The Dullahan struck first.
No signal.
No roar.
Its sword came down in a fast, crushing arc—heavy enough to shatter a man in half.
Leon stepped aside.
The blade slammed into the stone where he had stood, sending fragments skidding across the ground.
Several knights flinched.
That would've killed him—
The Dullahan didn't pause.
It lunged.
A straight thrust, brutal and exact, aimed for Leon's chest.
Leon turned his wrist and deflected it.
Not with strength.
With precision.
Steel slid past him, missing his heart by a breath.
A murmur spread through the soldiers.
"Did he… just touch it away?"
"That was a full-force thrust…"
The Dullahan struck again.
A diagonal slash.
Leon leaned back, the blade slicing air in front of his nose.
He answered instantly.
A thrust of his own.
The Dullahan twisted aside, the tip grazing its armor.
Leon felt it.
It reacted late.
His eyes sharpened—not excited, not angry—
Interested.
He pressed forward.
Another thrust.
The Dullahan raised its sword to parry—
Leon shifted.
The thrust softened mid-motion.
A feint.
His blade snapped sideways into a slash.
Steel clashed.
The sound rang across the field like a bell.
The Dullahan countered immediately, its return strike fast and merciless.
Leon vanished from its line.
He stepped inside the swing—
And brought his foot down.
Clang.
The Dullahan's sword was pinned beneath his boot.
Gasps burst from the line of knights.
"He stepped on it—!"
"Is he insane?!"
Leon thrust again.
The Dullahan tore its blade free just in time, frost erupting as it retreated half a step.
For the first time—
The Dullahan adjusted its stance.
Aurelia's breath hitched.
It's learning… no—
He's forcing it to.
The duel accelerated.
Strike after strike.
The Dullahan's power shook the ground.
Leon's movements grew sharper, smaller, cleaner.
He dodged by inches.
Deflected by fingers.
Every exchange tightened the noose.
Reinhardt clenched his teeth.
He's not fighting to win…
He's dissecting it.
Then—
The Dullahan thrust.
All its strength poured into a single, decisive lunge.
The air screamed.
Leon met it.
He deflected the blade outward—
And followed it.
His body turned with the momentum, cloak flaring as he spun, adding his own weight, timing, and intent.
The Dullahan realized too late.
Leon's rotation completed.
Steel flashed.
Once.
Twice.
Both arms severed in the same breath.
They hit the ground before the sound did.
The battlefield froze.
The Dullahan stood there, head tilted slightly—as if confused.
Its sword slipped from numb fingers.
Leon landed lightly, blade already lowered.
Breathing steady.
Unchanged.
"You committed too much," Leon said calmly. "Power without restraint is easy to read."
The Dullahan dropped to one knee.
From that moment on, it was no longer a duel.
Leon advanced.
Each step deliberate.
The Dullahan tried to move—but without arms, without balance—
It could not follow him.
One final strike.
Clean.
Precise.
Merciful.
The Dullahan collapsed.
Its form shattered into frost and ash, scattering into the wind like a broken oath.
For a heartbeat—
Nothing moved.
Then the pressure lifted.
The suffocating weight that had crushed the battlefield vanished, as if the night itself had drawn a breath.
The elite skeleton knights froze.
Their formation faltered.
A ripple ran through their ranks.
One knee bent.
Then another.
Not in command.
In recognition.
They lowered their weapons and stepped back, retreating into the shadows beyond the field.
A roar rose from the living.
Not victory—
Hope.
"They're retreating—!"
"The commander's gone!"
"We can still fight!"
Shields lifted.
Lines straightened.
Men who had been moments from collapse stood taller, eyes burning.
Reinhardt sucked in a sharp breath.
The pressure's gone… I can move again.
Aurelia's hands trembled as she pressed them against the railing.
He didn't just kill it…
He broke their will.
Leon looked around.
Once.
He saw it immediately—the shift, the renewed grip on weapons, the fear turning sharp instead of dull.
Satisfied.
"…Good," he said quietly.
He sheathed his sword.
The sound was final.
Leon turned his back on the battlefield.
Gasps followed him.
He walked past the stunned soldiers, boots crunching over shattered bone and frost, expression bored, uninterested.
As he passed Reinhardt, he spoke without stopping.
"From here on," Leon said flatly, "you don't need me."
Reinhardt stiffened.
Leon continued walking.
"They were only dangerous because you let their commander breathe," he added. "The rest are weak."
He mounted his warhorse in one smooth motion.
The beast snorted, stamping once.
Leon looked back—just briefly.
Not at the enemy.
At the soldiers.
"Handle it yourselves."
No encouragement.
No praise.
Yet something ignited.
Reinhardt raised his sword.
"Knights of Valierous!" he roared. "Advance!"
A thunderous shout answered him.
Leon turned away.
The warhorse moved, carrying him back toward the estate gates.
Behind him, steel clashed again.
But this time—
The rhythm had returned.
Aurelia exhaled shakily.
He didn't save us…
He reminded us who we were.
From the saddle, Leon yawned.
"…What a hassle."
And with that, the hidden sword returned to the shadows—
leaving the battlefield to those who still needed to prove themselves.