Leona's Corruption Training (5)
I roughly straightened my clothes before pulling an item from my desk drawer.
The finest parchment. And atop it, firmly sealed with the distinctive red wax seal of the Kraus family.
Anyone who saw it would recognize it as an official family missive bearing grave matters.
"Get dressed and follow me, Lia. I've got an errand for you."
I gripped the letter and opened the door, stepping into the corridor.
Lia, haphazardly dressed, hurried after me with quick steps. Her legs still trembled faintly from the aftershocks of pleasure, but in front of others, she played the part of the perfectly obedient personal maid.
Leona, who had gone ahead, stood in the hallway with her arms crossed, glaring at me.
She exuded a terrifying killing intent, as if to hurry my tardy pace, but I didn't rush.
Instead, when the distance between us had narrowed just enough for my voice to carry clearly...
I deliberately halted and handed the letter to Lia, who trailed behind me.
"Lia. Listen carefully."
To ensure Leona in the corridor could hear every word, I raised my voice a tone higher and spoke with grave solemnity.
"I'm about to duel that vice-captain... If I end up badly hurt or don't come back, deliver this letter directly to Lady Isabella yourself, immediately. But if I return before nightfall, don't send it. I'll handle it myself then."
"Y-Young Master...?"
Lia took the letter with both hands, looking up at me with panicked eyes.
"Given its contents, it mustn't fall into anyone else's hands. Deliver it secretly to Lady Isabella alone. Remember that."
At my blatant instructions, Leona's shoulders twitched at the end of the hall.
I could feel her gaze lock onto the letter in Lia's hands, stamped with the family's vivid red seal. Especially when Isabella's name came up—Leona's golden eyes flickered faintly.
[Leona]
'He thinks he'll lose the duel, so he's written a last will begging his liege for his life? Or maybe it's a cowardly insurance policy in case I kill him? Tsk, what a trashy, good-for-nothing bastard. Whatever he's scheming, it doesn't matter. You'll be half-crippled in bed within the hour.'
Leona dismissed my actions as the shallow tricks of a coward and scoffed.
I took her arrogant sneer in stride, smirking sinisterly to myself.
That letter's completely blank. Nothing but pristine white paper without a drop of ink. I couldn't let a non-virgin like Isabella or Leona see its "contents."
But once the duel heats up in the training grounds, that empty sheet will become the sharpest dildo piercing Leona's heart—no, her pussy.
One arm only. Maximize her arousal. Use Mind Reading to memorize attack patterns.
I'd prepared everything I could in advance. But it still wasn't enough.
The stat gap between Leona and me was overwhelming. No amount of effort on my part could bridge it.
That's why I'd prepared that. An item designed to ensure my victory even before the duel began.
You won't call me cowardly for this, will you, Leona? You were the one who challenged me first.
And if she did? I didn't care. Why show honor to a non-virgin?
"If you're done, crawl to the training grounds already! How long do you plan to cower behind your maid's skirts, shaking like a leaf?!"
Leona bellowed harshly and turned, striding off ahead.
I gently stroked Lia's cheek—her face etched with genuine worry—and said,
"No need to fret, Lia. I'll win."
"Young Master..."
Thanks to her significantly boosted favor, Lia's eyes genuinely welled up, no pretense.
Maybe now I can order her to steal the embezzlement docs from Eric. Nah, too soon. Reverse-spy tactics are too risky until submission hits 100. Besides, there are other ways. For now, just use her to keep Eric off-guard.
I was a bit surprised at myself, seeing the woman genuinely fretting over me as mere prey to exploit.
Even for a non-virgin, was my body turning me into Werner too?
If so, no helping it. I was Werner the Mating Youth, fighting the demon horde's full assault with my cock alone.
The future of humanity hangs on me... no, my dick.
Half trash, half noble thoughts swirling in my head, I followed Leona to the training grounds.
*
The Kraus family's training grounds.
Gloomy reports of massive monster hordes massing beyond the territory's barriers had cast a pall over the castle for days.
Terror that horrific beasts might breach the walls tomorrow gripped everyone—commoners and veteran soldiers alike were demoralized.
Lady Isabella was their sole hope, but she was too aloof for soldiers to approach easily, and morale plummeted by the day.
In this suffocating gloom, news that popular Leona, the vice-captain among the commons, was dueling Werner—the disgrace of the Kraus family—sparked universal cheers.
Thus, even in the late afternoon, crowds poured in: soldiers aplenty, plus maids and retainers scarred by Werner's wastrel antics.
Not a soul thought Leona would lose.
What kind of knight was Leona? The one who'd soloed an ogre.
With the family head off at war with the elite veterans, only Isabella as proxy and the dedicated Kraus mage at the barrier outranked her in the castle.
Bootlickers might include Knight Captain Kent Garcia, but no soldier bought it. Those in the know whispered of Eric's mother, the shadowy merchant Ophelia monopolizing slave trade, and her beastkin mercenary captain as top dogs.
But none were dumb enough to claim in broad daylight that a beastkin outmatched the Kraus vice-captain.
Thus, on the surface, Leona was unequivocally the castle's number two. Werner? A good-for-nothing wastrel born to the Kraus name with zero sword talent.
His social debut—challenging Isabella to a duel before noble ladies and getting floored without a single exchange—was still a punchline among commoners. He'd fled home on horseback, sobbing amid their open scorn.
Even family head Eleanor had grumbled to attendants that the boy didn't seem like her son.
So the gathered crowd craved one thing: how thoroughly would that wastrel Werner get thrashed by the honorable vice-captain? How hilariously would he entertain them again?
"Here comes the star of our swordmaster Kraus family—the most infamous young master."
"Shh, he'll hear."
"So what? He'll be half-crippled by the vice-captain soon anyway."
"Maybe not."
"What're you on about?"
"He'll run first, like with those debutante ladies. Heh heh."
"Seeing that pretty-boy face turned to bloody pulp before the monsters get him would soothe my soul."
Hundreds of soldiers and knights ringed the grounds, even maids skipping duties. At the center: Werner, old wooden sword slung cockily over his shoulder.
Smooth skin unmarred by training, enviably handsome features, arrogant poise. The wastrel epitomized noble hubris—clashing with the dusty arena. Men felt inferiority, women illicit thrill, all anticipating the brutal beating.
Meanwhile, from the lord's chamber overlooking the grounds, Isabella Kraus—family head and Werner's sister—watched coldly.
Duels were sacred; even as proxy, she couldn't intervene.
Then Leona appeared opposite, and the crowd's mood flipped—explosive cheers erupted.
"Vice-Captain! Uphold the Second Knight Order's pride!"
"Show that wastrel what-for!"
Leona, stripped of silver armor in training gear, strode to the center like honor incarnate.
Who'd dare call such a knight "commoner trash"?
No one knew why she'd challenged Werner, but her blazing golden eyes screamed it wasn't trivial. Midway, she handed thick rope to a subordinate and had her left arm bound behind her back.
The expectant arena fell deathly silent, doused like with cold water.
As all eyes fixed, Leona bellowed.
"Werner Kraus! As you begged, in this duel, I won't use my left arm! Only this right arm! No mana, no sword skills—just this blade! I'll punish you with a single sword!"
Far from hiding her penalty, she flaunted it before hundreds of subordinates.
"If the opponent's a coward who dropped his sword and fled before noble ladies... as a knight, it's proper etiquette to give him one arm's handicap. With one arm, I'll smash that handsome... arrogant! Arrogant face of yours!"
"As expected of the vice-captain! Using both arms against trash like that would tarnish her honor!"
"Look at that wastrel making her tie one arm 'cause he's scared! Coward!"
The soldiers' roaring laughter shook the arena, their adoration for Leona sky-high.
She'd twisted Werner's coerced private terms into public glory for herself and vicious humiliation for him as a craven incompetent.
Every one of the hundreds believed an overwhelming powerhouse vs. a pathetic coward was imminent.
Yet amid the torrent of mockery and contempt, Werner's handsome face bore an unshakable, smug grin.
Even as all jeered, he yawned lazily and twitched the hand gripping his wooden sword.
"Ready, Vice-Captain? Then come at me."
*
Thwack!
Dull whooshes and the clash of two old wooden swords echoed through the air.
"Ngh...!"
The groan, predictably, came from Werner.
Leona's overhead strike with only her right arm—left bound behind—sent his body reeling like a paper doll from the sheer power gap.
Werner tumbled across the dirt.
No one knew how many times he'd been floored now.
His once-smooth skin was torn and scraped, crusted with blood; sweat and mud matted his neatly combed golden hair into a hideous clump.
Even blocking her strikes taxed his shoulders with deep bruises; his legs wobbled, ready to buckle.
A pitiable wreck who could faint any second.
"Hah... hah... hah...!"
But Werner spat blood-flecked saliva and doggedly rose, charging Leona again.
No trace of noble dignity or knightly honor in his style.
He'd grab dirt and fling it at her eyes, shoulder-ram and cling like a street thug when dodging failed.
Crawling pathetically to evade overheads, rolling to obsessively target knees and shins.
From the start, he'd circled only her right—bound—side.
"You... rat bastard!"
Leona whipped her head from the blinding dust, snarling irritably. Clear bewilderment in her golden eyes.
One arm sealed or not, her edge was crushing. He should've been crippled ages ago—yet he clung like a cockroach.
The crowd shared her shock. Initial jeers at his dirty tricks turned to mockery, then silence after a dozen exchanges as he endured bloodied.
These were soldiers facing monster hordes soon—yet few matched Werner's grit.
They'd accepted defeat; morale was rock-bottom.
But the "wastrel" they'd scorned fought desperately.
A noble who could flee to the family villa before monsters hit... why fight like that? What insult did Leona deal him?
That tenacity against a vastly superior foe, crawling unyieldingly amid hundreds' laughs...
"...Tough bastard."
Someone muttered amid the hush, swallowing dryly.
No one mocked the wastrel now.
His desperate, base struggles—never quitting despite the gap—rippled through the soldiers.
The finger-pointed weakest's death-throes kindled embers in defeatist hearts.
The jeering arena, with Werner's ragged breaths and flowing blood, began shifting.