A Duel That Cannot Be Lost
There was no need to go through the hassle of dealing with Rona Scott this way. I could've just reported her misconduct to the Knight Order, let them judge the severity according to regulations, and decide on a punishment. But that wouldn't have been enough. It was far too insufficient to quell the stifling rage blooming inside me.
Handling it internally within the Knight Order would inevitably run into obstacles from her background—the Scott Count family. Sure, Khan and I had witnessed this incident firsthand, but without hard evidence of prior repeats, they'd likely dismiss it as "just a one-time mistake." And who knew if some so-called "sweet Rona fans" wouldn't come crawling out of the woodwork, whining that "punishing a young lady's slip-up so harshly is too much," ignoring all reason.
But above all, Kalia was the issue. True to her nature, she'd only state the facts plainly, but there were surely mid-level managers in the Order who looked down on her. Otherwise, how could a prodigy who'd become a squire at such a young age be left to endure verbal abuse from trash like Rona? It was obvious the discrimination and contempt she'd endured since her trainee days.
I intended to use this chance to utterly eradicate all those outdated customs and people gnawing away at Kalia. When it comes to protecting my own, the word "moderation" doesn't exist.
So I had no desire to leave room for unexpected mercy or variables.
I learned it after losing soldiers. This romance fantasy world is anything but kind to me.
Before I lost another precious thing on the fingers of one hand, I had to protect it. With that resolve, the handkerchief slowly slipping from my fingers finally touched the floor.
Rona stared dumbly at the handkerchief I'd thrown, her eyes shaking without focus, as if she couldn't believe this was her reality. It seemed unbelievable that a handkerchief—the symbol of a duel in noble society—had fallen at her feet.
"You know what this means, right? You're a knight trainee, after all."
At my chilling voice, Rona's head snapped up with a click of her teeth.
"You insulted my knight in your family's name, so you'll pay the price in your family's name as well."
In truth, it might be beneath me to personally challenge a mere trainee lady who wasn't even a full knight. But it didn't matter. This wasn't an equal duel; it was a lord declaring he'd crush the bug that dared touch his own.
"Khan, will you bear witness? That right here, Lady Scott of the Count family openly challenged my judgment and authority."
No sooner had I finished than Khan solemnly bowed his head.
Now, Rona's path wasn't mere exile from high society—it was a pit of ruin where she'd have to worry for her entire family's survival.
In the North, falling out of the Margrave's favor wasn't just dislike. It meant losing all business rights in the region and total isolation from society. A death sentence, essentially—no place left to stand on Northern soil.
Someone might say, "Just move to another territory," but they underestimate noble society's clannish exclusivity. No one would welcome a family chased out by the Margrave like fugitives.
No matter how prestigious the count family, elsewhere they'd be despised outcasts, unable to even protect their own lands.
At my declaration, Rona's face drained of color, turning paper-white. Only now did she desperately realize her careless outburst had become the noose tightening around her entire family's neck.
"Lord Kasian!! I was wrong! I've been so tired lately... The training's been brutal, so my nerves were on edge for a moment! That's not me normally... I swear. Please? Just let it slide this once...!!"
Her groveling cry echoed down the hall. Tears streaking her face, she pleaded while gauging my reaction. But I had zero intention of accepting that disgusting excuse.
With her own lifeline at stake, she begged me pathetically, yet she couldn't even spare a glance at Kalia, the one she'd actually hurt. Not a single word of sincere apology to Kalia amid her pleas. It was nothing but fake bullshit to weasel out of this.
To the bitter end, she's like this.
I coldly brushed off her clinging hand, looking down with eyes full of loathing.
"Huh? Say something, you guys! You know I don't act like that usually! Tell Lord Kasian quick!"
Her cry was beyond groveling—utterly pathetic—but her friends had no clever retorts. Fearing even her touch, they averted their eyes and stepped back in unison.
Just moments ago, they'd been snickering behind Rona, mocking Kalia. Now, they pitifully turned away in silence, prioritizing their own safety. For comrades who'd been giggling together seconds before, it was a hollow end.
Humans instinctively protect themselves, sure, but watching this cowardly abandonment right in front of me was nauseating all the same. At least if they'd shown some loyalty to the end, I might've felt a shred of respect.
Their frantic head-turns at her outstretched hand were as slimy as dodging filth.
I know it's because they're human, not because it's a romance fantasy, but since I transmigrated into one, maybe that's why I'm seeing this crap.
Some irrational paranoia churned in my head. The soldiers, and now Kalia by my side—why did everyone I came to cherish have to endure such harsh bullshit?
Bile rising, I turned away. I didn't want to take in more of this ugly scene.
Averting my eyes, I saw Rona Scott. She let out a low breath.
"Ah...."
Finally realizing she'd been utterly abandoned, her head drooped limply to the floor. Cold hallway silence settled over her trembling shoulders. The cheap sense of superiority she'd savored crushing Kalia had turned into a sharp blade at her throat.
My group and I arrived at the exchange training grounds, where squires mingled with enthusiastic trainees. This was a place where late-blooming soldier-types who'd honed their talent in real combat coexisted with noble-born kids who'd inherited prestigious bloodlines and become knight trainees young.
The former were mostly commoners, the latter nobles. Noble trainees, raised with ingrained superiority, mostly shared Rona's elect complex. But unlike her, they weren't dumb enough to show it openly. They'd been drilled in etiquette and social savvy to avoid tarnishing their family honor.
The Margrave's domain provided that education too. The grounds were built precisely so squires could guide trainees, fostering natural mingling between future noble and commoner comrades.
But no matter how mighty the Margrave, he couldn't perfectly control the subtle undercurrents among countless commoners and noble youths. Muddy waters exist everywhere.
The moment we entered, dozens of gazes stabbed toward us. Khan stepped forward, seizing control.
"Everyone, halt! Quiet down!"
His mana-infused command boomed across the vast grounds. The sheer pressure froze every trainee mid-motion, eyes on us. Some scowled, annoyed at the interruption, but when their gazes landed on me behind Khan, furrowed brows smoothed into shock.
No one had dreamed the North's master—the Margrave's direct heir—would show up personally.
"All of you, move to the edge of the grounds now!"
Subtle murmurs rippled among the trainees at Khan's firm order. Clear dissatisfaction at the sudden halt, but knowing who I was, none dared complain. They moved in perfect unison—panting soldier-trainees, noble ones dabbing sweat with feigned grace, and guiding squires alike.
Left alone in the cleared center: me with my real sword, Rona Scott, and Khan.
"We now commence the duel between Kasian Valenvalt and Rona Scott. Rona Scott insulted Squire Kalia and denied Lord Kasian's judgment. She also claimed superiority as a knight, so Lord Kasian has graciously thrown down his handkerchief, granting her a chance to prove her worth here and now."
Khan recited the facts plainly, without emotion.
Truth be told, the duel’s outcome didn't matter. I was just the Margrave's second son, still young. The mere fact that this child drew his sword to protect his own would earn praise for my sense of responsibility and chivalry.
Even defeat would be spun as "the courage to stand tall at such a young age," leaving my honor unscathed. Challenging a near-adult trainee without flinching might even garner sympathy and acclaim.
But Rona Scott? The reason for the duel was already public. Winning against a kid changes nothing. Beating me earnestly wouldn't improve her position.
Post-duel reports would reach not just the Order's upper echelons but family retainers too. Since I'd drawn my sword myself, it was only a matter of time before it hit my father the Margrave's ears.
The moment the report—"Kasian Valenvalt formally challenged a duel to defend his knight's honor"—reached the North's lord, the Scott Counts would be seen as challenging the Valenvalt family's authority, beyond mere kid squabbles.
And if she lost? Stamped as a "loudmouthed trainee with no real skill"—no, a count's lady failure.
Win or lose, Rona had already stepped into irreversible ruin.
And I had no intention of losing the duel either.