Chapter 75
Chapter 75
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 75
Chapter Title: Flames of Divine Grace
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Of course, Mark couldn't accept the situation.
He simply couldn't acknowledge anything he hadn't anticipated.
"This is cheating! No way! Burning the base—!"
Mark, who had been frantically scanning his surroundings, finally recalled one rule and raised his voice.
"F-Firearms are prohibited by the rules! You can't bring them in!"
The friendly match was for children ten and under.
To prevent things from escalating, there were clear rules banning lethal weapons like real swords and hazardous firestarters.
Mariella gazed at Mark with a beaming smile.
"Our team din't bring no firestarter."
"Don't lie! Then what the hell is that fire?!"
"We din't use fire tools. It's divine grace. They said ya can use divine grace in friendly matches!"
Mark's face drained of all color.
And with that, ripples of shock spread through the stands at the mention of "divine grace."
The only ones who wielded fire as divine grace were members of the imperial family.
And among them, the only imperial staying with the Northern Duke's household was Florian Hildebrandt—one person.
"His Highness the First Prince... manifested his divine grace at such a young age?"
Someone's murmur opened the floodgates.
The Northern vassals erupted in excited chatter.
Until now, Florian's training had been handled solely by Leopoldt and the commoner knights loyal to him.
That meant everything about Florian and his divine grace had been kept under strict secrecy.
"N-No way! This can't be real!"
"We won."
Behind Mariella's impish grin loomed the base's skeletal remains, engulfed in flames.
A guard stationed nearby to handle any contingencies prepared the fireworks signaling the end of the match in front of the dazed Mark.
They launched red and blue fireworks at the start, but only the victors' colors at the end.
Mark ground his teeth at the sight of the guard pulling out the red fireworks.
"Hans! Grab that guy right now!"
"P-Pardon? Young master, what do you mean?"
"Shut up and grab him! Who gave permission to end the match?!"
The apprentice knight leaped into action at Mark's thunderous shout, seizing the guard.
The Blue Team's shadow knight twisted the guard's arm, snatched the fireworks, and flung them toward the pond.
The fireworks just barely vanished into the grass by the pond's edge.
The stands fell deathly silent at the sudden turn of events.
"No base left to capture? Then grab every Red Team member, steal their badges, and we'll win."
"Mark, but it's already..."
"Don't mess around! Just do what I say!"
Mark roughly shoved Monica, who tried to stop him.
She tumbled backward with a thud, letting out a small groan as she landed on her rear.
At that moment, as anxiety washed over the Dvayer siblings' faces in Araneo's view, Count Dvayer shot to his feet.
"Young Duke!"
"Sit, Robert."
"Brother!"
"I said sit!"
As Dominic raised his voice, Count Dvayer reluctantly sank back into his seat.
Dominic gritted his teeth while staring at his son's face.
He'd brushed off the previous one-on-one loss.
It stung, it was unfair, but few witnesses meant little damage—just the duke's family and kin.
But now, every Northern vassal watched.
Asking him to admit his son—the next duke—had suffered a humiliating defeat under all those eyes? Dominic couldn't stomach it, even in death. And Mark felt the same.
"First, that little girl."
Mark staggered toward Mariella.
"You've been a pain in my ass every damn time."
The moment Mark swung his wooden sword down over Mariella's head, she dropped into a squat.
The blade whistled harmlessly overhead.
Thanks to her full-squat training, Mariella barely dodged and began crawling away on all fours.
"Your Grace!"
Leopoldt, watching from the stands, raised his voice.
On the scoreboard, Mark was charging at the crawling Mariella's back with his wooden sword when Dietrich barreled into him, sending them both tumbling to the ground.
"The friendly match's outcome is decided. Please end it."
"No! Father, didn't you hear Mark? Stealing badges is strategy too. No signal fireworks means the match isn't..."
"Forgot how victory isn't won by stubbornness alone?"
"The vassals are watching. Show respect to the North's heir, brother!"
The duke fell silent for a moment.
All his Northern vassals watched his sons clash fiercely, eyes gleaming.
The duke lingered longer on Dominic's face—his successor.
"Father, think of Mother. If she were alive, she'd take my side."
Ever since Leopoldt ran off recklessly, he'd treated his second son as his only child, grooming him as the North's next lord.
Gossips often said the duke had steel, not blood, in his veins—cold even to his own kids.
"Father..."
The gossips were wrong.
Even a man like that felt pity and affection at his child's pleading face now and then.
The duke briefly overlaid his hand on Dominic's, tapping it once.
Dominic's face lit up, thinking he'd won his support.
"Dispatch knights to halt the match."
But the duke was lord of the North and head of the house before he was a father.
He couldn't be Dominic's father alone, even by blood, nor solely Mark's grandfather.
"This friendly match is the Red Team's victory."
With that, Leopoldt dashed straight into the hunting grounds where the match raged.
Dominic stared at the duke's profile the whole time, but the duke never glanced back.
His wife supported the nearly collapsing man back to his seat.
Dominic's complexion was ghostly pale, detached from the stands' fervor like an outsider.
"How could Father do this to me..."
It had been like this since Leopoldt returned.
Siding with his children, stripping power from Dominic and Katrin bit by bit.
"Don't worry, dear. We have the Southern Duke's house."
"Katrin, I, I'm..."
"It's fine. Just produce more of those drugs like they want—more than before. Gain power that way, and you can do whatever you please."
"But if they spread across the entire empire..."
"Who cares? In this empire, only Duke Peterzen will protect you and Mark."
Dominic's eyes cooled to ice as he listened to Katrin's firm voice.
She was right.
Pleading as the doting parent or invoking his late mother's name wouldn't work anymore.
The duke had pushed him this far.
"...Fine. I'll contact the South. We'll double production soon."
Black hatred settled over Dominic's eyes as he glared at the duke's retreating back.
Petty little Mark!
The match had already tilted in our favor. With their base burned to ash, his team couldn't turn it around.
Anyone else would've swallowed their pride and admitted defeat quickly, but not Mark.
I rolled across the ground to dodge his wild wooden sword swings, then felt a sharp pain jolt my shoulder.
Another Blue Team kid had timed his swing just right.
"Ella!"
He should've worried about himself more than me.
Dietrich was in worse shape.
His earlier ankle injury had him limping, and he was covered head to toe in dirt and grime.
Even like that, Dietrich planted himself squarely in Mark's path.
"Whoa."
Meanwhile, the Blue Team's apprentice knight—who'd already subdued the guard—swept away the feeble flames Florian had barely mustered with his wooden sword.
"Burning that whole giant base must've taken it out of you. Can't use your divine grace properly right now, huh?"
A mocking sneer pushed Florian, Dietrich, and me slowly toward one spot.
Our backs pressed together.
I could feel our ragged breaths mingling into one heaving mass.