Chapter 94
At the Northern Grand Duke's words, the audience chamber seemed to drop a few degrees in temperature all at once. Magical devices ran constantly to ward off the cold, so no one actually felt it, but every soul in the room could've sworn the air had chilled by a solid ten degrees.
All eyes converged on the spot where the duke naturally turned his gaze.
I got it. Not many first-year academy kids would have the guts to defy—or even ignore—someone that terrifying looking.
If those fledgling first-years had that kind of overflowing courage, trash like the Heaven God Cult never would've set foot on imperial soil.
Still, wasn't it overkill for everyone—professors included—to bore holes into me like that? I pretended not to notice, flicking my eyes toward Polo standing right beside me, as if that's where all the stares were aimed.
“Hey. Black hair.”
Ah, damn it all. I squeezed my eyes shut as the duke's unmistakable glare nailed me. Here we go.
I'd braced myself, but it wasn't easy.
Taking a deep breath, I shifted my gaze to the duke lounging on his jade throne.
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“You that Mars punk?”
“Yes. I'm Mars Noc—”
“Follow me. Unless you wanna die.”
Like some street thug—what the hell was that?
As I rose slowly from my seat, watching the duke stretch and loosen up, Prazia sidled up beside me.
“Dad. Don't bully Mars. He got hurt right before the trip; it's probably not healed yet.”
She looped my arm through hers and tugged me close, linking elbows like a kid clutching a favorite doll.
I tried to pull free, but without channeling aura, her grip clamped down like a vice.
“...Daughter?”
The duke stared blankly at the spot where his daughter's arm had been stolen away, then fixed me with eyes burning even hotter than before.
No, why? I didn't start this. She was the one who grabbed me first.
“Lady Prazia. Can't you see Brother Mars is uncomfortable? Even an Aura Lord takes wounds on the body. Holding him that tight with your strength—what do you think that's doing to him?”
Seeing me squirm without using aura for fear of hurting her, the saintess marched over with her brows furrowed in clear annoyance and forcibly pried the armhold loose.
“...This doesn't concern you.”
“No. As someone who owes Brother Mars a great debt, I can't just stand by while he suffers. I understand your feelings toward him, but if it's making him uncomfortable, the natural thing is to stop.”
Prazia couldn't press closer as the saintess picked apart her behavior point by point. She jutted out her lower lip in a pout, shooting me a look that screamed for backup—but siding with her here would've earned me who-knows-what from the duke, so I averted my eyes and played dumb.
“Grand Duke Auros. I understand a father's heart, but you're putting far too much pressure on Lord Noctus right from the first meeting.”
Then Astraia stepped forward to defend me. Unfazed by the duke's beastly glare, she stood resolute, asserting her view like a true heroine.
“...Moreover, Lord Noctus is someone the imperial family takes great interest in. There won't be any diplomatic issues with the Empire as you fear, so please rest assured.”
Ooh. It hit me again just how much attention I got from the royals. Made sense—I'd fulfilled the emperor's lifelong wish and helped patch things up between him and his princess president. They had to be grateful.
A flicker of interest mixed with the fury in the duke's eyes as he eyed me, but I kept quiet, quietly admiring Astraia's advocacy.
“Hmph. Now that's intriguing. Even the emperor's got his eye on you...”
“Yes. So if you could set personal feelings aside for the moment—”
“I get it. But we've got a long-standing tradition here. Warriors from each tribe greet a newcomer with a fight... no, a spar.”
“What? No such tradition...”
“Ah. It's real.”
Prazia chimed in to explain: it was legit. Sure, they weren't tribes anymore but a unified grand duchy under the kingdom, but the ancient custom endured—test a new warrior's mettle in combat, earn mutual respect, confirm if you could trust them with your back.
Even imperial knights sent on special missions had brawled with local knights on first sight and ended up buddies, she added.
“Th-then, pick another student... or the professor, since he's the escort—”
“The one I'm most curious about is him. My blood's pumping—my fists itch to test him out. You wouldn't spit on our northern traditions, would you, Princess?”
“...”
Astraia's face grew troubled as she searched for a counter. Forceful as it was, a real tradition changed everything. Dismiss it outright, and we'd look like we were slapping northern customs in the face. If I dodged, the Empire's Lord would get branded a coward.
“It's fine. Tradition's tradition. We should respect it.”
“Mars... but...”
“Let's do it, Your Grace.”
The training ground we followed the duke to was already buzzing with knights in session.
Unlike imperial knights, their auras felt less like soldiers and more like warriors—or beasts.
Forged in that brutal climate and endless monster waves, they had no choice but to get strong. Each one was a finished product as a fighter; it showed.
“Ah, Your Grace! Heard you were greeting guests—what brings you here?”
A captain-looking knight hustled over at the duke's arrival.
Stiff as a battalion commander caught off-guard by the division head's inspection, he fretted over slip-ups or lax discipline. Too much like my past life.
At least I wouldn't have to scrub the floor with toothpaste. Silver linings.
“Drben. Mind clearing out for a bit? Got business with this pup—er, guy.”
You nearly said “pup,” didn't you?
Sensing the duke's foul mood, Knight Captain Drben nodded at once.
“Of course, sir. Everyone, clear the training ground!”
The other soldiers—who'd lined up a beat late upon spotting the duke—scattered at his command.
“...Wasn't the training ground supposed to be cleared?”
“It is.”
True enough. The problem was the crowd nicely packed outside its edges.
“That kid the Empire's prodigy?”
“Lord-level entry at his age? Our duke's barely Master peak himself.”
“Nah, end of the line for Master. Bet the duke crushes him.”
The soldiers had sniffed out our spar, shooting me dubious looks over my skills.
Not just the duke's men—our academy crew was treating it like a spectacle, pulling out snacks and settling in to watch.
“Alright. Let's begin.”
“Where's your weapon, Your Grace?”
“My weapon?”
The duke stretched out his hand like he'd nailed a dramatic line.
As I stared at his empty palm—
Boom—boom—clang!
Something hurtled from a castle window right to his hand amid a racket.
Thud!
“This is it!”
A massive ancient axe, blue as if forged from frost. The blade alone dwarfed a man's torso—enough to buckle knees just looking at it. The handle was thick enough for two hands at minimum, yet the duke gripped it one-handed with pride.
“That axe doesn't shoot lightning or anything, does it?”
“What nonsense is that?”
Crack. With that macho build and axe, he screamed “thunder god.” Shame.
Whoosh!Whoosh!
“Hmph... still feels right.”
The duke swung it a few times, nodding in satisfaction once his feel returned.
Problem was, not only did he wield that monster lightly—the wind pressure blasting from it was insane.
“Any last words before you die?”
“Hmm... you gonna let me live?”