Chapter 94
Chapter 94
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 94
Chapter Title: Thunderous Roar Knight (3)
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Before the duel, Arsen met with Anun and shared a conversation.
Arsen explained his deduction about why Zanark was so obsessed with Anun.
Anun shook his head in disbelief.
“No, if he lost the fight, that should’ve been the end of it. Why go this far?”
“It’s depressing, but rationally speaking, we can’t deny that his judgment might actually be the correct one.”
As he said, when you really thought about it, Zanark’s assessment made more logical sense.
Who would believe that a man who crossed several territories, risking death, to take revenge on his enemy would just vanish politely after one loss? It was like saying a mosquito that came to suck blood wouldn’t return after being swatted away once.
“Do you plan to kill him?”
“Maybe. I’m still weighing it.”
In truth, Arsen held no major grudge against Zanark himself.
It would be ideal to beat him just enough to drive him off and resolve things amicably, but the issue was whether Zanark would accept that and back down.
As Arsen pondered, Anun suddenly recalled something and revealed a startling fact.
“I saw it just a moment ago—that guy behind Zanark is definitely one of the attackers who stabbed me. I grazed his left cheek with my spear, and the mark is still there plain as day.”
Hearing this, Arsen quickly turned to look at the soldiers behind Zanark.
Sure enough, one soldier’s cheek bore the trace of crushed herbs smeared on it.
They must’ve been too cheap to afford a healer’s magic, so they’d patched it up that way.
It pointed to only one conclusion.
“After winning the duel, he must’ve ordered the ambush on Sir Anun.”
As the guard captain of that sector, it would’ve been easy for him to set up the conditions for attacking Anun.
Not content with the sneak attack, he’d come back for a second try upon hearing Anun survived—it was a tenacious and thorough approach.
“I figured he was a dog, but...”
Anun was grinding his teeth now, his whole body shaking with rage.
If his body were in perfect shape, he might’ve charged in bare-handed right then. Fury seeped from every expression and word.
Arsen let out a sigh and resolved to kill Zanark.
A direct confrontation would’ve been one thing, but ordering his men to assassinate was crossing the line.
He could pay blood money to the Blood Axe later if needed, but Zanark had to be dealt with here.
“Calm down. I’m the one fighting the duel anyway. I’ll get your revenge.”
“Sir Arsen...”
Arsen shook his head at Anun’s touched expression.
“Just tell me what it was like fighting Zanark. Anything useful I should know?”
* * *
Moments later, they set up a makeshift duel arena in front of the tavern.
First, there was the unwritten rule against swordplay in rest areas. Second, the innkeeper—treats the place like her child—threw a fit about damage, even with compensation.
When armed men gathered, telling the approaching guards it was a “duel” was enough.
Especially since one participant was the sector’s guard captain. The guards stayed back, uninterested in getting involved, just watching to ensure it didn’t turn into a brawl.
Thus, in the impromptu circular coliseum formed by the crowd, the two faced off with weapons drawn.
Arsen carefully observed Zanark’s armament.
Armor etched with ornate patterns that gleamed faintly, suggesting ancient relic status. An axe radiating an auspicious aura. Even excessive jewelry—it was the full getup of a relic city guard captain armed to the teeth with artifacts.
Zanark smirked arrogantly.
“Too late for regrets now. In a duel, no one can protect you...”
Whatever provocations Zanark spewed, Arsen stayed calm, steadying his mind and assuming a combat stance.
It had been ages since he’d dueled a skilled knight to the death, so he tightened up the looseness from fighting magic beasts and ma-in lately.
Knights were smaller and weaker than those, but faster and sharper by nature.
Arsen extended his sword first and declared.
“Arsen of Belluan.”
Seeing this, Zanark stopped his chatter and hardened his face.
He looked far more like a warrior now than before.
“Zanark of the Blood Axe.”
After checking weapons and facing off, both took a few steps back.
The duel began.
‘Let’s see...’
Arsen scanned his opponent’s body while sidestepping slowly.
From Anun, he’d learned Zanark’s specialties, artifacts, and style in the short time available.
Zanark knew nothing about Arsen. He had to exploit this information gap fully.
Seeing Arsen duel bareheaded, Zanark taunted.
“Why no helmet? Worried about messing up your hair? Soon your head’ll be rolling anyway—no need to care then.”
“Hmm.”
Zanark snickered mockingly, but Arsen just nodded perfunctorily.
His laugh was brief. Sensing an opening, Zanark’s face set, and he lunged a step forward.
Axe gripped in both hands rose high, then slammed down with full force.
“Hah!”
In Arsen’s accelerated vision, the axe descended slowly.
Enough distance to step back and counter, but Arsen deliberately sidestepped laterally to evade.
Soon after, the ground cracked along the axe’s swing path.
“It’s a relic!”
“That’s the Wind Axe, right?”
Passersby murmured.
Ignoring them, Arsen memorized the axe’s trajectory and destruction.
As Anun described, Zanark’s main weapon, the Wind Axe, launched invisible blades with its strikes.
Not as powerful as the axe itself, but vicious enough to shred average armor like paper.
Dodging back for a counter would’ve meant a fatal wound.
Zanark showed this ability from the start, likely assuming Anun had warned him.
“Don’t dodge like a coward—face me!”
“Scared, little boy?”
Zanark’s men jeered, but Arsen ignored them, eyes locked on Zanark.
The moment an opening appeared—precisely when Zanark pulled back slightly for his second swing—Arsen charged.
Thrusting swiftly, a flustered Zanark tried blocking with the axe haft, but Arsen’s sword slithered past like a snake, lightly stabbing his side.
“We’ve won!”
Contrary to the shout, glowing inlays from the stab point unleashed a powerful repulsion.
Arsen didn’t force through, calmly retreating to create distance.
Moments later, Zanark’s armor dimmed only at the left side.
“You little...”
Having taken the hit one-sidedly, Zanark’s face twisted viciously.
It was just a light jab—not fatal even against plain armor.
The key was triggering some of the armor’s protective spells.
While Zanark scowled, Arsen wasn’t relaxed either.
‘Tough opponent.’
It looked one-sided, but Arsen had earned the lead through careful moves.
His physical prowess was superior, but Zanark excelled in mana, physique, and experience.
Reflexes seemed a touch slow, compensated by that relic armor.
Circling diagonally like a snake hunting gaps, Arsen narrowed the distance bit by bit.
Zanark felt far greater pressure.
‘What kind of guy is this?’
Wielding a slender longsword with enough force to pin an axe briefly. His advances and retreats evoked fights against agile carnivorous magic beasts from his common soldier days.
Since knighthood, only twice had another knight made him feel this way.
Plus, his technique was precise and sharp beyond his apparent age—without relic armor, it might’ve ended instantly.
Swallowing nervously, he bellowed at appropriate volume and swung the axe.
“Die!”
Sweeping horizontally. Arsen calmly arched back to let it pass.
Springing up, he stepped in and stabbed the breastplate.
“Guh!”
Repulsion surged again.
Arsen yielded to it, withdrawing the sword, then slashed the belly.
Even accounting for his superior physique, the sequence was lightning-fast—far more concise than a typical knight piercing armor.
Like a jab, not a straight or hook.
Naturally, the goal wasn’t lethal damage but activating armor spells.
Zanark countered swiftly with his axe, but Arsen triggered three in the exchange.
Chest, belly, right side.
As Arsen retreated to catch his breath, Zanark roared in fury.
“You—cowardly—bastard! Fight—fair—!”
His bellow was so thunderous nearby folk plugged ears and backed away.
Arsen replied with a slight smirk, even wagging a finger in taunt.
Helmetless, it was clearly visible.
“I’ll kill you!”
Zanark charged, face contorted.
As Arsen prepared to counter, Zanark’s earring flashed.
Suddenly, Arsen’s footing slickened like oiled ground.
‘Relic!’
Unmentioned by Anun—likely a secret trump card.
Balance lost, axe incoming.
In crisis, Arsen drove his sword into the ground.
Not clinging like a child’s mistake, he used the embedded blade as a pivot, kicking off to launch himself aside.
Arsen rolled laterally as Zanark’s axe futilely split the earth.
“Oooh.”
“He lost his weapon!”
“Dodge!”
“Chance! Kill him, Captain!”
Amid unknown cheers, Arsen pounced cat-like.
Toward Zanark, who’d thought him cornered for a finishing blow—failed, and relaxed believing he’d disarmed the foe.
Panicked, Zanark swung at the oncoming Arsen.
Bare-handed, it’d be death or retreat—but Arsen now gripped a shortsword slightly longer than his forearm.
Forged from a mountain lord’s claw.
Not as sharp as his black star iron longsword, but its durability matched.
Sword met axe in a deafening clash; Arsen twisted his head, dodging the invisible blade.
Pushing deeper, he gripped Zanark’s axe-wielding wrist.
‘This punk wants a strength contest...’
Zanark’s senses had dulled with age, but his raw power was confident.
Top-tier among knights—evident from favoring heavy axes.
But Arsen’s strength surpassed it.
‘What power?’
“Grrgh...!”
Wrist bones compressing, Zanark groaned.
Arsen twisted fully, forcing the axe drop.
Safety secured, he circled behind, locking arms around the neck.
‘What!’
Zanark’s armor’s final trap.
Helmetless head seemed vulnerable, but a protective field guarded it separately.
Slashes or punches would trigger it, giving counter chances.
But grapples and chokes bypassed it.
“Grrgh...!”
Zanark thrashed wildly to pry free, but black star iron-clad arms were immovable.
Perfect lock, superior strength.
Then, Zanark tensed his neck with all might.
Specialty-developed muscles swelled abnormally, creating space to gasp air.
And,
“[UAAAAAAAAAA-------------------!]”
A world-shaking roar, vibrations felt deep.
Some nearby bled from ruptured eardrums.
Zanark assumed massive damage—at least loosened the choke.
Until seeing Arsen unmoved, steadily squeezing.
‘No?’
Incredibly, Arsen seemed unaffected, calmly maintaining pressure.
Zanark struggled more, but that roar was his last gasp.
Seconds later, Arsen felt Zanark go limp, neck muscles slackening.
Stopping here meant victory by opponent’s unconsciousness.
Not what Arsen wanted. This man was a venomous snake—too dangerous alive.
Arsen twisted with full force.
The crunch of crushing bone signaled the duel’s end.