Chapter 70
Chapter 70
"As the elder, I'll concede the first move."
"No need. I'd rather not hear excuses about you losing because you let me strike first."
I'll win regardless of any concessions.
Unless my opponent was a complete fool, he couldn't possibly misunderstand that implication.
"Being called a genius has made you reckless. For your own sake, I'll teach you that there are always greater heights above."
Ramon Percival's expression hardened as he drew Lampthon's Sword.
The moment he did, the magic stone embedded in the hilt vibrated, casting a faint silver glow over his entire body.
"Ooh!"
"Magnificent!"
"Do artifacts always produce such beautiful effects?"
The spectators were busy marveling, but Logan inwardly scoffed.
'You might as well be announcing, "Here I am!"... Perfect way to get yourself killed.'
It seemed Count Bifrost had gifted him an artifact prioritizing flashy visual effects over practical utility.
For all Logan knew, Lampthon—whoever he was—probably died on some battlefield serving as little more than a glorified lamp.
Ching.
Though devoid of any overt magical effects, Lux emitted a subtle radiance the moment it left its sheath.
Compared to his opponent's ostentatious display, the sword's understated elegance was modest—yet those knowledgeable about arms immediately recognized its worth.
Perfect balance. A blade both razor-sharp and unyieldingly durable.
It was as if the sword existed solely to prove that a weapon could be breathtakingly beautiful by adhering strictly to its fundamental purpose.
The eyes of collectors and elite knights alike gleamed with newfound appreciation.
But Ramon Percival lacked the discernment to recognize any of that.
"Do you really think that pretty little sword can stand against an artifact? I'd hate for you to blame your loss on inadequate weaponry."
"No need to worry. That won't happen."
At Logan's calm reply, Ramon's eyebrow twitched.
"Watch yourself."
Thud.
His foot stamped heavily against the ground as his lean frame shot forward like an arrow.
His gaze was deadly serious, and his outstretched sword shimmered with the same faint silver glow enveloping his body.
He looked every bit the gallant knight from legends, charging forth to vanquish evil.
The artifact's influence played a part, but Ramon—believing Logan was holding back—had deliberately crafted this dramatic performance for their audience.
'Guess I should humor him.'
Among the spectators were Moon Knight Flanz and others of similar caliber.
While he could suppress his aura, fooling the eyes of top-tier knights required a more convincing act.
Crash!
"Ghk!"
He staggered back obligingly.
Swish.
"Hup!"
Allowed shallow cuts to graze his skin.
"The end... Ugh!"
Occasionally countered with seemingly sharp ripostes.
"Not bad!"
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Displayed just enough tenacity.
And finally—with a stroke of what appeared to be sheer luck—delivered the climactic finishing blow.
"Phew. Guess fortune favored me."
As his blade hovered at Ramon's throat, Logan's exaggerated panting—achieved by forcibly accelerating his metabolism with Force Core—was the perfect theatrical flourish.
But his co-star seemed unwilling to play along.
"T-This was a mistake! A fluke! My lord! I'm still unfamiliar with this sword...!"
Ramon's face flushed crimson as he pleaded not to Logan, but toward the banquet's high table.
However—
"Enough!"
"Just one more chance—"
"I said enough, Ramon. You disappoint me. Especially with that attitude."
Count Bifrost's voice was icy, his gaze frigid.
"If you have grievances, address your opponent—not me! Or are you implying my gift is to blame for your failure?"
"N-No, my lord! Forgive me!"
As Ramon prostrated himself in despair, Logan—the actual victor—stood awkwardly sidelined.
"Tsk tsk, to the very end... Ah, we nearly forgot to applaud the winner. My apologies for the unsightly display, Prince Logan. You've won."
"My thanks, Count."
"My man here disrespected you with his carelessness, so I'll make amends by granting you access to my vault. You may select an artifact of your choice."
"Ooh!"
"The Count's generosity knows no bounds!"
"Truly magnanimous..."
"Let us all applaud our young champion!"
"Woooh!"
The atmosphere shifted instantly at the Count's words.
But Logan found the man's dramatic transition from cold indifference to this mask of amiability utterly laughable.
'So this is how you plan to keep me here? Then whatever you give me doesn't matter.'
The Count likely viewed this as merely relocating an asset temporarily.
'Won't go as you think.'
For once, Logan didn't bother hiding his satisfaction, allowing a pleased smile to surface.
Just then—
"M-My lord! A moment...!"
A flustered man rushed in—too finely dressed for a mere attendant—and whispered urgently to the Count.
The Count's face split into a broad grin as he clapped the man's shoulder, murmuring further instructions before sending him scurrying back out.
Turning to the assembly with radiant cheer, he announced:
"By wonderful coincidence, a most esteemed guest with ties to our honoree has graciously reached out. Regrettably unable to attend in person, they've sent magical communication to offer congratulatory remarks to all present."
Who could possibly elicit such delight from Count Roger Bifrost with mere words?
As the crowd buzzed in confusion, the man returned—nearly tripping over himself—carrying a crystal orb the size of a human torso.
"Careful! Even haste is no excuse for— Tsk tsk."
Murmurs of awe spread at the sight of such an extravagant communication device—fit for a house like Bifrost.
Placing the orb on his seat at the high table, the Count smiled warmly.
"An honor to see you again, Your Grace. That I may behold your esteemed visage, even thus, fills this humble heart with boundless joy."
[Excessive courtesy becomes disproportionate, Count. On such a fine day, do not lower yourself so.]
"Not at all. How could I dare otherwise? Everyone, may I present: the kingdom's mightiest transcendent, the pillar upholding our royal house—His Grace, Felix Esperanza, the Sword Duke!"
As the Count proudly announced the caller, his face alight—
Logan's expression mirrored his for the first time.
[...And so, I sincerely congratulate our steadfast pillar, the Count, on his birthday. Though regrettably absent, I trust all attendees are witnessing Roger Bifrost's magnanimity firsthand. My inadequate address concludes here. Enjoy the festivities, and may you all pray for the Count's continued health.]
"Hahaha! My deepest gratitude, Your Grace!"
The Count's grin stretched ear to ear—
[Hm? Wait—is that Logan I see?]
—only to freeze solid at the orb's unexpected interjection.
Pfft.
'His acting is truly terrible.'
The awkwardness nearly made Logan spit out his wine.
But as the architect of this "request," he couldn't possibly disrupt the play now.
The Sword Duke—highest noble among current neutral factions, aligned with neither the 1st nor 2nd Prince's factions—offering congratulations.
Just as Logan predicted, the Count couldn't refuse, regardless of his own allegiances.
'Now to play my part.'
Stepping into full view of the orb, Logan bowed deeply.
"An honor to see you again... Master."
That single word—delivered with simple sincerity—plunged the banquet into stunned silence.
"Master?!"
"The Sword Duke?!"
"Ah..."
"So that's why..."
The hall erupted into murmurs as the Count's face stiffened further.
The Duke continued calmly:
[Why are you—? Ah, your house is in the southwest, yes.]
"Indeed."
[To see my neglectful, uncommunicative disciple like this is... astonishing. Well? When will you return to the capital? I distinctly recall promising you a banquet.]
"My apologies, but... familial matters may require me to remain at Vifros Castle a while longer. The Count has made an... irresistible invitation."
Logan's elegant phrasing thinly veiled: I'm being coerced.
[Count. Is this true?]
The Duke's simple question temporarily sidelined complex house politics.
"Haha, well— N-No, of course not! If the Sword Duke summons him, my affairs can wait."
[Oh? How gracious. My thanks then. Logan—see you in the capital soon.]
"Understood. My gratitude, Master."
Though following a prearranged script, his final words held genuine warmth.
Watching the Count's barely concealed grimace was supremely satisfying.
The next morning.
-You've made impressive connections, Prince Logan. But my offer stands—do reconsider.
Chuckling at the Count's stiff-faced parting words from last night, Logan was interrupted by a knock.
"His Lordship commands your presence for the vault inspection."
The knight's rigid demeanor—clearly reluctant—only amused Logan further.
Another banquet was scheduled for tonight, but he had no intention of attending.
'Good. Just grab an artifact and leave.'
Were it not for this, he'd have departed yesterday.
Not that his expectations were high.
'The truly valuable pieces are surely hidden away.'
He briefly wondered how things might have gone had the Duke's message arrived today instead—but that was pointless musing.
Things had already gone better than expected.
Shaking off greed, Logan followed the knight with light steps.
"You have one hour. His Lordship permits you to select one artifact. Expect inspection upon exit."
"Understood."
Before a massive stone gate guarded by eighteen knights—including three high-ranking ones—the instructions were delivered.
At a signal, ten knights split into two groups, bracing against the gate with guttural shouts.
"Uoooh!"
"Haaah!"
Groan.
As their combined strength slowly—very slowly—pushed the gate open, Logan stared in disbelief.
'So the vault's security relies on... raw physical strength?'
Suppressing incredulous laughter at whoever devised this, he watched the knights strain for nearly a full minute.
Thud.
Finally, the gate parted just enough to reveal descending stairs—though the opening itself was barely a meter wide.
'Ten knights struggled that much for this gap?'
The complete absence of magical energy ruled out arcane mechanisms...
But contemplation was cut short.
"Proceed. You have one hour. The gate will then be sealed."
Under the knights' sweaty, resentful glares, Logan stepped inside, his unanswered questions lingering.
The narrow stone stairs soon opened into a vast, luminous chamber.
The sight stole his breath.
"Wow..."
The underground stone hall—spanning hundreds of square meters—was brilliantly illuminated by glowing nightglow stones embedded in the ceiling.
These rare self-luminous gems—hundreds of them—could fetch tens of millions if sold.
Though even the smallest artifact in this vault likely surpassed that value.
'About thirty remaining.'
Half of the visible artifacts were arms.
But—
"As expected—he cleared out the best."
The items were divided into armor, weapons, and miscellaneous categories. Many glass display cases in the deepest sections stood conspicuously empty.
'What's left is barely on par with yesterday's display...'
With no guide or descriptions, identifying each artifact's effects was impossible.
The Count's pettiness—veiled as generosity—earned another mental click of Logan's tongue, though the logic was understandable.
"Still, getting a ten-million-gold artifact for free? Can't complain."
In good spirits, Logan began examining the pieces.
His heightened senses from Force Core training allowed him to discern even subtle differences in the artifacts' magical density and quality—enough to roughly gauge their utility.
He bypassed the weapons—Lux sufficed, and none here surpassed yesterday's offerings.
Instead, he browsed the armor section for potential upgrades.
'This one electrocutes the wearer? This one emits flames—offensive armor? Seriously...'
Nothing stood out among the mediocre selection, forcing careful consideration.
Eventually, he narrowed it down to three:
As he pondered the choice—
'...Hm?'
Whoosh.
The faint Force he'd been radiating to sense the artifacts suddenly pulled toward one spot.