Chapter 45
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 45
Chapter Title: Unyielding Advance
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Just moments ago, the woman had thrust her sword in sync with the sound of the shield dropping.
That must have been why. The sword's whistle was muffled by the shield, leaving Ralph unable to react properly.
Smart move.
That Emma from the North house—she wasn't ordinary.
Lightning-fast thrust and sharp judgment.
Ralph must have realized it from that single strike...
She was a swordswoman who wielded precise techniques.
The complete opposite of Ralph's style, which relied on brute force to crush opponents.
This matchup was way too unfavorable...
Everyone stared blankly at Ralph.
What are you going to do, Ralph?
"Huu..."
Ralph gripped his sword tightly.
Surprisingly calm. Worth praising for not charging headlong in a fit of rage.
If pride stung him into a reckless rush, it'd play right into her hands.
But Ralph didn't.
"I have to get close. Otherwise, I can't do a damn thing."
A sudden mutter.
From Cross, who hadn't spoken a word until now.
Talent really was talent, huh?
Good eye. Closing the distance was indeed the key.
In a situation where she'd seized the initiative, keeping range would just leave him full of holes.
She'd control the gap so only her sword could reach.
Maintaining distance was a fatal mistake.
Getting in close was the only way to blunt those vicious attacks, even a little.
But did Ralph get it?
"I know... I know!"
Instead, he snapped irritably.
Emma raised her sword again. It looked like a rapier at a glance, but...
Her blade suddenly stretched like a whip. It seemed to be her personal weapon.
Ralph twisted his sword desperately to block the abrupt strike.
The whip sliced through his sleeve as it retracted back to Emma.
Reappearing, it was a sword once more—not a whip.
A blade that shifted form when infused with mana.
It bent like a flexible sword, its length extending at will. Probably custom-forged for her.
Tricky as hell.
At that reach, Ralph had no blind spots.
Lan Ford, to hype the crowd, channeled mana into a booming shout.
"Incredible! Is the entire arena her domain?!"
The audience applauded his timely commentary.
Some butlers even took secret bets from nobles on which house would win.
This was a duel among flashy young nobles who loved the spotlight—Lan Ford knew exactly how to hook them.
"That noble grace denying any approach! Isn't this the true noble's fight?!"
Cheers for the North house. Which, in turn, meant...
"Grgh...!"
Jeers for Pador.
Ralph's face flushed red, like rice steaming in a pot.
Infuriating. Anyone would be pissed.
Everyone knew closing in was the smart play.
Ralph especially must have felt it desperately.
The problem? Dodging that freely whipping swordplay to reach her face.
No easy answer.
Should've taught Ralph some flying dagger arts?
Even someone of Ralph's skill—a Tang clan hidden weapon specialist or an archer—would've had an easier time against her.
Ralph was just a straight-line bulldozer.
No, that was exactly why North pitted Emma against him.
Ralph versus Eastern? Outcome uncertain.
Ralph versus Emma? She had the absolute edge.
So, Ralph—what now?
Deflect while closing in?
Or turn her attacks against her?
Show me your talent... Wait, what?
"...!"
Ralph's move.
It blew past every prediction I had.
Not some clever trick.
Just the kind of dumbass stunt no one would pull...
Ralph, you lunatic.
"Uwaaaaa...!"
No plan whatsoever—he charged straight at Emma.
I facepalmed.
Wrong. I'd overestimated Ralph way too much.
That guy was just
"What does that matter?!"
a simpleminded moron...
Red mana gathered on Emma's sword. She lowered her stance, aiming at Ralph. Her eyes gleamed like an archer's on target.
Then—a crimson gale shot toward him.
Crackle...!
Ralph's life shield shuddered. Fine lines spiderwebbed across it.
And with them...
"Grghh!!"
blood lines etched over Ralph's body.
"Huu... Hup!!"
For all his momentum, he barely advanced a few steps.
The crowd grimaced at the reckless display.
"What the hell is that?"
"Thought we'd see Pador swordsmanship, but that's just..."
"Is this a bullfight or what?"
They couldn't comprehend Ralph's actions.
Neither could I, but I couldn't just mock him.
Choosing that path took guts.
One slip, and limbs go flying.
Sure, the North woman would pull punches, but piling injuries would leave Ralph a battered mess.
Like a walking hay bale?
And sure enough.
That hay bale staggered onward, trunk teetering like it could split any second.
Thud...!
He lost his balance. Ralph barely propped himself with his sword.
Against a real enemy, that gap would've cost him his head.
Emma halted her assault, shrinking her extended blade back to normal.
She looked so relaxed, she didn't even need to manage mana flow.
"Lan Ford, not calling it? Seems decided already."
Emma pointed at Ralph's shield.
It was wrecked like a shattered mirror. Hers? Not a single line.
Lan Ford glanced sidelong at Ralph.
He tilted his head, a touch regretful.
"Hmm, in that case..."
"Who said stop?"
"...?"
Ralph shot to his feet, baring his teeth.
"Wounds like these? Nothing to me! Hahaha!"
He threw his head back in laughter.
But no one bought the bluff.
Shield trashed like him, legs trembling faintly.
Ralph was barely hanging on.
Match over, surely.
Lan Ford stroked his chin, troubled.
"Ralph, from my view, you got unlucky. How about stepping back now? Let others handle it?"
"Who said anything about handing it off!"
Ralph snorted hard.
He gripped his bastard sword two-handed.
"I'll drop every last North bastard!"
With talk like that, even Lan Ford couldn't intervene.
Trampling a noble's pride would've been awkward for him too.
And besides...
"Very well!"
Lan Ford smiled, like he'd been waiting for it.
"Duel resumes!"
At his call, Ralph lunged again.
Slower movements this time.
Emma sighed, resetting her stance.
Red mana swirled around her sword once more.
An even fiercer aura than before.
This woman... meant to crush any hope outright.
Emma muttered with disdain.
"I can't stand fools. No class."
Shwaaack!!
Her sword enveloped Ralph again. He flailed wildly to parry the crimson arrows closing in, but
"Hahk...!"
unlike straight shafts, her strikes twisted directions freely.
Emma lashed like a beast tamer whipping a defiant animal.
Ralph collapsed once more.
But unlike before, he staggered forward one extra step.
"Huu..."
Had he lost his mind?
His shield was splintering now, yet all he did was press on.
Ralph was tough, but hits like that? Minimum a month bedridden.
Keep going, and his body shatters.
"Young Master Ralph..."
Marian's voice carried over.
She and Nellin clasped hands tight, averting their eyes from the scene.
The other nobles too.
This wasn't the duel they'd hoped for—just grimaces all around.
No edge for Ralph in technique, sword mastery, or matchup. Nothing.
Yet.
Emma's face told another story.
"...!"
Her strikes grew wilder, composure evaporating.
One reason.
Look behind Ralph.
I saw it. The path he'd carved.
Seemed like desperate wriggling to escape her, but up close? Different.
No path showed retreat.
Not the steps of a fugitive.
Footprints of a man bent on slaying his foe.
No backsteps.
Solely for the advance!
Not one step fleeing—he plodded stubbornly forward.
Ralph wasn't Ras with his spectral blade, nor Mihail's formless genius.
Just sheer bullheadedness.
That alone brought him to Emma.
Finally, the stands caught on, one by one.
"Huh? Look! When'd they close like that?"
The gap between Emma and Ralph.
A good ten meters before—now under five steps.
"Heh heh... What'd I tell you."
Bloody Ralph raised his sword.
Still hadn't let go.
"Told you—wounds like these are nothing."
Emma's lips twitched.
That instilled more terror than anything.
Suppress him how you like—he rises, advances.
By now, doubt creeps in.
What if he reaches me for real?
Can I even drop him?
That hesitation reframes him in her eyes.
A shield no slash breaks.
Somehow, she'd been backed into a corner.
Just run?
Ignorance.
Pause even slightly, and the pressure of Ralph's horns goring her freezes her.
Could she move?
Fighting at range limited her too.
Hence... close in was right.
And Ralph did.
No talent—just raw grit.
That grit...
"Get... there...!"
Emma faltered.
Crack!
"Huh?"
A fine line on Emma's shield.
Ralph hadn't done a thing. Meaning her mind was cracking!
Refusing it, her eyes turned venomous, killing intent blooming.
She'd judged: unless killed, this man won't break!
Ralph moved again.
Now Emma was in his territory.
From here—pure Ralph domain!
He raised his sword.
Assumed Pador sword style, First Form: Charging Fang.
Classic Ralph.
His blade thrust out. Slow. Heavy.
In that instant, all eyes locked on it.
Emma unconsciously fixated—
"Stop!"
Lan Ford blocked Ralph's sword.
Then.
"Victory to Lady Emma!"
He declared her win.
"Not over yet!"
"Yeah!"
Clueless nobles protested.
"Morons! You wanna see blood?!"
Eastern jabbed at Ralph's shield.
On the verge of total shatter.
Ralph... like a sputtering candlewick.
"Damn it..."
His body slumped.
Lan Ford caught him.
"As referee, Ralph can't continue. Pador house—send your next."
Lan Ford waved; Pador soldiers helped carry him back to us.
Ralph, face a wreck, shed tears.
"So damn embarrassing... lost... Guess I'm the idiot son like Father says."
"......"
"That woman... insanely strong. Tried everything. No dice."
He seemed crushed, then locked eyes on me.
"Deyan, sickling like you might buckle, but fight to the end."
"Why?"
Curious.
Why'd that wastrel Ralph go all out?
The Ralph I knew: a father-abandoned screw-up.
Not this.
Ralph smirked at my question.
"You, me... family's disappointments. But still Padors."
That it?
"Don't shame the house, right... us."
With that, Ralph passed out.
Why he'd fought through hell.
Not fearlessness. Not brimming courage.
Had to.
Sometimes, you hold the line.
For Ralph, this was it.
His pride.
Duty as a Pador.
"Got it... yeah."
Why stand here?
The fluttering Pador banner answered.
Never pegged you for it, Ralph.
I stepped forward.
Cross saw, cocked his head.
"I'll go..."
"No. Me."
"...?"
Past life, he'd gone.
Toppled her, Eastern too. Drew with Gilbert North.
But not enough.
Not with that plea.
How could it satisfy?
"Prep for your turn."
If it came.
Glanced at the arena stairs. Past life's Cross ascending shimmered there.
Never witnessed, yet vivid phantom.
Cross advanced.
Soon: myriad sword paths, roaring crowds, acclaim.
All flashed by.
But now? Different. Climbed the stairs. Past Cross faded—my spot now.
Brighter. More dazzling.
No room for him. I'd paint this arena mine.
Stepping in.
"Young master, you got this!"
"Do it!"
Marian and Nellin cheered fiercely. Jeers echoed elsewhere.
"Ralph Pador lost to her?"
"How's he winning?"
"Just hope that face stays pretty..."
"Boring. Ras or Mihail would've fought with class. What was that? Brainless."
"Totally low-rent."
Low-rent?
Who?
Scanned the crowd.
Not content insulting Ralph, now picking on me.
"Know him. Deyan Pador—that Pador house invalid."
"Ah yeah! The sick one from knightly Padors? Hilarious."
"Lucky if no humiliation."
Lips hooked sky-high like snagged fish.
Whispering, they thought. All heard.
To Lan Ford gaping at me.
"Why not start?"
"Not drawing?"
"I'll manage. Begin."
"Hmm... fine. Begin! Go!"
Lan Ford, miffed? Slammed the shield hard.
Crowd eyed it, awaiting my flop.
At last, it dropped.
Thud...!
"...?"
Audience, Lan Ford, haughty Norths—all silenced.
Ralph, your charge—passed on well.
Where Emma had stood.
Now me. And she...
"Still gonna underestimate?"
Collapsed wordless.