Fistfight at the Debutante Ball (5)
“Dante! Fighting~!”
“You got this~!”
A solemn duel arena? Hardly. Cheers from the noble young ladies poured down like rain... but no one was there to scold them for it.
“Oh! Is that the promising star from the Western Gentlemen’s Club?”
“Dante Aision! We get to see the son of Lennon Aision in action!”
Whether ladies or young lords, to them, someone else’s duel was just the sweetest spectacle imaginable. It was the kind of thrill that made it impossible to tear yourself away from the ballroom! Nobles had eyes and ears, after all. They already knew Dante and Evan’s bout wasn’t some life-or-death clash.
So? Just enjoy the show!
“500 cel on Dante Aision!”
“600 cel on Evan Taben!”
In one corner, a sports betting pool(?) was underway. Meanwhile, the young ladies ogled Dante, who had shed his formal jacket... and the arena’s atmosphere heated up like a furnace.
Oh no...!
The prince’s faction nobles, young lords from the Imperial Youth Association, struggled to hide their awkward expressions.
Boxing against a knight? Is he insane?
Of course, in a fight, reach—striking distance—was king. The advantage of landing the first blow was crucial in battles decided by split seconds.
A fist’s range was short. Compared to a knight’s longsword, anyway.
“...”
As Dante settled into his boxing stance, Evan tilted his head, caught off guard by the completely unexpected sight.
“That’s an odd stance for a mage, isn’t it?”
Evan probed casually.
“Eh? Looks like plain old boxing to me.”
Dante shrugged it off like it was nothing.
“...”
Evan realized it then. Dante genuinely planned to fight with his fists.
...Kinda pissing me off now?
He was coming at this seriously, but his opponent—a mage, no less—wasn’t even using magic? Evan’s pride took a hit.
“Whatever the outcome, you’ll accept it, right?”
“Of course.”
“No whining after?”
Evan launched himself like a shot. He might not dream of knighthood, but he was a noble. From the rugged south, surrounded by treacherous mountains! Evan had grown up rough, even clashing with orcs in real combat. Average for a southerner, sure.
“Hah!”
Evan’s lightning-quick thrust speared toward Dante.
Dante slipped the attack with a weave and slipped inside Evan’s guard.
“...!”
Fast! Evan flinched in surprise. Dante Aision was a bug tamer—a mage, damn it...? But his hand-to-hand skills were no joke!
Evan backpedaled with quick steps. No need to let a fistfighter close the distance. At the same time, he erupted his mana to shove Dante back.
But—Dante matched it, blasting his own mana to cancel Evan’s push.
“...”
It was a brief exchange, but Evan couldn’t believe the skills Dante had just shown.
“You... you are a mage, right?”
Of course Dante was a mage.
Why the hell does a mage have that much mana...?
That was what threw Evan. Dante Aision was known as a [mage]. At 15, he’d won a duel at the debutante ball with that bizarre “bug magic.” The tower lord’s obsessive messages had even made him feel like the protagonist of some novel titled Mage Stalked by the Tower Lord.
Yet Dante’s martial prowess... was anything but ordinary!
“Got time for daydreaming?”
“!”
Dante’s fist sliced in sharply. If a swordsman used their long reach for the first strike, the fight favored them. But once a boxer closed in and turned it to close-quarters brawling, the advantage flipped. Especially grappling—wrestling holds that left swordsmen helpless.
Evan recoiled in horror, dodging Dante’s grab. But almost instantly—Dante closed the gap with insane speed. No matter how much he retreated, the distance never grew!
“What the actual fuck...!”
Evan was so baffled he couldn’t focus. There was a common saying in the empire: [Warriors excel in close combat; mages dominate at range.] Knowledge so basic it was just common sense.
The reason was simple: different ways of handling mana.
Warriors absorbed and expelled raw mana in battle. Mana was mana—no need to distinguish “types.”
Mages were different. For them, quantity mattered less than quality—which specific mana wavelengths they could wield.
Dante, to master bug magic, had devoted all his time to sensing and analyzing [insect mana] frequencies. Other mages did the same. Raw mana was just a lump of mystical energy. By dissecting its hidden wavelengths and emitting them precisely, they conjured flames or ice—or magic.
Warriors thought: [Mana packs a punch? Stockpile a ton and blast it out—boom, super strong!]. So they trained to balloon their mana pools.
Mages thought: [Analyze mana properties sharply, pinpoint the wavelengths for desired effects, and manifest them precisely.]. They broke mana down, felt its waves, honed control.
The result? Warriors had massive, inefficient pools. Mages had modest reserves but sky-high efficiency in producing results.
Sure, some tried blending both. Boost capacity and master waves—world’s strongest? Sadly, those “magic swordsmen” dreams ended in mediocrity, fading into history’s footnotes. Mastering one path was hard enough; splitting focus made you a jack-of-all-trades, master of none.
But Dante was different. His martial arts? At root, a form of [bug magic].
The Noon Fairies supplied vast mana. Housing red honeybees inside let him regenerate mana with every breath.
He’d learned close combat to burn that overflowing mana, pressuring foes relentlessly. No worry about running dry—the bugs refilled it.
Of course—nobody knew his secret.
“Man, Dante’s really bringing it today!”
“1000 cel on Dante Aision!”
The young lords betting big on Dante? All Western Gentlemen’s Club members. To western nobles, he was [Boxer Dante] far more than [Bug Tamer Dante]. They knew his skills were no joke...!
And sure enough, Dante pressed Evan mercilessly, without pause.
“What is this...!”
Evan panicked, trying to shake him off. But no matter how much mana he flared, Dante didn’t flinch—he countered every time.
Both bled mana freely. A classic warrior mana-burnout slugfest! First to tire lost.
Dante lunging in, Evan fleeing. Dante looked dominant—and he was.
“Hey—Evan! Fight for real!”
“I bet on you, damn it!”
“Coward Evan! Just grapple and brawl!”
The young lords yelled, hyped over potential losses(...).
But Evan lacked confidence to beat Dante up close. He’d trained swordsmanship, not fisticuffs!
In that instant—Dante’s right hook smashed Evan’s jaw.
Bam—!
He’d flared mana desperately to blunt the impact, but Evan’s brain rattled anyway—a solid concussion.
“Gah!”
Evan screamed, crumpling to the floor. He’d spent the duel running... only to get caught and pummeled. Pathetic.
“Kyaaah~!”
“Dante won!”
Dante, catching his breath roughly, straightened his collar and strode toward the stands. Toward the cluster of young ladies...!
They held their breaths, eyes glued to him. Could it be...? Was he dedicating his victory to someone? Me? Maybe me?!
Dante stopped before them and said one word.
“Sara.”
“Yeah!”
“Gimme my jacket.”
“...Take it, you jerk.”
Dante caught the tossed formal jacket and slipped it on. His hair was damp with sweat, but his posture stayed ramrod straight.
“Evan Taben.”
“...”
“I won. I’ll claim recompense for the earlier insults later.”
“Yeah, got it... I was too rude. Damn. You’re strong.”
“Use honorifics.”
“S-sorry for the rudeness... big bro...”
“Don’t think of running or hiding. His Highness oversaw this duel personally.”
Dante shot the prince a cold glance. The prince shook his head inwardly.
Dante Aision. Thought he was just a mage, but martial skills too. Aristocratic... and strong.
Why’s a model noble like that hanging with a woman like my sister?
The prince’s plan to see Dante’s magic fizzled, but oddly, he wasn’t displeased. He’d gotten a fresh show today.
The prince smiled, rising.
“I acknowledge it. You are the victor! Dante Aision!”
Clap clap clap clap!
The spectator nobles showered applause. Payment for the free entertainment.
“Aision! Killer finishing hook!”
“Next club visit, drinks on me!”
Dante waved slowly to the shouting Gentlemen’s Club lords. They’d bet on him—probably cleaned up big in the pool(?).
“Dante Aision.”
The prince approached, Imperial Youth Association lords in tow.
“You’re such a shame every time I see you. Why skip the last hunt?”
“Princess’s tea party was prior engagement.”
“Heh... a fine gentleman like you, at a girls’ tea party.”
The prince patted Dante’s shoulder.
“Caring for your sister’s nice, but time to think of your own future?”
“...”
“Marriage, independence. Can’t babysit siblings forever, Aision.”
The pitch was obvious: distance yourself from the princess. Hang with me instead. His standard greeting.
Dante refused, as always.
“I’ll step back once I see my sister married.”
“Well, fair enough.”
The prince murmured.
“Sorry my sister’s so clingy.”
“...”
That was the prince’s take. Why Dante stuck with the princess? For Sara Aision. Because she was Sara’s “friend.”
“Thank you. If I ever need aid, I’ll ask Your Highness.”
“You’d always be welcome.”
Polite formalities done, Dante sought his sister.
The young ladies spotting him backed away with prim expressions.
“Bro! Good wo—”
“Yeah. Sure.”
Dante glanced around. The ladies shot him expectant glances, brimming with hope. Looking for me...? Me?!
Of course, Dante sought one person.
“Lady Volaine.”
“!”
Lady Volaine looked up.
Dante bowed slightly.
“Does your earlier offer still stand?”
“...!”
“I’d like to ask you to be my partner for the rest of the evening.”
Lady Volaine’s face flushed crimson. She nodded slowly.
“Y-yes... I’d love to...”