The morning sun glinted off the stone walls of the Ozark Estate, spilling light across the emerald arena.
The chill in the northern air carried the faint scent of pine and frost, but the courtyard buzzed with life.
Wooden dummies lined the edges, weapons were scattered across the ground, and young knights-in-training moved between drills and sparring matches, their shouts and clashing steel echoing over the mountains.
The Northern Assembly had begun. Patriarchs and young masters of the allied families had gathered to test skill, strength, and honor in the arena, and every corner of the estate seemed alive with anticipation.
At the central stage, Lionel Ozark, the Unmoving Mountain, sat tall upon the throne, flanked by three Blade Guardians: Ragnar Ozark, the North's Protector, wielding a long sword with lethal precision; Shea Ozark, and Mira Ozark, twin sisters of doom, both scarred warriors brandishing short swords that whispered death with every swing. Their presence commanded respect; whispers ran through the assembly.
Before the main duels, the knight selection began.
New recruits faced instructors, testing strength, skill, and discipline.
Some were admitted into the Silver Knights, their training just beginning, while others were turned away, humbled by the reality of Ozark standards.
After the selection, the main event commenced. The first duel drew attention immediately: Lance Ozark vs. Kendrick Ista.
Spears twirled and clashed against rigid, disciplined sword strikes.
Lance's solid, unyielding stances countered Kendrick's spinning spear attacks, displaying the strength of the Ozark sword tradition against the lethal precision of the Ista spear style.
It was a battle of steel versus steel, discipline versus discipline.
Their duel ended in a draw, both men stepping back respectfully, acknowledging each other's mastery.
Next, Derrick faced George Chambers, a brute strength fighter.
George unleashed heavy fist strikes, but Derrick dodged them all with ease.
Derrick's agility, wits, and cunning allowed him to outmaneuver George, forcing him to collapse from exhaustion—a reminder that sheer strength was never enough.
The time had come for Michael to fight.
All eyes turned toward the arena as Nash Ochilis, second young master of the Ochilis family, stepped forward. Twin blades glimmered, eyes fixed with arrogance. He exuded menace as he strode to the center.
Michael faced him, calm and precise, his first and second cores hidden but humming quietly beneath his ribs.
Nash sneered. "Michael Ozark," he spat, voice dripping malice, "I've heard tales of you, but I see a weakling. Do you truly believe you can face me? Your name alone makes you pathetic. Was it given by your dead mother?"
The words hit like a knife. Michael's grip tightened. He stepped forward, voice cold, unwavering. "This is an honor duel."
Nash laughed cruelly, spinning his blades in a show of bravado. "Fine. Let's see if you're as weak as your mother!"
The crowd tensed.
Lance, usually calm, emanated silent killing intent, Kainel seemed ready to pounce , Derrick also gripped his sword and even Lionel's eyes glowed dangerously as he looked at Norman Ochilis.
The atmosphere became suffocating, charged with the threat of violence.
The duel began.
Nash moved like a serpent, agile and cunning. Michael countered with the Ozark Swordstyle—flowing through Blue Cut, Iron Fall, Silent Edge, and Gale Shift.
His strikes were precise, calculated, and filled with lethal intent.
Nash attacked with feints, aggressive swings, and tricky angles, testing Michael at every step, using all of his sword forms.
The clash drew gasps from the spectators.
Michael's first core flared faintly, allowing him to read subtle shifts in Nash's movements. Each swing, each feint, he matched with lethal precision.
Nash's smirk slowly faltered under Michael's cold, disciplined pressure.
Each move of Nash was being countered as if foreseen long before by Michael.
Some time passed.
Then, with cruel intent, Nash spat words that should never have been spoken:
"You're a bitch like your mother, Michael! Weak, useless, pathetic! Why don't you die like that bitch?"
Time seemed to slow. The insult cut deeper than any blade.
Everyone tensed even more. Michael's expression hardened, and something surged from within him.
Bloodlust, sealed and disciplined for years, exploded like a tidal wave.
Pressure radiated outward, freezing Nash in place, making him unable to move. He stammered in fear: "Wh-what are you doing… tricks…"
Michael didn't hesitate. He shifted to the Rhein Swordstyle, the swordstyle he had forged in his previous life for endless killing. Named after His sword filled with killing intent and mana from his cores.
The Guardian Knights instinctively drew their blades and even the blade guardians were astonished by the killing intent.
Michael slowly walked towards Nash who was binded by the killing intent holding his sword.
"Burial,"
he whispered coldly,
bending low and striking at Nash's legs with unmatched speed and precision.
Nash barely twisted aside, faltering and avoiding it.
Michael immediately followed with Mourning—a relentless sequence of overlapping strikes and feints, pressing Nash further back with calculated efficiency.
Each strike carried bloodlust, precision, and inevitability. The strikes gave Nash heavy wounds all over his body some vital points were also bleeding.
Nash shouted, "You wretch!" trying to parry, but Michael's attacks were like a storm he could not counter.
"Salvation," Michael said, voice low, cold, and merciless. He spun with blinding speed, executing a move impossible for a seven-year-old—but Michael was a veteran once. The final move shattered Nash's defenses.
The duel ended with Nash's twin blades severed, his body falling in shock and despair behind and his neck severed.
The arena fell silent for a heartbeat, then erupted with astonishment and roars for what they had seen was that surprising.
Norman Ochilis was stunned, glaring at Michael. Michael met his gaze unwavering.
"Since when did the Ochilis family gain the audacity to insult the Ozarks?"
Shouted Sir Ragnar Ozark unleashing his swordmaster aura ,
Drawing his sword.
Norman stiffened, angry, but suddenly
Another pressure more overwhelming than Ragnars aura unleashed the mind sword of the patriarch pressured on Norman.
Lionel's aura pressed down on him like a mountain.
Overwhelming Norman at once.
Norman was shaking awaiting judgement.
His voice echoed, cold and commanding:
"Was your child taught by you to speak such words?
Since when did we become so weak that pathetic ants like you had the guts to insult us?
Answer Norman Ochilis"
Norman ground his teeth hard and said quickly while shaking , "I apologize, my lord. My son's words were his own and do not represent our will. Please be merciful"
He feel to his knees and begged.
Everyone fell silent. Lionel had made Norman's place clear. Lionel then said "Ochilis Family shall await judgement later"
Everyone tensed upon the words said by The Swordmaster Sir Lionel Ozark.
Ragnar withdrew his sword aura and stepped forward, voice booming over the arena:
"The Winner of the honor duel is… Michael Ozark."