Chapter 109

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Translator: Harry Potta

Chapter: 109

Chapter Title: Duel... Or Sparring?

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A duel...? No, sparring?

Just like this, out of nowhere?

The women, myself included, were thrown into confusion.

The most shocked of all was Duchess Muzen, Aaron's mother.

The moment she grasped that her son had challenged the Crown Prince to a spar, she rushed over and tried to stop him.

"What rudeness is this toward His Highness the Crown Prince, Aaron!"

She half-blocked her son's path and smiled at Arpad.

"This child may be big for his age, but he's still so immature. Please forgive my son's mistake, Your Highness."

Arpad said nothing. It was the son who had rebelled against his mother.

"It's no mistake, Mother!"

"Aaron!"

"I'm requesting this spar as a pure warrior! It would be the greatest honor to receive instruction from Your Highness, heir to the Dragon Blood!"

For the first time, a proper response came from Arpad's lips.

"I'm no good at teaching people."

The duchess was just starting to relax, thinking it a refusal.

"It'll be a real fight, like in actual combat. I don't play around with swords like kids do."

The duchess's face turned pale. Oblivious to his mother's worry, Aaron was thrilled instead.

"That's exactly what I hoped for! As a knight myself, I don't want to play around with swords either!"

"I won't be responsible if you get hurt or killed."

"I've already resolved myself for that since becoming a knight!"

And so, amid everyone's anxiety and worry—except for the two men involved—the unexpected spar began.

Arpad had his own sword with him, but Aaron had left his at the Imperial Knights' barracks upon entering the palace.

Thus, at Arpad's special order, Aaron's sword was delivered.

In the meantime, Arpad and Aaron shed their cumbersome formal outerwear.

Not content with just shirts and trousers, they even undid buttons here and there to avoid any hindrance to movement.

Thanks to this, the two men's chiseled, well-trained physiques were on full display.

The noble ladies, forgetting for a moment who might win, were enraptured by the youthful beauty of these men's bodies.

"His Highness the Crown Prince truly has muscles sculpted like marble, even in his limbs."

"And that broad chest... oh my. Ahem!"

The noble ladies, speaking purely on instinct without thinking, soon realized they'd said too much in front of their "owners" and quickly changed the subject.

What's wrong with them? I'm fine with it.

Isn't it just human nature to admire something pretty and handsome?

Besides, Arpad's body was artistically mesmerizing, even knowing the prickly personality housed within.

'Does that guy never tan in the sun? His torso and limbs are the exact same shade of pale.'

Arpad trained frequently, and as Gerald, he roamed about quite a bit.

Unlike Ludwig, who fussed with parasols and hats to preserve his "noble pallor," Arpad's skin was far whiter—a true irony.

Thanks to that, I admired Arpad's body like a masterpiece sculpture carved from flawless white marble in perfect proportions.

In contrast, young Viscount Aaron Muzen was the complete opposite.

At just eighteen, his growth wasn't even fully complete. Yet atop his large frame, dense, solid muscles were packed tight—a striking sight.

Blue veins stood out vividly between the sharply defined muscles, drawing excited squeals from the young maids attending us.

"Look, those veins bulging on his forearms!"

"And that chest... it's enormous. The buttons look like they'll pop—oh! They really did!"

"Eek, what do we do!"

As Aaron rolled his shoulders side to side for warm-up, puffing out his chest, his shirt strained until one button flew off.

The maids unwittingly cried "Oh my! Oh my!" before their seniors or head maids scolded them.

But nothing could dim the sparkle in those maids' eyes. A few even sneaked off to pick up the flying button.

Normally, Duchess Muzen would bask in such cheers while bragging about her son, but now she looked filled with unease.

She approached her preparing son, trying repeatedly to dissuade him.

"A real sword fight with His Highness the Crown Prince, of all people? Have you lost your mind? Stop this now!"

From the side, I heard Arpad's low scoff.

"Looks like the duchess has overflowing confidence in her son's skills. She actually thinks he can beat me."

The duchess's scolding of her son stemmed more from worry over rudeness to the imperial family than his safety.

That spoke volumes about her faith in his abilities.

'Even so, he doesn't stand a chance against Arpad.'

No matter that he might become a Sword Master in the future, against royalty with dragon blood? No contest.

"Can't blame her. He won the tournament at fourteen, after all. He's surely even stronger now."

"Seeing her make such a fuss about him possibly injuring me... it's getting on my nerves a bit."

If she were truly just worried for her son's well-being, she wouldn't broadcast how strong Arpad was beforehand.

She's laying the groundwork to claim "It was truly unintentional; I never dreamed..." if he somehow wins.

Just as the duchess stood by her son, I stood by Arpad.

I had to at least pretend to worry for my husband.

I spoke loudly enough for those around to hear, feigning concern.

"Please be careful not to get hurt."

My real message, I whispered softly.

"Don't kill him."

"I know. Even I wouldn't think of killing a duke's heir."

"No crippling injuries or scars that show, either."

"...What about ones that don't show?"

"No."

Arpad clicked his tongue with a 'tch!'

"The duchess is someone who could become my chamberlain. And you've only met the viscount today—why does she irk you so much?"

"She's too full of herself."

"...Pardon?"

What fresh nonsense is this?

"When he popped that chest button earlier, you looked at him too."

"That was just from surprise..."

Arpad leaned down and whispered in my ear.

"I can do that too. Want me to show you?"

"No thanks!"

Arpad laughed, clear and refreshing.

Then he extended his hand and declared loudly for all to hear—unlike before.

"I'll dedicate this victory to my wife."

His tone already brimmed with certainty.

"It's not even a duel, just sparring—what's with..."

I chided him, but obediently offered my hand.

Arpad kissed the back of it and advanced with sword in hand.

Toward young Viscount Muzen, who stared at him with a face full of tension and fighting spirit.

At last, the spar began.

The spar moved to the training grounds of the Crown Prince Palace.

Word had spread somehow, and imperial knights from the palace swarmed to watch.

Clang!

The clash of steel on steel sliced through the training grounds' air.

Crack!

The sturdy granite flooring split from a single kick, shards flying everywhere.

The knights stepped in to block them, so no one was hurt.

But the crowd's shock was inevitable.

"Eek!"

"D-Dangerous...!"

Amid the noble ladies' screams, Hilia watched with keen interest.

Opportunities to see knights of this caliber cross swords were rare.

Besides, in her past life, Aaron and Arpad had never sparred or dueled.

This was far rougher than mere "sparring," leaving many noble ladies startled and fearful.

The guarding knights, one and all, watched with fervent gazes.

Sir Beltein was no exception. The man who always seemed so solemn and composed now struggled to contain his excitement.

For knights, witnessing a clash between masters was the finest lesson.

Aaron Muzen—tournament champion at fourteen, destined soon for Sword Master. Already hailed as the strongest among ordinary humans.

And Arpad, thick with dragon blood, effectively a Sword Master from birth.

This duel of superhumans was a dream matchup for any knight.

I smiled, hoping Sir Beltein would grow from observing this.

That was when it happened.

A shadow fell over Sir Beltein's face, where excitement and aspiration had blazed like flames.

What remained after those emotions burned out was ash-like residue.

Defeat. Inferiority. And... stark despair.

I'd known Sir Beltein for a long time and could read his expressions well.

Yet now, I wondered if I'd seen wrong.

It was so unlike... the Sir Beltein I knew.

He was always upright, the very model of a knight.

"...!"

I hurriedly turned my head away.

It felt like I'd glimpsed something I shouldn't have.

My heart raced anxiously, fearing Sir Beltein might notice I'd caught him.

He probably didn't want me seeing that negative emotion.

That was when it happened.

Clang!

One sword snapped, deciding the victor.