The Stakes and the Duel

After Daniel departed for the arena, only Marin and Rhine remained within the VIP room, a situation that undeniably presented the opportune moment for either to make their move.

Yet, a peculiar unspoken understanding settled between them, prompting them to engage in casual conversation, much like an elder conversing with a junior.

“Rhine, you possess remarkable talent. You are undoubtedly destined for great accomplishments in the future. Have you ever considered serving as my aide?”

“My apologies, Sir. My focus remains solely on the present. I harbor no interest in becoming your aide; Audrey is clearly a more deserving master to serve.”

‘At times, a measured refusal is entirely appropriate; blind obedience, conversely, often invites unwarranted suspicion.’

The lukewarm yet firm refusal drew a faint smile from Marin, who was seated on the sofa. He found a certain youthful spirit to be entirely normal, even expected.

“Spending time by Audrey’s side, your demeanor and tone have grown remarkably similar to hers.”

“Thank you for the compliment.” For a servant, such a remark could easily be interpreted as praise.

Marin’s gaze drifted, idly surveying the myriad matches unfolding within the arena beyond the window, yet his interest remained conspicuously absent.

“Tell me, what is the true purpose behind us hosting these competitions?”

Rhine followed his gaze to an exhibition match, observing the display. To someone of his experience, such a skirmish resembled acrobatics more than genuine combat.

“Spectacle.”

“Indeed. At what point did dueling, once a sacred endeavor staking both honor and life, devolve into such a deplorable spectacle of mere theatrical tricks?”

“I am not privy to that knowledge.”

Arrogance was etched upon the man’s countenance, a privilege afforded to him solely by virtue of his surname, Cavendish.

“Ha, perhaps the times have truly shifted. Vulgar entertainment, amplified by sensational newspaper headlines, now permeates countless households, while genuine drama and honorable duels have fallen out of favor. People no longer grasp the essence of nobility or art. Young man, would you be interested in participating?”

“I shall decline, Sir. I find myself far better suited to the role of a spectator.”

“At your age, I was never quite so seasoned. Novel experiences are always beneficial, wouldn’t you agree? What makes you believe being a spectator is more fitting for you?”

“To survey the entire landscape, yet remain perfectly detached.”

“Such as this very spot?”

“This place is too low, not elevated enough.”

Following this exchange, Marin drew a sharp breath, his estimation of Rhine elevating several notches.

‘The Cavendish family isn’t high enough? Such immense ambition for one so young! He truly aims for the heavens!’

Rhine, however, had meant no such thing. From a purely physical standpoint, standing atop the Babel Tower would be ample to survey the entirety of Lanburg County; yet, the Tower’s true purpose was clearly not for mere observation.

One gazed down upon the Norman Empire, while the other looked up at the stars.

Marin shook his head. While a young person’s soaring ambition wasn’t always a positive trait, he knew Rhine’s temperament would prevent him from overreaching and stumbling.

He briefly glanced at Rhine’s elegantly long eyelashes. ‘Hmm… does this young man truly possess such a feature?’

“Go and assist Daniel for me; he’s at entrance number 14. On the table beside the door, you’ll find a Cavendish access token. Present it, and they will grant you passage.”

“Understood.”

Rhine took the token and left the room. Marin rose, pacing a few steps, then, with a thoughtful air, extracted a red leather notebook from his inner jacket pocket, his stern gaze repeatedly sweeping over the words inscribed within.

“The stakes are still insufficient, far from enough.”

“Mourinho, how do your interests and ours, the Cavendish, truly measure up against the Norman Empire?”

Upon Rhine displaying the Cavendish crest, adorned with its distinctive sword and pegasus, the staff immediately and respectfully ushered him into the inner arena.

The inner arena remained bustling with crowds. Following the directional signs, he arrived at Entrance 14, where Daniel, clad in dueling iron armor, was nervously waiting, his legs trembling incessantly even as he sat.

‘I cannot escape, I cannot escape, I cannot escape, I cannot escape…’

Clearly, his mental fortitude required bolstering. Yet, for a boy barely fourteen, facing the immense pressure of upholding family honor and enduring his stern father’s scrutiny upon entering the arena was an undoubtedly daunting task.

“Young Master.”

“Ah, ah—ahh, what? Oh, it’s just you.”

“Your father requested my assistance, so here I am.”

“I, I don’t need it. Go stand aside. I won’t lose… I won’t.”

He could barely articulate a coherent sentence, yet his self-hypnosis was impressively elaborate. Who would possibly believe he was fine? Rhine couldn’t help but rub his forehead, realizing he would ultimately have to resolve this.

“Have you investigated your opponent?”

“I have…”

“What is their name?”

“Zadi Allekas, of the Earl’s household.”

“Alright. Are you familiar with his sword techniques?”

“Familiar…”

“Then what are you so nervous about? Go up there and cut him down! You already wield sword qi; are you truly afraid of a mere chick?”

“You… how dare you speak to me like that?”

“Why do you care how I speak? I am not your servant, and it was I who helped you harness your sword qi! If you lose out there, you’ll tarnish not only the Cavendish name but also my own reputation, do you understand?!”

“But…”

“But what?”

“He defeated me once before.”

“Are you implying, then, that you intend to lose this time as well?”

“No.”

“Exactly! You simply do to him what I did to you last time; just get it done! There’s a saying, ‘After three days apart, a scholar should be seen with new eyes.’ You’re not some irredeemable novice, constantly being chided by your father about being ‘rotten wood that cannot be carved’.”

Outside, the bell began to toll, signaling the time to enter the arena.

Rhine’s small hand gently nudged the still hesitant Daniel, and he spoke with candid encouragement:

“Go forth, brave youth, and prove yourself to them all!”

Daniel turned, gazing back at Rhine’s ethereal smile, and with a determined effort, he suppressed the tears that threatened to fall.

“Thank you. I will prove myself to them.”

Lifting his head, he stepped forward, an unprecedented surge of excitement rising from the depths of his being. No encouragement he had ever received had offered such profound reassurance as Rhine’s.

‘And I will prove myself to you as well,’ he murmured to himself, tightening his grip on his sword.

Daniel stepped onto the arena floor, where his former opponent stood poised on the opposite side.

“Both combatants, please approach and perform the dueling salute!” the referee, positioned at the center, announced in a loud voice.

Step by step, both combatants drew nearer.

“You crybaby from the Cavendish family, I’ll still thrash you soundly this time, just like before.”

Daniel responded with a disdainful smirk.

“It’s far from certain who will be doing the beating. To hell with you.”

Truly, he had learned well from Rhine, having grasped the very essence of his teaching.

“You… a Cavendish also knows how to talk trash!”

“Salute!”

Both were compelled to hold their swords vertically before their faces, bowing respectfully as custom dictated.

“Both combatants, retreat seven paces. Once you are firmly positioned, you shall be considered ready.”

Zadi sensed a subtle shift in Daniel’s demeanor, yet he couldn’t quite articulate any distinct difference, prompting him to exercise a touch more caution.

“Let the duel commence!”

As was customary, Zadi was intimately familiar with Daniel’s fighting style. There was no need to be overly timid against an opponent who neither dodged nor deflected blows, especially since Zadi boasted the most victories among his peers in the arena.

After several exchanges, he detected no anomalies; Daniel remained as impetuous as ever. Zadi, brimming with confidence, unleashed a flurry of rapid, dazzling sword strikes.

Finally, casting all caution aside, he executed a fierce, sweeping horizontal slash.

“Retreat.”

Daniel’s form blurred in an unnatural, fleeting instant; he had been patiently biding his time, using retreat as a means to advance.

The wide, sweeping cleave missed its mark, leaving a glaring vulnerability exposed before him, as a faint, ethereal blue light quietly manifested along the blade of his sword.

“Strike.”

Zadi’s sword flew from his grasp, and the outcome of the duel was decided in what felt like a single, fleeting moment.