- Dung. Dung. Dung!

The sound of drums echoed. The semi-final match was more crowded than ever before. Those unable to find seats clung to the fence, desperate to catch a glimpse.

In the VIP seats, from where the entire arena could be overlooked, the grand duke and the grand duchess were seated.

However, for some reason, a cold atmosphere hung around the grand duchess. Her piercing gaze was fixed on Konrad, who was waiting for the proceedings of Iceborn.

― Swish.

But regardless of what others did, the grand duke rose from his seat. He disinterestedly raised his hand toward the spectators. Thereupon, the steward, Steinburg, shouted in a booming voice.

"Participants, enter—!"

With Steinburg's summons, two men slowly walked into the arena.

Milon.

He was clad in full armor, his helmet tucked under his arm, clanking as he moved.

In contrast, Erich entered wearing only light everyday clothes.

A heavily armored knight and a lightly dressed man. Just as their appearances contrasted, so too did the cheers of the crowd, split down the middle.

"Krupp! I bet on you!"

"Milon!!! Destroy that bastard!"

If such words had been spoken face-to-face, it would not have been surprising if heads rolled on the spot for such impudence. But here, among the stands of Iceborn, there was no distinction between noble and commoner.

All the spectators expected from this arena was only slaughter and the clash of blood.

Waaaaaa—!

The cheers of the crowd, almost frenzied, continued unabated. It was proof of the great expectations placed upon Milon and Erich.

"Erich von Krupp, third son of Krupp. And Milon of House Roland. Standard-bearer of Krupp. Both of you, ascend to the podium and receive the blessing of His Grace the grand duke."

Erich ascended the podium with Milon. As the two contestants climbed the long, high staircase leading to the VIP seats, the shouts of the crowd grew even more heated.

"Ooooooh!"

The two men knelt before the grand duke atop the podium. Even amidst the deafening cheers, the charisma of the grand duke was undeniable.

"Fight well."

A single indifferent word from the grand duke. With that, he immediately turned his back. Then, the grand duchess stepped forward.

She held a small cup in her hand. It was a ritual where the mistress extended a cup to the participants, wishing them victory. But as Milon saw the cup, his expression stiffened dramatically.

― Cleck. Cleck.

In all the empire's duels and fencing tournaments, the lady of the house would present a cup to the participants. Usually, this was reserved for the final round, but it seemed the grand duchess wished to grant this favor now.

"Receive it. May Innocence's blessing be upon you both."

The grand duchess wore a cold smile, extending a cup to both Milon and Erich. Erich was the first to take the cup.

"Thank you, Your Grace the grand duchess."

"...."

But Milon did not accept the cup right away. He looked back and forth between Erich's cup and the one still in the grand duchess's hand, as if weighing something.

Milon then snatched the cup from the grand duchess's hand and downed it at once.

Leaning toward Erich—

― Tap!

He bumped into Erich as if staggering. No, he tried to.

Milon, feigning a stumble, tried to knock Erich's cup and spill it onto the ground. However, Erich deftly avoided the movement.

"Oh dear. I almost spilled this precious wine. You must be careful, sir Milon."

"Wa-wait, that—"

Before Milon could intervene further, Erich poured the wine from his cup into his mouth. Then he frowned.

"Phew. That's a bitter drink."

A fleeting smile returned to the lips of the grand duchess, who had been watching Milon coolly. But the whisper from Erich's mouth immediately wiped away her smile.

"Must be all that poison in it. Truly bitter, mother."

The grand duchess's face froze in an instant. Her pupils shook as if unmoored. Was he saying he knew there was poison in the cup and drank it anyway? Had he been prepared for this all along?

But the grand duchess could not understand it. This poison had no antidote. Regardless of preparation, anyone who drank it was finished. Even if it wasn't a deadly poison, still...

At the same time, Milon was just as flustered. He had gone so far as to fake an accident to prevent Erich from drinking it, but Erich avoided it.

What was he thinking? He drank from the cup even knowing it was poisoned?

"Steward. Proceed."

Nonetheless, the grand duke urged Steinburg to continue. The grand duchess looked back and forth in confusion.

Surely the grand duke must have heard about the poison as well. Yet his expression did not change in the slightest.

Perhaps he had already given up hope for the illegitimate child. Finally, swallowing her questions, she returned to her seat.

Erich and Milon slowly descended the podium and faced each other.

Milon furrowed his brow. There was no doubt Erich knew it was poison and drank it anyway. Was he planning to commit suicide? The question only grew deeper.

"Idle thoughts are what kill a swordsman, sir Milon."

"... Do you have an antidote?"

"Even if I did, how would something from the North be in the South?"

"Then why did you do it? My father was the South's greatest knight, and even he fell helplessly to that poison. You believe you can overcome it?"

"Call it an amusement of my own. There are things I want to show."

"To whom?"

"Well... Just watch."

Erich slowly curled his lips into a smile. But instead of answering, he slowly backed away, widening the distance between himself and Milon.

Milon disliked this contest. Regardless of the outcome, fighting in such conditions was itself disgraceful. Still.

'... Blame your fate.'

Now that things had come to this, there was only one thing left to do.

Milon slowly raised his hand. His attendant approached and presented him with a shield and a sword. Taking them, Milon fixed his gaze on Erich.

Then Milon's eyes grew wide. The item Finn, Erich's attendant, brought forward was not the sword he had seen before.

A long and cumbersome northern sword. A longsword. That was what Erich took in hand.

― Clack.

Erich weighed the sword Finn handed him, then smiled.

"Well-forged blade. Thank you, Finn."

"... Good fortune to you, young master."

Milon's attendant and Finn left the arena, leaving only Milon and Erich behind.

But Milon did not attack. Why had Erich chosen such an unusual sword?

To a swordsman, the sword is an extension of one's arm. If it's unfamiliar, it's as good as useless. And considering Erich's swordsmanship, he was already a completed swordsman with his original weapon.

"Is this an insult?"

"An insult? That's disappointing. To be precise, it's the opposite."

"..."

Before Milon could respond, Erich twisted his waist slightly and drew his sword in one swift motion. Milon's eyes narrowed.

In silence, Milon readied his shield and sword, his stance airtight.

And so, at last—

The duel between Milon and Erich began.

― Shhhhhik!

Milon's blade shot toward Erich's neck. But instead of blocking, Erich counter-thrust.

'W-what?'

Milon's eyes flickered for a moment. If they crashed like this, Erich's blade would hit Milon's armor, and Milon's blade would stab Erich's neck.

But—

― Kwaaaang!

It was Erich's blade that struck true. Though the attack did not penetrate the armor, it struck Milon's helmet and glanced off.

"Guh!"

Milon doubted his eyes. From the trajectory, his attack should have succeeded. But as if blocked, his sword was stopped, and instead, he was the one struck.

― Swish.

Another exchange began between Milon and Erich. Yet the same result kept occurring. Milon's attacks were blocked by Erich's sword, and at the same time, Erich's strikes landed on Milon.

― Kaang! Kaaang!

The clang of metal echoed loudly. But Milon was not simply being beaten. He quickly adapted to Erich's attacks, tracking the path of the long blade.

'The blade is long; by using the shorter part for defense, he can attack and defend at the same time.'

Suddenly, Milon recalled their sparring matches. Why hadn't Erich pressed his attacks further then? Even with an opening, he focused on defense more than half the time. Milon had thought Erich's style was strange.

But now Milon understood. Each defensive posture, if with a longer blade, was one where attack and defense could be executed simultaneously.

Adapted to Erich's swordplay, Milon pressed forward. If Erich could defend and attack simultaneously with one sword, Milon was already equipped with both shield and armor.

But he didn't defend like a mediocre would, risking a counter. He manipulated his shield with sharp instincts to deflect Erich's blows safely.

― Kaang! Kang! Kang!

Milon, who had been pushed back, now steadily advanced. No matter how Erich combined attack and defense, his skill as a swordsman could not outmatch the defense of a knight armed with shield and armor.

Making the most of his advantages as a knight, Milon drove Erich step by step into a corner.

― Kadadadak!

The clash of their swords sent sparks flying. Using his weight, Milon shoved Erich backwards with his shield and stabbed at him.

― Syak!

A few strands of hair fluttered in the air. Milon's strikes grew sharper, closer and closer to Erich's body.

The once cheering spectators now held their breaths. Every moment was a scene where one could stab the other—such deadly tension thrilled them.

Then Milon noticed Erich's movements growing slower.

'... So it is poison after all.'

Not even the mighty hero of Roland had withstood that poison. This was not something a young bastard could survive. Thus, Milon briefly halted his attack.

"... Why do you stop?"

"This is not a fair fight. I..."

Milon averted his gaze. He could not go through with a battle like this. That was what he thought. But just then, he caught sight of a smile on Erich's lips.

'...!!'

And in that moment, Milon lost track of Erich's movement. In a flash, Erich's blade, coming up close, traced an arc before his eyes.

'Is he insane?!'

Milon instinctively raised his pauldron and shield, preparing to deflect Erich's blade. However, the point of Erich's blade hesitated subtly.

To think a battle like this would end this way. To have a duel with such a talented swordsman ruined by poison. That regret.

However—

― Chaaaak.

"Urgh!"

Milon stumbled several steps back, reeling.

― Thunk!

He dropped his shield and clutched his shoulder. The pain was not deep but sharp. As he checked the wound, Milon's eyes grew wide with shock.

Erich's blade had sliced through the shield, cut through the solid steel of the pauldron, and slashed Milon's shoulder.

Impossible. No matter how refined one's skill, only a single swordmaster could cut steel as if it were butter.

But staring at Erich in horror, Milon realized the truth. A chilling terror crept up his spine.

― Wooooom.

A faint crimson aura radiated from Erich's eyes. The proof possessed only by those who had reached the pinnacle of martial arts. Erich was burning with the 'eyes' of a Swordmaster.

-------------= Clacky's Corner -------------=【ദ്ദി(⩌ᴗ⩌)】

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