Chapter 155: The Battle for Harang (1)

To put it simply, I, Harang, didn’t accept Ransel Grantz’s request.

If it was just occasional sparring, I might’ve agreed.

But a teacher-student relationship?

It was not only burdensome but I also lacked the time.

‘Lately, I barely have time to train myself.’

Of course, I still made time to teach the Eddy Mercenary Corps because they were that important to me.

But I had no reason to show such kindness to Ransel Grantz, with whom I had no bond.

The problem was—

“He’s still out there.”

“That guy’s really persistent…”

“Seriously. How long will he keep this up?”

“Why not just kick him out, Boss?”

“…How? Beat him up?”

“Hmm… He’s a noble, so maybe that’s not the best idea?”

Since I rejected him, Ransel Grantz had been kneeling in front of the mercenary corps’ hideout, not moving an inch.

“Hey.”

“…”

“Hey, Sir Ransel Grantz. That’s enough, go home.”

“…”

“This won’t help anything. You’re just hurting yourself. Besides, this is no different from a child throwing a tantrum. You’re a high-ranking noble—does this suit you?”

Darren, a former assassin, deliberately approached and provoked him, hoping an angry reaction would give an excuse to call me and drive him away.

But Ransel Grantz didn’t react.

More precisely, he never lost his courtesy no matter what was said.

“I’m sorry. But I hope you understand my desperate situation and my earnest desire for the sword.”

“…Tch, boring.”

Clicking his tongue, Darren left and returned to the lot to train.

Honestly, he couldn’t understand.

For him, training with the sword was the only way to climb the social ladder.

Without it, he’d be stuck doing menial tasks and die in misery.

But Ransel Grantz was different.

Born noble, he’d lived over thirty years without want as a high-ranking noble.

There was no need for him to endure the humiliation of a lowlife’s taunts or beg for teachings.

‘He’s impressive.’

That’s why Darren felt respect.

He’d called it childish earlier, but honestly, it was admirable.

How many high-ranking nobles could cast aside status and pride like that?

‘Probably none in the Nadan Kingdom…’

Thinking this, Darren glanced at me in the corner of the lot.

I was still focused on personal training, showing no sign of accepting Ransel’s plea.

It made sense.

Unlike the early days of the mercenary corps, I was now swinging my sword with every second I had.

Spending time on others inevitably cut into my own.

This made Darren feel my teachings were even more precious.

‘I need to work harder.’

Nodding, Darren dove back into the world of Aura Cultivation.

He wasn’t alone.

Eddy, Pale, the Fist Brothers, and Glen.

All felt a deeper appreciation for me and continued their training.

Only Ransel Grantz remained, rooted like a nail outside the hideout, looking forlorn.

And his actions spread across Marzen within a day.

“Hey, did you hear?”

“What? What’s with the fuss?”

“Ransel Grantz is in Marzen.”

“Oh, really? Why? Why would someone that important come to the kingdom’s outskirts?”

“That’s the big part. Get this—he’s kneeling in front of the Eddy Mercenary Corps’ hideout, begging.”

“What? Begging? For what?”

“From what I heard, he’s asking Harang to teach him swordsmanship.”

“Huh? That makes no sense.”

A drunk man with a flushed face frowned and questioned.

Of course, he knew I was impressive.

The story of unifying Marzen’s underworld at a young age and receiving a Gold Plate from the Mercenary King Austin was still legendary.

But was I capable of teaching the kingdom’s third-ranked knight?

No way.

At least, that’s what he thought.

But the other’s next words forced him to reconsider.

“It doesn’t make sense. I thought so too.”

“That’s only natural. Did you hear some false rumor?”

“No, it’s real. I couldn’t believe it either, so I went to the Eddy Mercenary Corps’ building myself…”

“And?”

“Ransel Grantz was there, kneeling.”

“Really?”

“I’m telling you, it’s true. I even heard some busybody ask him directly. He really said he’s committing this breach of etiquette to receive teachings.”

“Wow… Still hard to believe.”

“If you don’t believe me, go see for yourself.”

“Should I? Sorry, it’s not that I doubt you, but it’s hard to believe, right?”

“Fair enough. Let’s go.”

A skeptical drunk rose, led by a frustrated man.

They hurried to the Eddy Mercenary Corps’ hideout and confirmed Ransel Grantz kneeling in front.

They weren’t alone.

People from across Marzen, hearing the rumors, came with curious expressions, whispering among themselves.

The content was similar.

Why was Ransel Grantz doing this?

I was known to be strong, but was I that impressive?

What had happened between us?

Such stories circulated, changing only slightly in wording, echoing through the streets so loudly that even the uninterested couldn’t help but overhear.

“What? Ransel Grantz?”

“Yes. That’s the rumor.”

Naturally, the rumor reached Philip Portville’s ears.

Unlike others, he didn’t doubt its truth.

He had known for over a year and a half how strong and remarkable I was.

That’s why he felt anxious.

No, beyond that, he felt anger toward Ransel Grantz.

‘All the effort I put into suppressing rumors about him!’

I was already barely sparring, citing busyness.

What would happen if he was pestered like this?

If my strength became known across the continent!

It was obvious—crowds would flock, and more troublesome matters would arise.

All sorts of riffraff would challenge me to duels, and people like Ransel Grantz would line up to learn from me.

And that meant—

‘Less time for me to learn from Harang!’

Thud!

“That’s unacceptable!”

Philip Portville sprang to his feet.

Drawing up his aura fully, he rushed out of the sword family’s building toward the Eddy Mercenary Corps’ hideout at terrifying speed.

Sure enough, there was Ransel Grantz.

His chiseled, handsome face was like a painting.

Philip Portville wanted to tear that painting apart.

‘The villain who exposed my hidden treasure to the world!’

Rage boiled within him.

It turned into a fighting spirit close to killing intent, directed at Ransel Grantz.

The man, who had been ignoring the surrounding noise and staring at the hideout, reacted.

Rising with a serious expression, Ransel Grantz looked at Philip Portville and said.

“…Who is this old man?”

“Me? I’m Philip Portville, head of the Portville Sword Family.”

“I see. Why direct such hostility at me…”

“A duel.”

“…What?”

“I’m challenging you to a duel.”

“A duel, you say?”

Ransel Grantz asked in shock.

Philip Portville.

He’d heard of him.

A seasoned swordsman, still vigorous at ninety, a prominent figure in Marzen.

But that was just hearsay—he had no direct connection to him.

In other words, they were strangers meeting for the first time today.

Yet he was challenging him to a duel out of the blue?

Why?

It was incomprehensible.

So, rather than anger, he felt more bewildered.

“What’s that?”

“Did the Portville patriarch just challenge him to a duel?”

“Why?”

“What’s going on?”

“Were they on bad terms?”

Ransel Grantz wasn’t the only one shocked.

The gathered onlookers also looked at them with puzzled expressions, whispering among themselves.

Some said they had bad blood.

Others said Philip was angry at Ransel for ignoring him and seeking my teachings.

Of course, no one guessed the real reason.

Who could imagine Philip Portville challenging a duel to monopolize a genius like me?

‘Who cares if I’m narrow-minded!’

For Philip Portville, that wasn’t the priority.

Stopping Ransel Grantz’s antics was urgent.

To prevent this madman from spreading my strength to the world, to continue sparring with me stably… he had to silence him with a duel.

With that thought, he unleashed even fiercer momentum and said.

“Will you fight or not? For the record, if I win, you leave Marzen immediately. No more loitering around the mercenary corps’ hideout.”

“…Hah, haha.”

Ransel Grantz let out a hollow laugh, incredulous.

It was only natural.

He couldn’t understand the man picking a fight out of nowhere, nor how he could be so confident.

‘I’m stronger, though.’

It wasn’t about disrespecting the old man.

But as one of the top three in the kingdom’s capital, he was clearly a cut above the head of a sword family that had only risen in a provincial city.

His momentum alone told the story.

Though strong, he was beneath him.

“…Fine.”

In the end, Ransel Grantz accepted the duel challenge.

He would’ve ignored it normally, but enduring such rudeness was tough even for him.

“But if I win, you’ll have to grant one request of mine. Do you accept?”

“Hmph! Fine. I’ll win anyway!”

“…”

“Why are you staring? Follow me. Unless you plan to duel in front of the crowd.”

“…To your estate?”

“What, intimidated?”

“Not really… Alright, let’s go! I’ll see with my own eyes if Marzen’s Portville Sword Family is as great as rumored!”

With a bold shout, Ransel Grantz followed Philip Portville.

They pushed through the crowd, moving away from the hideout.

I, Harang, watched with a blank expression…

‘Should I follow?’

I secretly tailed them.

Most didn’t notice my pursuit.

Not Philip Portville.

Not Ransel Grantz.

Not the many members of the Portville family.

But one person did.

“You here to watch too?”

“…”

“Haha, I couldn’t resist my curiosity either.”

The beggar old man.

Not only did he notice my tailing, but he slipped into the Portville estate and took a spot beside me.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.