Chapter 33: Hey, Don’t Just Glare at Me (2)

Despite my bold declaration, the Duel didn’t happen right away.

“The Knights don’t have time for that right now.”

It was Polk Heimer, who’d introduced himself as the Captain of the Third Knight Division, who spoke up.

“If you insist, we’ll arrange it once the sun sets and the weather cools. For now, please get some rest at the barracks.”

There was no point in holding up busy people. For now, I decided to take a step back.

“Fine. Then show us to our lodgings.”

Polk signaled to the Knights.

It must have been an order to set up a new barracks, because those who seemed to be lower-ranked Knights started bustling about.

“We’ll escort you to the temporary barracks for now.”

We walked, feeling the sting of countless eyes on our backs.

No matter where we went, we were never welcomed.

The Elven Forest had been the same, and so was this place.

“My apologies for the commotion. If you’ll excuse me.”

Polk bowed his head and disappeared as soon as we reached the barracks.

I hadn’t expected a warm welcome or even a cup of tea, but this was pushing it—they were treating us like a burden.

Were they planning to treat the young master who’d traveled so far as if he were invisible?

“How dare they…”

Adele ground her teeth.

Apparently, I wasn’t the only one annoyed by this treatment.

“Don’t worry, Young Master. I’ll show them what you’re made of during the Duel!”

Aaron, rather than being discouraged, shouted with fiery spirit.

He clenched his fist, as if he was determined to participate in the Duel himself.

“I’ll handle the Duel alone.”

“W-why?”

“There’s no need for you to get involved.”

The fight with the Dragon was just around the corner.

There was no point in wasting energy on a meaningless Duel.

Still, I needed to change their perception of me if I wanted to minimize casualties in the coming battle.

“Anyway…”

I looked down at the mark engraved on the back of my hand.

How long had it been since I first picked up a sword?

Half a year, perhaps.

Now, I could even handle Aura.

I thought something would change by now, but, contrary to my expectations, the mark remained stubbornly silent.

‘Even if I slay the Dragon, if nothing happens, I’ll have to ask Vallach about it.’

I couldn’t rely on just Basic Swordsmanship forever.

Frustrated, I furrowed my brow.

***

The sun had set.

As I walked out onto the wide training ground, countless gazes pierced my face.

“Young Master, the Knights aren’t exactly gentle. You could get hurt.”

“We’ll fight without ranks. Don’t worry about it.”

I spoke to the Knights gathered around me.

“What’s the matter? Why isn’t anyone stepping up?”

They just exchanged glances, no one willing to go first.

It was obvious they were all trying to avoid being the one to spar with the reckless young master.

It looked like I’d have to light the fuse myself.

“All right, anyone with a grudge against me, step up. There seem to be quite a few.”

Did I hit the mark?

The mood in the arena quietly simmered.

“Opportunities like this don’t come often.”

To these Knights, I was the worst sort of troublemaker—the one who’d driven their respected former Knight Commander to his death.

Whether it was my intent or not didn’t matter.

Raw, unfiltered emotions stabbed at my skin.

“My skills may be lacking, but I’d like to cross swords with you, Young Master.”

It took some time, but finally, a lower-ranked Knight stepped forward.

“Let’s begin. Come at me.”

I beckoned him with my training sword.

The lower-ranked Knight bowed and charged at me with vigor.

And—

Clash!

He was sent flying, rolling across the ground.

I stood alone in the silence, waiting for the next opponent.

This was a Duel to prove my worth.

And for them, a Duel to prove the value of their duty.

“I’ll go next!”

Now, it was just getting started.

Amid the rising tension, I gripped my sword tightly.

***

Crash!

A mid-ranked Knight fell, kicking up a cloud of dust.

Richard von Bartenberg, his opponent, was breathing heavily, but there wasn’t a scratch on him.

“What the…”

Polk Heimer couldn’t believe his eyes.

Three lower-ranked Knights. Four mid-ranked Knights.

All had fallen before Richard, their swords knocked aside.

“Is there no one else?”

Since when had Richard been able to shout so boldly?

He’d been a wastrel, giving up on everything because of his inability to sense mana, living a life of dissipation and regret.

Now, in the midst of shock and confusion, Richard stood proud, enduring every gaze.

He approached the Duel with sincerity.

No matter if his opponent was lower or mid-ranked, he gave it his all.

“This is your chance to kick my ass. Don’t sneak around and grumble—come at me like men.”

The members of the Third Knight Division were quietly nursing their wounds.

No one openly slandered the Bartenberg Bloodline, but dissatisfaction with Richard had been piling up.

Arrogant, conceited, weak—nothing but a disgrace.

Yet, for this disgrace, they had endured harsh training without complaint.

The Knights needed someone to vent their frustrations on.

And Richard was the perfect target.

Now, with the object of their resentment standing before them, asking for a Duel, this was an opportunity they couldn’t miss.

“I’ll be in your care.”

Another Knight stepped up before Richard and gave a polite bow.

Though he gripped a worn training sword, he was clearly itching for a real fight.

Clang!

Richard met his sword head-on.

He never dodged, always facing the attacks directly.

“Next!”

After that, two more mid-ranked Knights fell.

The makeshift arena grew more heated with every Duel.

They all scrambled to be the one to finally kick that arrogant young master’s ass.

“I am Jack Schwager, Senior Knight of the Third Knight Division.”

At last, even a Senior Knight stepped forward.

“Before we begin the Duel, I have a question.”

“What is it?”

Richard was curious.

Jack Schwager took his time, then finally asked what was on everyone’s mind.

“Are you really okay with me kicking your ass? With everything I’ve got?”

Jack’s eyes were deadly serious.

If given permission, he looked ready to hold nothing back.

“Of course. If you can.”

“Very well.”

That was the end of the chatter.

The difference between a mid-ranked and a Senior Knight was clear.

A pressure unlike anything before bore down on Richard.

“Here I come.”

Jack charged in an instant.

For a moment, he seemed to vanish, his speed astonishing.

But Richard could follow it.

Clang!

In a flash, dozens of exchanges rang out.

Jack’s sword danced like a storm, mixing feints and real attacks with dazzling speed.

In contrast, Richard’s swordplay was nothing but Basic Swordsmanship.

“How can he face Sir Jack’s sword with just Basic Swordsmanship…?”

The Knights murmured.

Basic Swordsmanship was the foundation of any Knight.

But once you reached a certain level, you usually moved on to more advanced techniques.

You couldn’t stay on the first floor if you wanted to climb a hundred-story tower.

Yet Richard’s Basic Swordsmanship was not the work of a day or two.

A range of emotions flickered across the faces of the watching Knights.

Noticing their reaction, Aaron smiled faintly and spoke up.

“The Young Master even defeated Moritz with that Basic Swordsmanship.”

“Is that true?”

“It is. You may not realize it, but Richard’s talent is blossoming by the day. Brilliantly so.”

After that, Aaron fell silent.

He wanted to say more, but sometimes seeing is believing.

“Hup!”

Richard’s sword sliced through the air.

At the same time, Jack counterattacked.

Swish!

Richard ducked and dodged by a hair’s breadth, moving without pause.

‘He’s fast.’

Jack’s sword was truly swift.

It was amazing that he could move this quickly without using mana.

But it wasn’t impossible to handle.

[Special Skill—Hyper Focus, activate.]

Richard’s world began to slow.

The noisy spectators faded away, leaving only Jack in his vision.

From that moment, the situation reversed.

Clang!

Jack was forced to retreat, blocking Richard’s attacks again and again.

He tried to find an opening to counter, but Richard dodged every strike by the narrowest of margins.

‘I can see the real from the fake…’

After dozens of exchanges, Hyper Focus let Richard distinguish the feints from the real attacks—however imperfectly.

Smack!

At last, Richard’s training sword struck Jack square in the chest.

Thud!

“So, I win, right?”

“It’s not over yet!”

Jack shouted, still brimming with fighting spirit.

I could sense his determination—he wouldn’t rest until he’d kicked the young master’s ass.

Richard considered using mana now, but before he could, a Knight on watch atop the palisade shouted.

“C-Captain! The Red Orc has appeared again!”

But the report was troubling.

“The Red Orc?”

A monster attack?

Richard turned to the others.

“Damn, it was my turn next!”

“I’ve been itching for a fight—this time, I’ll take that damned pig’s head!”

The Knights ground their teeth in anger.

From the sound of it, this wasn’t the first attack.

“I’m afraid we’ll have to pause the Duel.”

Polk Heimer stepped between Richard and Jack.

“Is it an attack?”

“Well, I’m not sure you could call it that…”

“Let’s check it out.”

Of all times, why did the Orc have to show up now?

Annoyed that the Duel was interrupted, Richard headed for the palisade.

“Snort!”

Beyond the palisade, in the distance, stood a single Orc.

A hideous scar slashed across its body.

Next to it, three wild boars lay dead, their necks slashed, stacked in a heap.

“You bastard! Are you here to die again?”

“Snort! Humans, how have you been?”

The Orc greeted the Knights cheerfully, unfazed by their hostility.

“What kind of creature is that?”

Richard stared in disbelief.

An Orc, greeting humans as if they were old friends—was this real?

Then, the Orc began to toss the dead boars toward them.

“Prepare for battle!”

The Knights, already on edge, raised their guard.

Richard reached for the hilt of Dragon Tooth.

“This isn’t an attack! Snort!”

But the Orc waved its hands frantically, backing away.

“I brought you some food! Please accept it warmly! Snort!”

Richard was so dumbfounded, he couldn’t even laugh.

He simply couldn’t understand what was happening.

“What’s with that guy?”

“It started about a month ago. That Orc keeps showing up, talking about joining forces.”

“Joining forces? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“He claims to have a grudge against the Dragon of the Hobsun Mountains.”

Polk Heimer explained with a sigh.

Apparently, this wasn’t the first time the Orc had come.

“Snort… Can’t we at least have a conversation?”

Richard stared at the Orc.

What was it thinking? There was a strange glint in its eyes.

“He seems pretty desperate. I’ll go talk to him for a moment.”

“Young Master!”

“That’s an order. Wait here.”

Ignoring the Knights’ protests, Richard walked out past the palisade.

“Snort! So you’re finally willing to talk? Thank you! Truly, thank you!”

The Orc’s face lit up as Richard approached.

“You’re a new human! Snort. I am Huger, the last warrior of the Bloodwood Tribe!”

“Richard von Bartenberg.”

Shing—

Richard drew Dragon Tooth.

The Orc stepped back, waving its hands.

“S-Snort! Why are you drawing your sword?”

“Don’t Orcs usually prefer to talk with their fists?”

“I have no intention of fighting!”

Was that really something you’d hear from an Orc?

But Richard didn’t let his guard down.

“You said you want to subjugate the Dragon together, right?”

“S-snort, yes…”

“Why should I trust you when I don’t even know your strength?”

The Orc looked blank at that.

“Then let’s have a Duel.”

Richard, still fired up from the earlier Duels, reignited the heat of battle.

His excitement had been cut short, so Huger would have to take responsibility.