Chapter 71
Chapter 71
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 71
Chapter Title: The Young Knights' Challenge
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Watching the knights approach slowly, Arsen stepped forward to greet them personally.
Their faces looked familiar.
They were the young knights who had been standing behind Huran just moments ago when he met him.
The knights he hadn't seen before must have come from estates other than Bazra.
Among them was the young knight who had first greeted Arsen. His name was Sabban, if memory served.
The knight at the forefront, who stood out with his particularly sturdy build, spoke up.
“Sir Arsen.”
“Yes.”
“I'm Ott of Bazra. We didn't get a chance to exchange greetings earlier.”
Surprisingly, he spoke in a friendly manner and extended his hand as if proposing a handshake. It wasn't hard to guess his intent.
Sure enough, the moment Arsen clasped his hand, Ott gripped it tightly.
“Hng...”
As expected, there was a reason for his confidence—his grip was incredibly strong. It would have been burdensome even for Arsen before he defeated the warlord.
Arsen deliberately didn't use his full strength, applying just enough to hold his own.
After a few seconds, realizing he was no pushover, Ott released his grip first.
“So, what brings you here?”
“They say you were the one who crushed the warlord.”
“I won't deny it. Several knights combined their strength, but it was I who delivered the finishing blow.”
At those words, the knights' eyes gleamed like hyenas spotting prey.
Just as expected, without need for further talk, Ott made his proposal.
“A knight capable of such a feat must be exceptional. Surely granting some instruction to humble knights like us would be no trouble at all? We'd be honored to learn a move or two.”
His words were polite, but no one present could mistake it for anything but a challenge.
Arsen glanced past Ott's shoulder and asked,
“Are those behind you here for the same reason?”
“Of course.”
The knights standing behind nodded, their eyes alight.
The desire in those eyes was chillingly transparent.
They clearly intended to raise their own fame by taking down the young—almost novice-looking—knight before them. They didn't even bother hiding it.
If he refused, they would surely find some pretext to insult or provoke him into a fight anyway. Arsen had no desire to go through such unnecessary steps.
He nodded, and the knights' faces lit up.
“Understood. How shall we proceed with the order?”
“We've already decided among ourselves.”
*They plan to have their way with me, huh.*
It was a situation that could easily anger anyone, but Arsen maintained his calm demeanor and nodded.
Since he was under their protection, he needed to show some respect.
Of course, once it came time to “instruct” them, such respect would no longer be necessary.
He had already heard plenty from Karik about the character of their commander, Huran, so he didn't need to worry about retaliation even if he disciplined them a bit harshly.
“It's too cramped here. Shall we move to a wider space?”
* * *
Arsen's army had set up a small camp that was too narrow for sparring, so they headed to the open clearing in the center of the stockade.
Word must have spread, as people gathered from all around, forming a circle.
Considering they were all from various estates, the outcome of this bout would soon be known across the neighboring lands.
A familiar sight caught his eye in one direction—Lino and Bazkal stood there with wide eyes, watching him.
As Arsen approached and waved, Lino fired off a frantic question.
“What in the world is going on?”
“These brave knights want to test if I'm truly strong enough to have killed the warlord. How did the negotiations go? Learn anything?”
“Yes. From what I heard...”
As Lino started to report on the spot, Arsen raised a hand to stop him.
“I'll hear it later. After this.”
With a casual wave, Arsen turned and walked to the center of the dueling ground. On the opposite side, the first knight was rolling his shoulders to loosen up.
Watching Arsen draw his sword in response, Lino sighed.
“Can you win against all of them? It looks like every one of those guys is raring to challenge you.”
Beating one or two was one thing, but with seven knights waiting? He wouldn't have any energy left.
That was Lino's concern.
At Lino's words, Bazkal shook his head in disbelief beside him.
“Worrying over nothing? Worry about those knights instead.”
Over the past few days, Arsen had sparred with Bazkal in his spare time, guiding him and correcting his oddly off-kilter swordsmanship.
Having rolled around and taken countless hits in the process, Bazkal had directly experienced Arsen's changed abilities.
He couldn't imagine Arsen losing to anyone.
“Let's just watch for now. If those guys pull anything dirty, we won't stand by.”
As Bazkal tapped his sword hilt, the duel finally began.
“Begin!”
With the signal from a merchant acting as referee, the opposing knight slowly advanced, closing the distance.
He wielded a spear with an arrowhead tip.
“Here I come!”
With a shout, the knight thrust his spear.
A well-trained body, proper stance, controlled breathing—solid attack.
He was a decent knight, probably on par with or slightly stronger than Bazkal.
But that made him no match for Arsen.
Arsen twisted his body slightly to evade the thrust, then clamped the spear shaft under his armpit, neutralizing him effortlessly.
“Gah...!”
The knight's face turned beet red as he poured all his strength into the spear.
He pulled, pushed, twisted—trying to wrench it free—but the spear trapped between Arsen's side and elbow didn't budge.
Moments later, when Arsen released his grip, the knight stumbled back, breathing raggedly.
“Huff, huff... What trick is this...?”
“Is grabbing weapons taboo in the west? In the east, it's fair game if you have the skill.”
There was no ridiculous rule against grabbing an opponent's weapon barehanded, of course. Enraged, the knight let out a furious roar and charged again.
“Take—thiiis—!”
He swung the spear overhead with full force, bringing it down like an axe.
Moments ago, his attacks had been armor-blockable, but this one could pierce through if mishandled.
Of course, assuming one took it defenselessly.
Arsen raised his sword at a slight angle, deftly deflecting the blow.
Then, targeting the opening from the wide swing, he launched a left high kick at the knight's head.
The impact to the jaw shook his brain; the knight collapsed without even a scream.
The onlookers gasped in surprise and cheered.
“Down in one hit!”
Amid the cheers and praise, Arsen remained unfazed, regulating his breathing.
Truth be told, it felt like snapping a child's wrist and getting applause—not exactly thrilling.
His helmet hid his expression anyway.
“One down.”
Counting them off like a farmer tallying hay bales, Arsen's nonchalant demeanor made the knights shiver involuntarily.
“Next.”
The second designated knight stepped forward, his footsteps as feeble as a dog being led to slaughter.
* * *
“It's noisy outside. What's going on?”
The question came from Huran, who had been resting in a chair inside his tent.
His adjutant glanced nervously at his side.
The young knights had insisted on handling it themselves, so he hadn't reported it beforehand, but he couldn't feign ignorance amid this commotion.
“Well, earlier, a few young knights headed to the new guest's camp. They wanted to test his skills personally, since he claims to have captured the warlord... Probably that.”
“Is that so?”
Surprisingly, Huran neither seemed shocked nor angry.
It was remarkable, given his usual strictness on discipline.
Instead, a faint smile crossed his face as he rose energetically.
“I figured as much. Good chance to straighten them out.”
“Pardon?”
Huran had already gauged Arsen's skill.
The Karik he knew wouldn't respect a subpar knight just for earning merit or owing a favor.
Since he treated him as a protector rather than a subordinate, Arsen was at least stronger than Karik.
And to Huran's knowledge, none of the young knights could match Karik.
“Guess I should take a look myself. Come along.”
“Ah, yes sir.”
By the time Huran arrived at the dueling ground, the fights were nearly over. Five knights lay sprawled in the corner like drunken louts, and the sixth had just hit the dirt. Only one remained.
Arsen said to the fallen knight,
“Good fight.”
Naturally, there was no reply from the unconscious man, but he hadn't expected one anyway.
It was just a polite gesture to let the crowd know, “I'm a courteous and kind guy.”
Arsen scanned the surroundings.
“Now for the last one...”
The final challenger was Ott, the one who had first proposed the spars. His face was ashen, as if smeared with flour.
Arsen pointed his sword at the dazed knight and asked,
“Ready?”
“...Of course!”
Fear was written all over him, but backing out now was impossible.
As the de facto leader who had brought these men, fleeing without fighting would destroy his reputation.
Especially with knights, soldiers, mercenaries, and merchants from nearby estates watching.
Unless he wanted to be branded a coward for life, he had to fight—no matter if it meant death or a brutal beating.
* * *
“They're getting absolutely demolished.”
That was Huran's take on the Arsen-Ott duel.
His trailing adjutant wasn't sure whether to agree and insult Ott as a dog or contradict his superior.
Deep down, though, he agreed.
“Guh!”
An uppercut landed squarely on Ott's gut, producing a metallic clang as his body lifted off the ground.
The solid armor saved him; bare-skinned, his organs might have ruptured.
Ott flailed wildly, slashing horizontally to keep Arsen at bay, but it was easily parried, allowing approach.
In battle, attacks demand payment. Arsen delivered a hook calibrated not to knock him out.
Ott staggered back, dizzy and reeling from the head shot.
The spectators, naturally, cheered and jeered in delight.
“Bazra knights aren't even in the same league!”
“That one's holding out a bit longer, at least...”
“Nah, come on. Is that holding out? He's just getting schooled.”
“Didn't they say that black-armored knight's from the far east? Are all knights from there that strong?”
Arsen deliberately dragged it out, pummeling without finishing quickly.
*This is actually helpful.*
Sparring others helped him adapt his handling of his recently enhanced physical abilities.
But with his main partner, Bazkal, he had to hold back somewhat.
Repeated overwhelming defeats could stifle motivation or instill trauma, hindering growth and causing instinctive hesitation in real fights.
No such concerns with these opponents. For better or worse, he'd likely never see them again—whether they ended up traumatized was their problem.
The metal armor prevented lethal blows, letting him unleash freely and savor the hits.
With Ott as the last one, Arsen savored him like the final bites of a meal, portioning carefully.
“Hah, I surrender! Mercy!”
Seizing a brief opening, Ott rolled away, yelling. Face and pride be damned.
Arsen pulled back with a smack of his lips in regret.
“Good fight.”
“...Yes, thank you for the lesson.”
Ott was fully broken now, unable to meet Arsen's eyes, staring at the ground. If he'd endured even this without yielding, Arsen might have respected his grit.
Having subdued him thoroughly, Arsen offered no further humiliation and extended a hand.
The gesture alone terrified Ott, who shuddered before mustering courage to grasp it and stand.
“Th-thank you for the mercy...”
“No problem.”
At that moment, hearty applause rang out from somewhere.
Huran strode into the dueling ground, clapping vigorously.
A glance aside showed Ott's face twisted in utter misery.