Chapter 30
Chapter 30
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 30
Chapter Title: Starting Normally, Finally Becoming Extraordinary (3)
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My uncle always said it like a mantra.
Two rings—that's where the real challenge begins. The heart can only handle one ring without resonance.
He wasn't exaggerating.
I realized it the moment I clashed head-on with Dunham's sword. My insides churned. It was different from when I'd faced my uncle. Back then, I'd used [Eye of the True Dragon], but now, all I had was the ordinary-grade [Poem of Sparring].
And while that [Poem of Sparring] had easily offset the vibrations from a single ring, it couldn't fully protect me from the waves generated by two rings resonating with each other.
Suppressing the nausea, I let out a short breath.
Through the cascade of sword flashes, I caught sight of Dunham's face. His eyes gleamed like a hawk eyeing its prey, brimming with hostility.
Boom!
The moment our swords collided, another wave flipped my insides. But instead of flinching, I thrust my blade forward fiercely once more. Before the silver flash could even reach its mark, Dunham's sword blocked its path.
A brief moment of stiffness—Dunham's blade slithered down mine like a snake. I yanked the hilt upward, flicking off the clinging edge.
"Hah!"
With a sharp inhale, I spun my sword half a turn in midair. Naturally, Dunham was right there at the end of it. He raised his deflected sword vertically.
Boom!
Steel against steel, mana against mana, hostility against hostility—they sparked into flames. Amid the scattering sparks, sword lights flickered endlessly.
Boom!
I drew in a breath. It felt like I'd inhaled fire itself—my body heated up. That warmth started to exhilarate me.
Boom.
My ears rang. Probably from the countless explosions erupting right in front of me.
"...!"
Dunham's lips moved. But I couldn't make out what he said.
I couldn't hear it.
All that reached me were the distant booms every time our swords clashed in the air.
My mind was strangely cool-headed.
My sword moved without pause, yet it didn't feel like my own. Even the impacts I should have felt on every clash weren't registering.
Was I already running out of strength? Out of mana?
I glanced at Dunham. His hostile eyes stared straight at me.
Why couldn't I feel the vibrations?
No answer came no matter how hard I thought. Meanwhile, my sword kept busily slicing through the air.
Boom.
At some point, a cluster of light gathered at the tip of Dunham's blade. Even through the haze, my skin prickled.
I saw him raise his sword.
Unnaturally slow motion—beyond his broad shoulders, I could make out the faces of the onlookers. Adelia and Arwen were among them.
"...!"
"......!"
They mouthed words like they were in a silent play—it was almost comical. I shifted my gaze. A streak of light plummeted vertically from the sky.
My sword moved on its own. Just the right angle—tilted perfectly for that descending glow to slide along it.
The flash met my blade. Before I knew it, my sword was enveloped in the light too. Light flowed along light.
Thud.
In that instant, a dull sensation hit me. Like my guts were being grabbed and shaken—I gritted my teeth.
Boom.
Dunham's sword, riding the twilight glow, slammed into the ground. Dirt and gravel sprayed up.
The moment the downward pressure vanished, my sword sprang up. Its tip, after a full spin in the air, aimed for Dunham's shoulder.
A silver line etched itself in the air. A beat later, crimson blood sprayed forth.
"...!"
Dunham's mouth gaped wide.
I pulled my sword back. More blood spurted. The blade he'd driven into the ground lunged at me again in that instant.
But I was already behind him by then.
Gripping the hilt firmly, I swung with all my might. Hit flat across the back, Dunham bent forward at the waist. I stomped down on the back of his exposed knee like a hammer.
Thud.
Dunham dropped to one knee.
Whoosh.
Spinning my body full circle, I swung hard again. Struck in the side, Dunham flew through the air.
I watched him soar, eyes rolled back. His manly face blurred. And in its place, another knight's face appeared.
Not Dunham's.
The face blurred again. Another one emerged—this time, completely different. Some unknown man tumbling across the ground.
"Next!"
Hot breath, a voice burning with fervor—my face flushed with heat.
In that moment, the muffled world snapped back to normal.
"Peyton's out cold!"
"My God!"
The silence shattered abruptly, and my sky-high spirits plummeted.
My body cooled.
"Hah, hah."
My chest ached. Breath rose to my throat.
My heart's mana was nearly depleted, muscles cramping and screaming intermittently.
My heart pounded like it would burst. My mouth was parched. Every inhale felt like it cracked my mouth open.
"Whoa! He really won again!"
Only after hearing the knights' heated cheers did it all come back to me.
I'd beaten Dunham, then sparred with four more knights after him. And,
"A five-win streak!"
I'd won them all.
Realizing that snapped me alert.
It had only been a few hours since arriving at Iron Lion Castle, and I'd obtained what I wanted far sooner than expected.
Was that why?
"Hm."
My vision suddenly spun. My body felt utterly drained.
"Your Highness!"
In that moment, strong hands gripped under my arms. They supported me as my knees buckled weakly.
I forced my drooping eyes open and looked back.
A man stood behind me. An unfamiliar face, but guessing his identity wasn't hard. He wore the Iron Lion Knight Order uniform.
I could identify him, but I couldn't understand the sudden emotion on his face.
It was clearly goodwill.
"Your Highness."
The man grinned, flashing white teeth.
"We salute the victories Your Highness has achieved."
No sooner had he spoken than cheers erupted.
"Salute to His Highness the First Prince's sword!"
"Salute to that fighting spirit!"
"Salute to the victories!"
The Iron Lion Knights cheered me on. The same men who had been outright hostile—even looking like they wanted to devour me—now gazed at me with unbridled goodwill.
"They're..."
A deep voice cut in.
"Simple folk at heart."
It was York Willoden, captain of the Iron Lion Knight Order and commander of the fortress.
"Nothing fires them up like swordplay and victory."
At his words, I looked around once more.
Some gave thumbs-up with broad grins, others chattered excitedly about my five straight wins. A few even chuckled at their comrades still sprawled on the ground.
"Ah..."
As I stared blankly, my uncle interjected abruptly.
"You thought they'd resent you, huh?"
I nodded without thinking.
I'd been wondering why they hadn't drawn their swords right away, claiming I needed to restore their tarnished honor.
"A fair defeat is worth more than a cheap win. We gave our all in honest combat—what's victory or defeat to that? How could such a loss bring dishonor?"
"The name of the Iron Lion doesn't fade from a few losses in sparring."
York Willoden backed up my uncle.
"Dunham might hold a little grudge."
"He has to hand over that sword he bragged about to Your Highness!"
"What a relief. He strutted around with it so much—it got old."
"Pot calling the kettle black! Feels like a decade's worth of frustration's gone."
The Iron Lions bantered noisily.
The captain and my uncle seemed right. The knights looked thrilled, like they'd just enjoyed a great show, more than upset about losing.
Though ignoring their battered comrades lying around felt a bit much.
"Your Highness."
Adelia approached belatedly, her face full of worry over my condition.
"You've sweated so much."
She dabbed my face with a handkerchief I hadn't seen her pull out. The Iron Lions let out sighs at the sight.
They were pitiful men holed up in this remote fortress, waiting for the day their blades would see action—and now, the fortress's sole flower was about to depart.
In acknowledgment of their sentiment, I gently stopped Adelia's hand.
A chuckle escaped me.
"At least one thing hasn't changed."
Indifferent to wins and losses, revering the strong—that knightly spirit was the same as ever. Pleased by it, I smiled.
**
I stayed two more days at Iron Lion Castle, sparring with the knights. Some were ones I hadn't seen the first day, and others, like Dunham, came back for revenge.
Of course, I won every bout.
Though they were all just regular knights of the Iron Lion Order, from my position—needing to rack up wins to upgrade my poem's grade—I had no reason to force matches with those who wouldn't step up themselves.
Not yet, at least.
"Until next time, then."
Mounting up and turning back, I saw York Willoden and the Iron Lions watching me.
"May you be in good health when we meet again."
"You too, Count—take care."
After a brief farewell, I started to leave the fortress but reined in my horse. I'd just remembered something to ask.
"Keep everything that happened while I was here under wraps."
"Wouldn't announcing your victories against the Iron Lions help dispel your prodigal reputation?"
He meant that spreading word of my wins would chip away at my notoriety, even a little.
The count was right, of course. But shedding the prodigal label right now wouldn't inconvenience me much.
A bit of ear-buzzing gossip or malicious glances—that was all. And it didn't bother me one bit.
"Can you guess why?"
"There's a guy I want to mess with."
"Mess with how...?"
I held up three fingers instead of answering. Somehow catching on, York Willoden burst into laughter.
"Gladly."
With greetings wrapped up, I turned away. The Royal Knights, Adelia, and Arwen followed behind me. My uncle was already well ahead.
"Always in such a hurry."
I muttered under my breath and spurred my horse.
"Uncle!"
"Something to say?"
He slowed at my call.
"About the duel schedule."
"What about it?"
"Let's move it up."
My uncle gave me a puzzled look.
"How much?"
"As soon as possible."
I added,
"Say... right after we get back?"