They were heading back to the carriage when a sudden commotion shattered the calm of their walk. Shouts, hurried footsteps, and the metallic ring of a sword being drawn filled the air. Both of them turned instantly.
In the nearby plaza, a small crowd had gathered around a group of finely dressed men. At the center, a young man in simple clothing shielded a girl with his body as she clung to his back. Opposite them, a nobleman with a haughty expression brandished his sword threateningly.
"You have stained my honor, commoner!" the noble shouted. "I challenge you to a duel to the death!"
Emily frowned."Another absurd dispute…"
Lusian watched with quiet interest. This was new to him.
"A duel? Can they really do that in the middle of the street?" he asked softly, turning to one of the duchy's knights.
The man shook his head."No, young master. Public duels are forbidden. They can only take place in the lesser coliseum, under the supervision of a royal official."
"The lesser coliseum?" Lusian repeated, intrigued.
"That's correct," the knight explained. "Nobles have the right to defend their honor, but the kingdom enforces strict rules to prevent unnecessary deaths. Everything must be done under oath and registered."
Lusian nodded slowly. It said much about the kingdom: even violence had its protocols.
At that moment, someone in the crowd murmured the noble's name.
"It's Baron Joel Denisse Mofet."
Lusian studied him carefully. Arrogance dripped from the man's posture—the kind accustomed to never being contradicted. In contrast, the challenged young man looked ordinary: brown hair, dark eyes, hands hardened by labor. He could not have been more than twenty-one. Behind him, the girl he protected trembled, though her eyes were a mixture of fear and determination.
Lusian narrowed his eyes.A noble abusing his title to humiliate someone… how typical.
The crowd moved forward, driven by curiosity and morbid fascination. Lusian and Emily allowed themselves to be carried along until they reached the lesser coliseum—a circular stone structure that, though smaller than expected, radiated authority and age. The roar of the crowd echoed against the walls, a tense blend of anticipation and dread that made Lusian frown. It wasn't fear he felt, but something more unsettling: the sensation of witnessing something that should not exist in a civilized kingdom.
Inside, the arena was far smaller than he imagined, but no less imposing. The stands were nearly full, and dust swirled around the feet of the duelists preparing for combat. On one side, Baron Joel spoke with a stern man in royal guard armor: Knight Alan Baldwin, the official overseeing the duel.
A chill ran down Lusian's spine. This was no mere spectacle; it was honor, law, and the threat of blood—and he stood in the center of it all, observing every detail with keen attention.
"By royal decree," Baldwin announced, his voice strong and clear, "duels are permitted only if the conditions established by the Crown are met."
The murmuring crowd fell silent immediately. All eyes turned to the knight.
Baldwin stepped into the center of the arena, holding a magical artifact glowing faintly with blue light.
"According to the Crown's law," he explained, "the participants' status must be verified before each duel." The device began to hum, measuring the mana flow of the contenders.
Lusian watched closely, reminded of long nights in the duchy's library, reading treatises that spoke not of glory but of limits—how the kingdom regulated magical power.
He knew the hierarchy well. Initiates barely touched mana; Adepts could maintain an aura or cast simple spells without collapsing. Beyond them were veterans… and above all, those whose presence alone altered the flow of the world.
When Baldwin's device flashed amber instead of simply beeping, Lusian knew what would come.
"Edmon, level thirty-one," Baldwin read. "Stable flow. Solid reserves."
The glow flickered again.
"Darren Acre, level thirty-eight. Denser mana, with traces of impurity."
Baldwin raised his gaze to the duel circle."Balanced confrontation. Both within Adept range."
The device closed with a short beep."Duel authorized."
Lusian nodded to himself. They shared the same rank; the law allowed the combat.
Even so, discomfort lingered. Compared to them, he was a step higher. Training with Albert had pushed him beyond Adept.
He studied the fighters, calculating. Every stance, every poorly distributed tension, every restrained breath spoke to him of the distance between wielding a sword… and mastering it.
Beside him, Emily seemed to forget to breathe. Lusian sensed her unease and, for a moment, wished he could shield her—not only from prying eyes, but from the violence about to erupt in the arena.
The duel began cautiously. For long, tense seconds, the opponents measured each other, exchanging restrained slashes and probing thrusts, granting no openings. The clash of steel rang like muffled bells in the mana-saturated air; every strike was a question, a silent search for weakness.
Edmon broke the rhythm with a sphere of fire. The moment the spell formed, color drained from his face. Lusian saw clearly: the attack was too costly for his reserves. His affinity barely met the minimum required; the spell frayed at the edges. If he pressed on, he would exhaust himself in minutes.
Darren responded with a water barrier. Steam burst from the collision—not just from elements, but from sweat boiling on their skin, evidence of clumsy, costly channeling.
Then Darren unleashed an attack, five water spears shooting toward Edmon. The young man reacted at the limit, flames wrapping his blade, arcs of fire vaporizing each spear. But on the last, he overextended—his left flank exposed.
Darren lunged. The crowd held its breath; it looked like certain death.
A sphere of fire flew through the space between them, forcing Darren back. Edmon had prepared it—a trap to punish the counterattack. The audience erupted.
The duel continued, bodies drenched in sweat and wrapped in steam. To the spectators, it was thrilling. To Lusian, the movements were sluggish, predictable. Their blows lacked weight.
Fifteen minutes of tense exchanges passed. Every spell, every strike drained exhausted mana reserves. Darren staggered; his flow unraveled, the water aura flickering faintly around his blade.
At level forty-five, Lusian's nervous system was densified by years of strengthened mana. He saw the cracks in Darren's defense before the arm even moved. Watching Adepts fight was like watching warriors burdened by their own ballast. They lacked elegance, speed, and true mastery.
Edmon advanced, flames along his blade. Darren tried to block—and failed. The burning edge pierced his defense and chest, leaving a trail of steam… and silence.
For several seconds, the arena held its breath.
Then Baldwin raised his hand solemnly."The victor: Edmon, Adept class, level thirty-one!"
The crowd erupted.
Lusian, however, felt sick. Watching life leave a body was something he had not been prepared for—the sound of metal clattering, dark blood mixing with dust, the ensuing silence… it hit him with brutal force. He looked away, fighting nausea.
Emily took his arm gently. Lusian inhaled, steadying himself. The duel had never been a game.
Baron Joel Denisse Mofet, once radiating confidence, now went pale.
Knight Baldwin examined Darren's body, then nodded gravely."The duel has concluded. Darren Acre is dead. The victor: Edmon, Adept class, level thirty-one."
A murmur of unease spread through the stands. Edmon, panting, drenched in sweat, raised his sword, its faint crimson glow flickering. His voice trembled, but did not falter.
"Baron Joel… do not approach my fiancée again."
The baron's face twisted in rage and humiliation."How dare you, bastard?" he roared. "Do you know who I am?"
Murmurs and nervous laughter ran through the crowd. Lusian understood immediately: the baron had tried to claim Edmon's fiancée, failed, and now sought "legal" recourse to eliminate him—a common obsession among certain nobles.
The baron brandished a golden-sealed parchment."Here is the contract," he announced venomously. "Samantha, Edmon's fiancée, owes me one thousand gold coins. The deadline has passed."
He raised his voice, confident and rehearsed."By law, I may claim the daughter. If I choose, she becomes my slave."
The coliseum fell silent.
Feigning magnanimity, he continued:"I will grant Edmon a chance. If he wins another duel—against my next knight—the debt is settled. If he loses… the girl is mine."
Edmon's eyes widened. Another duel meant death. Die at twenty-one… or lose his fiancée.
The tension was suffocating.
Then a female voice cut through the silence:"How despicable!"
All eyes turned to Emily. Her face burned with indignation, her voice ringing clear even to Baldwin.
Baron Joel looked at her, irritation melting into desire."Miss," he said provocatively, "are you insulting me? If so, present yourself at once."
He did not finish.
Charles Grell, captain of the Douglas escort, stood. His voice thundered:"Knights, protect Lady Emily!"
Twenty swords were drawn in unison, the echo of steel vibrating as the men of the Douglas Duchy formed a perfect wall around Lusian and Emily.
Baron Joel froze, seeing the emblem on the shields: two intertwined wolves—the symbol of the Douglas Duchy.
The color drained from his face.
And then he saw Lusian. Rising with glacial calm, the young duke stood beside Emily. The presence was unmistakable. Across the kingdom, one punishment existed for offending a Douglas: death.
Lusian rose slowly, the scent of blood, dust, and silence tightening his stomach. He had watched a man die for the first time—and it had not faded.
If I ignite a conflict between the Denisse and the Douglas… he thought. Strike the empire's structure, weaken its influence and labor force.
The baron remained frozen. Lusian's faint smile promised nothing short of death.
"I will take responsibility for any disrespect my fiancée may have shown," Lusian said evenly. "If you desire a duel… or more, I am willing."
Total silence followed.
Finally grasping the magnitude, the baron fell to his knees."Mercy! I never meant offense… please, Young Master Douglas, show clemency…"
Emily stepped forward, voice barely a whisper, yet carrying to Lusian clearly."Ask for a formal apology… and the debt parchment. That will be enough."
There was no calculation in her eyes—only compassion. For Edmon, Samantha… and even for the man reduced to a shadow before them.
Lusian remained silent, torn. Part of him wanted blood. But Emily's sincerity dismantled even his coldest resolve.
"Very well," he said at last. "So be it."
The baron hurried to hand over the parchment, bowing until his forehead touched the ground.
Emily took the document and approached Samantha, who wept beside Edmon's body."Here," she said gently. "The debt is settled."
The girl looked up, tears flooding her eyes."Thank you… thank you so much, my lady."
With one gesture, Emily had saved two lives. Lusian understood it instantly.
Power does not reside in strength alone, he thought. It also lives in mercy. And both can destroy or save, depending on who wields them.