Chapter 29
Chapter 29
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 29
Chapter Title: Duel of Truth
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“Everything… was his orders! I was just following instructions! Kheek! Kheheheek!”
Gone was the man from moments ago—Maverick let out a beastly screech and began laughing maniacally.
He shook off Partek and Brin, who were holding him, and started raving like a madman.
“I, I tried to kill him! Yes… on Bertel Tiwin’s orders, I tried to… Eek! What the hell was I trying to do? Uh-heh, uh-heh-heh-heuk!”
After confessing his crimes, Maverick suddenly clutched his head and burst into tears. Kamara and the mercenaries gaped in shock at the sight.
That was when it happened.
“Kheheek! A scum like me deserves to die. Yeah. There’s no place for someone like me in this world! None!”
Maverick bellowed suddenly and twisted his body.
“Huh!?”
“Grab him!”
Partek lunged, but it was too late.
“Ehehehehe……!”
In a timing no one could have predicted, Maverick bolted and hurled himself out the window.
Thud!
“Crazy bastard…….”
Partek and Brin, leaning out the window, froze in horror.
Maverick had fallen straight onto the sharpened stakes in the moat, impaled and dead.
An eerie silence descended after his sudden, pathetic end.
Eugene’s voice broke the quiet.
“The testimony is clear, and there are plenty of witnesses. What say you, Lord Tiwin?”
“…….”
Kamara flinched and turned.
His brother Bertel’s ashen face twisted into a demonic snarl for an instant.
“B-Brother. You’re not buying this madman’s nonsense, are you? That guy just spouted whatever and offed himself…….”
“Do as you will, Sir Eugene.”
Kamara gave his permission.
Eugene seized the nape of Bertel’s neck, who was rolling his eyes wildly, and hauled him to his feet.
“I’ll give you a choice.”
“H-How dare you…….”
“Draw your sword. Break me here, in front of everyone in this castle. Win, and I’ll bury it all.”
“……!”
Not just Bertel—everyone in the room was stunned.
Telling a would-be killer to draw his sword meant only one thing.
* * *
“Wow! You’re ruthless. Making your first slave kill himself like that.”
“That’s what he was for from the start.”
At Mirian’s words, Eugene donned the armor he’d just finished polishing.
It was squire’s work normally, but Eugene had Mirian.
Quick and nimble, with a fondness for fine things, the spirit had volunteered to tend the plate mail—and his skill was surprisingly good. Very convenient.
“Anyway, I hear having a few of those slaves is super useful. Our predecessors said high-ranking Night Clan members keep dozens as escorts.”
“That’s for later. Right now, it’s too risky. Besides, Maverick was clearly off his rocker. Keeping him alive would’ve caused problems eventually.”
“True. Humans are all so damn suspicious.”
*You’re one to talk,* Eugene thought but didn’t say it.
The late Maverick had already become Eugene’s slave in the dungeon.
Vampires drank blood for two reasons.
To sate hunger or restore stamina—and to turn others into vampires or slaves.
The former just drained blood; the latter required injecting a bit of the vampire’s own.
It drained the vampire’s energy considerably, so in his past life, Eugene had tried it only once.
Slaves obeyed commands absolutely but weren’t very strong, and their minds weren’t right.
Like Maverick before death: they feared sunlight, and anyone could tell they weren’t normal—easy to spot as vampires.
So Eugene had used Maverick only to confess publicly, then ordered suicide.
“Good thing the mudfish played his part and died. The nerve—trying to off our Lord Eugene?”
Mirian, who cared little for humans and thought only of his contractor Eugene, couldn’t hide his anger.
“We’ve gotta make that ice bastard pay! Forgive guys like that once, and they’ll do it again!”
“Who said anything about forgiving? Why do you think I gave the lord a choice?”
He could’ve demanded a formal trial in Maren, but it was a hassle—and required a priest’s presence.
Above all, Eugene couldn’t execute Bertel himself.
By forcing the choice on Kamara, though, he’d made it ‘legal.’
“As expected of Night Clan cunning! Keeek! This is why I love Lord Eugene!”
Fully armored, Eugene buckled on his battle axe and stepped out.
*The grudge from my past life has led here at last.*
Yung Dirhit had beheaded him, but Bertel was a key player.
Twice now, across lives, Bertel had tried to kill him. Eugene had no intention of letting it slide.
* * *
“The second young master tried to kill Sir Eugene?”
“Apparently put Maverick up to it. Confessed right in front of Lord Tiwin, then killed himself.”
“What the…….”
As dusk fell, the people of Rose Castle—summoned by the lord—plunged into chaos.
The subjugation was only half successful, one knight had suicided.
Worse, the lord’s brother had plotted to murder the hero of the gate defense, Eugene.
Witnesses aplenty at the confession, and the lord himself announced it—no denying it.
But the real shock was elsewhere.
“An honor duel…….”
“What if the second young master wins?”
“He keeps his honor. But…….”
Everyone in Rose Castle knew Bertel well—some for 3-4 years, others since birth.
Yet none believed he could beat Eugene.
Practice bouts aside, he’d beaten Galpredic.
In the dungeon, he’d ripped a troll’s head off alive; in distant Maren, flung a spear piercing two orc warriors?
In mere months, Sir Yan Eugene’s martial renown was etched deep in their minds.
“H-He’ll win! No matter what, young master Bertel’s the strongest knight in our domain!”
“Yeah! He’ll win back his honor, prove it’s all a frame-up!”
Hiding their anxiety, they gathered in the courtyard, chattering.
Beneath the red sunset, mercenaries formed a wide circle in the yard.
A dry wind heralded the changing season as Lord Kamara appeared on the balcony.
“Let the honor duel begin!”
No preamble—Kamara’s shout parted the mercenary circle.
Eugene, clad in plate mail with battle axe; Bertel in chain mail surcoat emblazoned with House Tiwin, shield and shortsword in hand, stepped forth.
Facing a plate-armored knight with just a longsword was tough even for master swordsmen.
Thus, Bertel’s shield-and-shortsword choice was wise.
“No need for words! Claims clash—victor’s word is truth! Truth belongs to the victor!”
“Truth belongs to the victor!”
The crowd roared it back.
“Then begin!”
Silence fell over the yard.
Clank!
Eugene lowered his visor, gripped the battle axe two-handed.
Bertel, in his barrel helm, circled with shield up—scouting before engaging, textbook tactics.
*Kill him! I win, and it’s all according to plan.*
“Hoo, hoo.”
As Bertel breathed raggedly with those thoughts—
Whoosh!
Eugene closed the gap in a flash.
Unbelievably swift for heavy armor—Bertel’s eyes widened.
“Hup!”
Instinctively, he braced and thrust.
A knight’s systematic training: fast, precise.
But a fool’s error against plate mail—one born of rusty combat experience.
The price was merciless.
Clang!
Bertel’s blade caught a groove on the armor, slid, and sprang free—Eugene’s axe traced lethal arcs in an instant.
Slash!
Chain mail was excellent defense—most blades couldn’t pierce or sever easily.
But Eugene’s strength was no ordinary, and his weapon a battle axe.
“Gaaak!”
Blood sprayed from one arm and both legs’ joints as Bertel tumbled.
“Urk! Ah……!”
As he struggled up, lips parted—his vision filled with a red axe blade over an inch thick.
*I’ll become lord of Tiwin…….*
Clang!
The axe split helm and skull, shattering thoughts.
Moments later, Bertel toppled forward on his knees.
“……!”
In a blink, the bout ended—Rose Castle folk gawked.
They’d figured Bertel couldn’t win, but not this overwhelmingly fast.
Eugene turned from the corpse, blood gushing from the split head.
Visors up, his gaze met Kamara’s.
“Announce it.”
Kamara shuddered at the sunset-red eyes, raised trembling hand, and shouted.
“Sir Yan of House Eugene is victorious! Truth and honor belong to Sir Eugene!”
Roooar!!!
Mercenaries led by Partek and Brin bellowed.
Leaving only Bertel’s mangled corpse, the duel ended somewhat anticlimactically.
* * *
“Leaving now…?”
Kamara eyed Eugene—savior of the domain, killer of his brother—with conflicted gaze.
“Have to. You don’t want me sticking around.”
“……Can’t deny that.”
He’d wished Bertel gone from sight, but blood tied them.
Dirty plot or not, just deserts paid—heart still ached.
No blaming Eugene, though. If anything, grateful it ended with one man.
“No need to worry—I won’t return. Plus, you’ve got strong slaves now? Brin’s crew will handle them.”
Kamara sighed deeply at Eugene’s words.
Maverick’s confession doomed his mercenaries too.
Bad leader ruins lives—no whining about that.
So Eugene took fair pay, handed survivors as House Tiwin slaves.
Per Partek’s advice, Brin’s Black Sheep Mercenary Corps was hired by Kamara, staying awhile.
“Safe travels. Can’t pray for divine blessings on your path.”
“Don’t want them.”
Truly didn’t.
Eugene, vampire—church foe, heretic.
Better if God ignored him entirely.
“You could stay a day.”
“Not interested.”
With packs on Silion, Eugene mounted—the torchlit gates swung open.
As he turned Silion’s head, two horses galloped from the drawbridge.
“What’s that?”
“Enemies!?”
Soldiers rushed the walls.
The lead rider waved something, yelling.
“Don’t attack! I’m an envoy! From Lord Fairchild!”
Crossbows lowered at the white flag and voice.
“Whoa! Whoa!”
The middle-aged man dismounted swiftly, spotting Kamara’s lordly attire and bowing politely.
“Lord Kamara Tiwin? First time meeting. I’m Mills, steward to Lord Fairchild.”
“Hm. Yes?”
“Apologies for the late hour. And this—a humble gift from my lord to you, my lord. He asks broad understanding for missing the funeral.”
A titled noble house’s steward so courteous eased Kamara’s unease.
The solid gold baton in the gift box showed Viscount Fairchild’s care in first greetings to new Lord Tiwin.
“Gracious gift. Tell Lord Fairchild I understand fully. Now, what brings you?”
House Fairchild, true nobles with title, had no ties to Tiwin.
Not even at father’s funeral— no reason to rush a steward just for hellos.
“Then, presuming on your patience: my lord sends urgent word for Sir Yan Eugene—hence my visit.”
“For Sir Eugene?”
As Kamara glanced, Mills naturally bowed to Eugene.
“First meeting, Sir Eugene. Ought to greet formally, but the matter’s pressing—forgive me. My lord’s message for you.”
Mills handed a fine-paper letter.
Bemused by the suddenness, Eugene broke the Fairchild seal and read.
Nobly verbose, but simple point.
“You want me at Lord Fairchild’s castle… to aid in a territorial war?”
(To be continued)