Chapter 31
Chapter 31
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 31
Chapter Title: Ipari Plains (1)
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That day onward, Demian devoted himself to training.
Thanks to Equilibrium Ring, his physical abilities had skyrocketed, but he still had a long way to go.
His current physical prowess was at the low-class level. To reach higher realms, he needed to temper his body even further.
Above all, refining his flesh was crucial to fully absorb the Mana Crystal Elixir.
If mana was water, then the body was the vessel. Just as a wider, sturdier vessel could hold more water, the same principle applied here.
‘The Duke’s estate has so many training tools. Perfect.’
The Duke’s estate was stocked with all sorts of training equipment for the knights’ benefit.
Opportunities to use so many tools like this were rare. Demian made full use of them to temper his body.
But the training Demian invested the most time in was something else entirely.
It was sparring—the most effective method by far.
“Ughhh…….”
“Huhhh…….”
In the training grounds inside the Duke’s estate.
Five knights lay sprawled across it.
“What a pathetic bunch.”
Demian Haksen looked down at the knights and spoke.
“You lot collapsed before me, even though I’m wearing magic tools. What’s the point?”
Unlike the lightly dressed knights, Demian Haksen had bracelets and anklets in the form of magic tools strapped all over his body.
All of them increased his body weight or hindered his movements, worn deliberately to maximize training effects.
On the first day, he’d used only three or four, but now it was over ten.
He increased the number as his physical abilities improved.
“Get up right now! Should I knock some sense into your thick skulls?”
At Demian’s threat, the knights sprang to their feet. As if their groans moments ago had been a lie.
“Your cunning grows by the day.”
Demian clicked his tongue as he eyed the knights.
“Knights of the Duke’s estate, and you’re scared of a little pain? Running away like that—what good is it?”
The knights felt utterly wronged, to the point of madness.
For over twenty days, they’d endured what was essentially beatings disguised as sparring from Demian Haksen.
They’d poured blood and sweat into landing even a single hit on him.
Yet not once had they so much as grazed his sleeve.
It wasn’t for nothing that their fighting spirit had crumbled.
“Since you’re trying to slack off, it seems you’ve adapted to this intensity. From now on, I’ll extend sparring time.”
The knights’ faces drained of color at Demian’s words. He scanned them and chuckled softly.
“Kidding. Sparring ends here for today.”
“Yes?”
One knight blurted out in shock at the unexpected words.
It was Pavel Vermond, the eldest among the duel knights.
“Y-You’re done?”
“What? Don’t like it?”
“N-No! We love it!”
Pavel Vermond shouted hastily. The other knights shook their heads vigorously, hair flying.
“J-Just... it’s earlier than usual, so we were wondering why…….”
“The duel with the Marquis’s estate is in two days.”
Demian addressed the knights.
“No more sparring from today. Rest for the next two days and thoroughly review what I’ve taught you.”
The knights stared at him in bewilderment.
What did we learn? We just got beaten, right? Their thoughts were plain as day.
‘Not a single one has realized it.’
Demian Haksen gave a wry internal smile as he observed them.
He sparred with them for two main reasons.
First, to temper his body.
Tools were better for pure muscle building.
But sparring engaged all the muscles needed for combat.
In his past life as a mercenary, he’d favored sparring-based training.
The second reason was to win the duel.
In Demian’s judgment, the Duke’s knights couldn’t beat the Marquis’s knights. The latter were simply too superior.
To win the duel, they needed two victories out of three bouts.
Even if Demian beat Michael Ryanbloom, defeat for the others meant overall loss.
That’s why he’d trained them while tempering his own body.
‘Not one of them has figured out what swordsmanship I’ve been using.’
During spars, Demian had used Lion’s Guard Sword, the style the Marquis’s knights practiced.
Familiarity with the enemy’s swordsmanship would give him an edge in the duel.
‘At this rate, I’m not sure about tomorrow.’
As Demian worried inwardly.
“…….”
Among them, one—Pavel Vermond—sat with his chin propped, deep in thought.
‘Oh?’
The standout among the duel knights was Pavel Vermond.
He had the leadership to act as the eldest and exceptional talent to boot.
‘That one’s worth expecting something from.’
A faint smile crept onto Demian’s lips.
* * *
After parting with the knights, Demian returned to his room.
He summoned a servant and gave strict instructions.
“From now on, let no one in. Not even if His Grace comes calling.”
Demian sat in the center of the room. He pulled a small glass vial from his pocket.
Inside gleamed a blue liquid, sparkling like molten gemstone.
Gazing at it, a smile formed on Demian’s lips.
“Finally time to take this.”
Demian had held off consuming the Mana Crystal Elixir from the Duke until now.
To prepare his body for perfect absorption.
“The Mana Crystal Elixir grants ten years’ worth of mana.”
For such a renowned elixir, the mana yield wasn’t that high.
But its true value lay elsewhere: consuming it heightened the body’s mana resonance.
Higher resonance improved mana operation, accumulation, and recovery across the board.
Truly an extraordinary elixir.
“Alright, down the hatch.”
Demian gulped the Mana Crystal Elixir. It wasn’t liquid—it felt like thick, sticky honey.
He vividly felt it slide down his throat into his stomach.
The liquid settled in his gut. Instantly, it ignited in blazing heat.
The flames spread through his body, burning impurities, seeping into muscles, bones, and organs.
‘...I wondered how it boosted resonance. Never imagined it’d be like this.’
Fire hardens clay into pottery.
The elixir worked similarly, using pure mana to reinforce the body.
‘Others would just sit still, but...’
Demian activated Tyrant’s Power Accumulation Technique.
He drew in external mana to fuel the elixir. The flames roared fiercer.
How much time passed?
“……Hoo.”
Demian exhaled deeply and opened his eyes. A flash of blue light gleamed in them.
He stood. Gray ash-like particles cascaded off him.
Impurities burned away by the elixir, expelled from his body.
“Excellent.”
He circulated his mana. Before, moving it felt like running over gravel.
Now, it was like gliding over ice.
Mana operation speed had surged dramatically.
“Let’s test it.”
He slowly extended his hand toward empty air.
He grasped at nothing. Blue vapors gathered around his hand.
Soon, they coalesced into the shape of a sword.
Anyone witnessing this would have been aghast.
Aura was meant to coat a blade. Condensing it into a form was unthinkable.
Mid-class experts could project aura to strike distant foes.
But shaping aura alone into a weapon? Unimaginable.
Only high-class could achieve such a feat.
“This’ll do nicely.”
Demian lightly swung the formless blade.
He felt the air slice vividly. He smiled in satisfaction at the sword.
“Now, just one step to Aurablade.”
* * *
Two days flew by.
On duel day, Demian Haksen headed to Ipari Plains with the Duke.
“We’re a bit late.”
Upon arrival, the Duke glanced across the plain and remarked.
The Marquis’s forces had already set camp and were waiting.
“Demian Haksen, what do you make of them?”
Demian rode right beside the Duke.
Despite being an outsider, he received treatment like a close aide.
Demian narrowed his eyes, scanning the Marquis’s soldiers.
“Impressively high-caliber troops overall.”
Not just their gear, but the aura each exuded was formidable.
Worthy of Apple Kingdom’s premier knightly house—the Marquis’s soldiers were elite.
“Right? Nothing else to envy, but those troops... I’d love to learn how to forge soldiers like that.”
The Duke chuckled.
Demian knew it was empty talk.
A prideful Duke like him wouldn’t truly envy the Marquis.
Even if he did, he’d deny and ignore it.
Spotting the Duke’s arrival, a herald rode out from the Marquis’s camp.
The herald dismounted before the Duke and announced.
“To Goldpixie Duke, Your Grace! The Marquis proposes the representatives meet on the plain before the duel begins!”
With that, the herald returned to his lines.
The Duke glanced between Demian and Gaol Heinrich.
“They insist, so we must go. Both of you, come with me?”
Demian and Gaol Heinrich nodded.
The three rode to the plain’s center.
* * *
Meanwhile, a small commotion stirred in the Marquis’s camp.
“Michael! Get up this instant!”
The Marquis bellowed, storming into the tent.
Sizable enough for dozens, yet the interior was spartan.
A single bed.
A single sword.
That was it.
Someone lay on the bed, buried under covers, sleeping soundly.
“The Duke’s estate just arrived! We must greet them—why are you still asleep?!”
Despite repeated shouts, no sign of stirring.
The Marquis’s face flushed with rising anger. Unable to hold back, he kicked the bed.
“Get up now!”
Infusing mana into his roar, the thunderous shout shook the tent and ground.
“Ugh.”
Only then did the boy on the bed sluggishly rise.
Ryanbloom Marquis eyed him pitifully.
The boy was Michael Ryanbloom.
The rising star, eldest son of the famed Ryanbloom Marquis house.
Small stature led to boyish misconceptions, but he’d been a man grown for years.
“Father, so noisy.”
Veins bulged on the Marquis’s forehead at Michael’s words. His fist clenched involuntarily.
“Why wake someone sleeping well?”
“Didn’t I say... the Duke’s here... we must greet them...!”
“What’s that got to do with me? Call me when it’s duel time.”
The Marquis suppressed his fury and spoke.
“This duel’s your chance to make your name known. A chance others would pay fortunes for.”
“Not interested.”
With that, Michael Ryanbloom tried to flop back into bed.
The Marquis sighed.
“Demian Haksen will surely be there.”
Michael Ryanbloom froze mid-motion.
“Why’s that bastard at the Duke’s?”
“You sleep through everything, but they chose him as representative.”
“Oh, really? Good timing. I was sharpening my blade for Erwin’s revenge anyway.”
A flash of killing intent crossed Michael’s lax face, then vanished.
Languid as he was, family matters turned him into a raging bull.
“Rumor has it he blocked a mid-class attack.”
“So?”
“Impressive, no? From mere squire to dropping low-class and now fending off mid-class.”
“Impressive indeed.”
“Aren’t you curious what he’s like? Could be your rival...”
“Father, don’t say that.”
Michael sat up.
“Think I haven’t been burned by hype before?”
“This time might be different.”
“Same old. All talk, but nothing special up close.”
Michael Ryanbloom’s eyes were foggy, like misted glass.
Too talented, too strong—he’d never met a match.
Paradoxically, his excellence bred boredom.
“Ugh, sleep’s ruined.”
Michael rose from bed.
“Let’s go meet him.”
The Marquis mounted with Michael and rode to the plain’s center.
The Duke already waited there.
Seeing the Marquis, the Duke sneered.
“Invite people and show up late. Still lacking manners, I see.”
The Marquis grinned back mockingly.
“Getting mad over nothing. Not content with looking like a monk—now showing your pettiness too?”
They laughed loudly. Smiles on lips, eyes lethal.
“Sir Gaol Heinrich, long time.”
“Long time indeed.”
Next, the Marquis addressed Gaol Heinrich. He bowed his head politely.
By age and tenure, Gaol edged him out.
But same high-class, higher rank—the Marquis treated him casually as usual.
“Bored at the Duke’s? Quit that dump and join us.”
“I plan to take my bones to Goldpixie Duke’s house.”
“Pity. What a waste. Pearls before swine.”
The Marquis clucked his tongue. His gaze shifted.
To the Duke’s left stood a young man Gaol Heinrich wasn’t on the right—if.
“If I’m right, this young man is Demian Haksen…….”
The Marquis glanced casually.
Then, meeting the youth’s eyes head-on, he felt like hammered from behind.
‘...What is that?’
The Marquis held no fondness for Demian Haksen.
The wretch who humiliated his precious second son and cherished knight.
Curiosity gnawed too.
Demian’s feats were so outrageous—he wanted to see the man, gauge his talent firsthand.
Perhaps the perfect spark for his bored Michael.
‘...What monster is this?’
The instant he saw Demian Haksen, chills crawled up the Marquis’s neck.
Absurd for a high-class to fear a mere low-class knight.
The fear stemmed from Demian’s talent.
He wasn’t just stimulus for the eldest.
He might rival him.
‘Oh no.’
The Marquis whipped toward Michael.
If he felt this shaken, Michael surely had too.
“…….”
Michael stared blankly at Demian Haksen.
Not even blinking. As if no time for it.
“……Ha.”
A thrilled sigh escaped Michael Ryanbloom.
In that moment, his hand gripped the sword hilt.
The blade began to emerge.