Duel (3)
Cheers thundered across the training grounds.
Hidden in the shade, Lionel Darkest's face had gone past ashen — it was nearly the color of ash itself.
His plan had gone spectacularly wrong. Worse, he had been publicly humiliated by Ian, a mere bastard son.
"…Ian."
Lionel called his name in a low voice. Cold fury laced the sound, along with a bewilderment he could not quite conceal. He approached Ian slowly, forcing a smile onto his face.
"Not bad, Ian. I never realized you'd honed your swordsmanship to such a degree."
"To hear such praise from a brother so universally admired — I hardly know where to put myself."
At the word brother, Lionel's lips twitched.
Must be driving him insane, hearing a bastard call him that.
But what are you going to do about it?
There were too many noble eyes watching. One careless word and the rumor would spread like wildfire. And right now, the crowd's favor had swung entirely in Ian's direction.
Ian savored the moment, twisting the knife just a little. Of course, Lionel was not the type to simply take it lying down.
"Yes. Impressive. But… the true swordsmanship of House Darkest is no mere bag of tricks. Allow me to instruct you personally."
Lionel drew the ornate longsword from his hip.
Whoa. What's with those eyes?
Watching Lionel glare at him like a beast that had lost all reason, Ian took a step back.
Fair enough. From Lionel's perspective, he had no choice — he had to crush Ian right here, right now, and claw back his ruined reputation. A lowly bastard had just defeated one of his own men, a soldier properly trained in the Darkest sword style, however junior. Of course he was furious.
But Ian was not fool enough to take the bait.
Feigning exhaustion, he staggered as though his strength had completely left him and leaned his back against the wall at the edge of the grounds.
"I am deeply sorry, brother. It seems I expended far too much in that bout with the common soldier. Were I to face you now, it would hardly even qualify as a proper match. I fear it would only diminish your honor."
He had already shown enough. Fighting Lionel directly offered little reward even in victory — and if he somehow lost, the dramatic triumph he had just earned would evaporate into nothing. Pulling back gracefully was the smart play.
"Haha! Diminish my honor? Mere honor is nothing compared to teaching my dear younger brother!"
Lionel had seen through the excuse and meant to press harder. But the murmuring of the surrounding nobles caught him short.
"Mm, I believe young Ian Darkest has the right of it. That last bout was truly splendid. With skill of that caliber, even facing a common soldier would have taken considerable effort."
"Indeed. The lesson can wait for another day, don't you think?"
Lionel no longer had any pretext to force the fight. And given that he was already under suspicion of sending a subordinate to wear Ian down first, insisting on a duel now would only damage his image further.
"…Tch."
Swallowing his rage, Lionel reluctantly sheathed his sword. His mouth still wore a forced smile, but the killing intent never left his eyes.
"Very well. That will be all for today. Go. Rest well."
It was as good as a complete admission of defeat.
Ian bowed politely toward him, then walked toward the banquet hall with an easy smile.
The moment he stepped back into the banquet hall, the atmosphere was unmistakably different.
…Ugh. This is a lot.
Nobles who had watched the duel through the windows now stared at him with open curiosity — and, in some cases, something close to awe.
"Ian Darkest, that was truly remarkable swordsmanship! When did you undergo such rigorous training?"
"Surely you aren't planning to overturn the family over this little incident? Hahaha!"
"Ian, is there a particular style of young lady that catches your interest?"
A few of the questions were rude, and some of the offers were rather suggestive, but the shift in how people looked at him was unmistakable.
He was no longer a bastard who could be safely ignored. He was a Darkest — and one who could actually back up the name with a blade. At the very least, they were giving the name its due.
Whatever.
Tired was tired. People's attention? He wasn't an idol. What was he supposed to do with all this?
He answered just enough to keep anyone from taking offense, while subtly broadcasting how exhausted he was. Fortunately, most of them were sharp enough nobles to take the hint and drift away on their own.
"Hah."
Free of their stares at last, he quietly made his way up to the second floor of the banquet hall. The density of people was far thinner than in the main hall below, and he could finally breathe.
Noisy, crowded high society had never suited his temperament. What grand fortune had he been chasing in past lives, clawing so desperately for the family's recognition?
I'll rest a bit… then go look for the person matching the description Yerna gave me earlier.
Leaning against the second-floor balcony railing, he caught his breath and gazed idly down at the hall below. That was when it happened.
"Quite the impressive display of swordsmanship, Ian Darkest."
The voice came from directly behind him — low and alluring, yet carrying a chill that raised the hair on his neck. He turned on instinct.
And there she stood. The very person he had been looking for.
Hair like living flame. Features so sharp and beautiful they barely seemed human. And above all else… those strange golden eyes, slit vertically like a reptile's.
Kiadrice Sol.
It was her.
"…Kiadrice?"
"Oh? After everything that happened, you still address me by name. Have you no desire to be rid of me? Do you still believe I have some remaining value to exploit, Ian Darkest?"
She smiled meaningfully, her words hinting at past events that only she seemed to remember.
"I expected you would want an apology, Ian."
"…An apology."
She said it as though there were something substantial behind it, and it was driving him insane.
What the hell?
An apology? Something he was supposed to receive an apology from Kiadrice for?
The problem was that he couldn't remember a single thing about it.
His memories were still incomplete — and the regressions involving the heroines of Tales of Legend were especially hazy, as if someone had deliberately obscured them.
But he could not afford to look flustered or let on that he had no idea.
Recalling what he did know about her — especially the fact that she had, more than once, planned the complete annihilation of House Darkest — he tried to read her intentions as calmly as he could.
"…If it's about the past, that's already over and done with. I don't think you need to concern yourself with it any further, Kiadrice."
At his answer, Kiadrice's eyes widened slightly. She stared at him for a long moment, then let out a short laugh.
"Oh, not bad. That's not the reaction the old you would have given. Are you truly unbothered? After what I did to you? If it were me, I would want an apology."
I'd need to remember it first before I could accept an apology or not.
And more importantly—
Apology? From you? Please.
He decided it was best not to provoke her any further. Kiadrice Sol possessed a pride fiercer than anyone's — closer to pure arrogance, really. Demanding an apology from someone like her, or dredging up the past, was never the wise choice.
"I truly don't mind. You don't need to worry about it."
With that, he bowed courteously and turned his back on her.
If the conversation went on any longer, she would realize he knew nothing about whatever past incident she was remembering. What mattered right now was the simple fact that Kiadrice Sol had personally attended House Darkest's banquet. That alone was enough to accomplish his goal.
He started toward the stairs. Her cold voice followed him once more.
"Truly?"
"Yes."
"…You've changed, Ian Darkest. A great deal."
A dragon's voice — cold enough to freeze the blood, and beautiful enough to stop the heart.
Kiadrice Sol. The last descendant of the Dragon Race made that declaration in a voice thick with rage.