyr was confident in negotiation.
If necessary, he wouldn't hesitate to spew sophistry and outright lies rather than engage in honest talks.
No matter how sharp Lucian's political instincts were, he still didn't know the North's inner workings in detail.
If Palmyr muddied the waters with false information, Lucian would be forced to stay put for a while just to verify what was true.
"Ahem. Come to think of it, we visited the territory but never properly paid our respects to His Lordship the Count."
"It's late, but better now than never. While we're at it, we can also meet Lord Lucian."
"Oh dear."
At the knights' excuse-laden chatter, Palmyr frowned.
The knights of the lord's faction, who had been hesitating until now, were clearly trying to attach themselves to Lucian.
"Out of the way!"
Ignoring the stares pouring in from all around, Palmyr hurried straight toward the inner keep.
He had to be the first to meet Lucian and unsettle him.
If Lucian lost his composure, impatience would naturally seep out—and that, in turn, would disappoint those who came after him.
Thanks to his haste, Palmyr arrived at the lord's manor ahead of the other knights. Just as he conveyed his request to see Lucian—
"Ah, a knight of the House of Count Calyx? Sorry, but the young lord has no business with you. Don't loiter here for no reason—just head back quietly."
"W-What…?"
At the dismissal issued by nothing more than a mere captain of ten—not even a knight—Palmyr stood there with his mouth hanging open in shock.
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