Those Words, No Thought of Taking Them Back
{Those words, I have no intention of taking them back.}
Screech!
The ash wood door of the Grand Duke's study swung open.
Rodrik Hartvalt, the current Grand Duke, strode inside.
He was heaving his breath in rough, ragged gasps.
Boom!
His fist slammed down on the desk.
Crack—
A thin fracture split across the solid surface.
Rodrik ground his teeth, his face flushed crimson with fury.
"What exactly is Father thinking?"
He spat out the rage he had barely been suppressing.
On the first day, in the public training arena, Kyle had felled Roman and beheaded Barren.
And then he had severed Leon's arm.
On the second day, Rodrik had moved the dueling venue to the sealed training arena to contain the fallout.
He couldn't afford for Kyle's victories to be witnessed by more knights and soldiers.
When he had sicced two mid-level knights on Kyle, he had expected—no, hoped—Kyle would go down.
But Kyle had won.
Had shown an even stronger face than the day before.
And then Rayna had suddenly inserted herself, issuing a challenge to Kyle.
Rodrik had blocked that fight with a dozen excuses.
But Balgrim had knocked every one of them aside with a contemptuous wave of his hand.
He had permitted the one-on-one duel between Rayna Garo'en and Kyle Hartvalt.
A duel in which no one could intervene except the judge, Graham Berk.
"Damn it!"
Rayna Garo'en.
The most beautiful woman in the north.
A genius who had proven the combat ability of a mid-level knight or higher despite having the body of a woman.
But to Rodrik, Rayna was not a knight. She was a piece.
A woman who would one day belong at Karon's side.
If Karon didn't want her, she could be given to Leon as a reward.
That was all she was worth.
And that woman was now crossing blades with Kyle alone.
That bastard's sword was vicious.
It had taken Barren's head and sliced off Leon's arm.
If even a scar were to mar that beautiful face of Rayna's.
If that beautiful body were to be ruined.
"How dare you give my sons something like that..."
Murderous intent flared in Rodrik's eyes.
His resentment toward Balgrim surged.
It wasn't enough that his authority was being trampled—now that same man was trying to destroy the very gift he intended for his sons.
"This is all because of that damned Kyle!"
The fury naturally turned toward Kyle.
Kyle was his son—indeed, his eldest.
But Rodrik had never once loved the boy.
The woman Rodrik loved was Enora. And only Enora.
But Enora could never have been his lawful wife from the start.
Kyle's mother, Grace.
She had been a political bride arranged by Balgrim.
Grace's father, Arvan, had been a knight who had saved Balgrim and Rodrik's lives on the northern front and died in battle.
Balgrim, in return for that loyalty and sacrifice, had made Arvan's daughter his lawful wife.
To Rodrik, that was not a debt of gratitude.
It was humiliation.
The woman he loved, Enora, born of a fine family, had been pushed aside as a concubine.
The son she bore, Karon, had been born a bastard.
His most beloved son—the son of the woman he loved—had been reduced to a illegitimate child.
Meanwhile, the woman he never wanted, Grace, had produced Kyle as the lawful wife's child.
Rodrik had placed all the blame on Grace and Kyle.
The fact that he himself was the one who had impregnated Kyle's mother was irrelevant.
He even rationalized it—said it was an obligation Balgrim had forced upon him.
If not for that, Balgrim would never have allowed him to take the Grand Duke's seat.
He told himself he had no choice—that he'd been blackmailed into marrying Grace and siring an heir, or he'd lose the position.
When Grace died of illness.
Rodrik felt no grief.
He felt relief.
Only then could Enora become the Grand Duchess.
Karon became the proud direct heir and second son.
Then Leon was born.
The woman he loved, the Grand Duchess Enora.
The sons he was proud of—Karon and Leon.
That was the perfect family Rodrik had wanted.
And in that family, Kyle alone was the foreign body.
Fortunately, Kyle had grown into a degenerate.
He had drowned in drink and debauchery, becoming a worthless nobody that no one acknowledged.
That made him easy to hate.
Easy to discard.
Rodrik figured that once Karon returned from the front and established himself as heir, he could quietly sweep Kyle aside and be done with it.
But that was no longer the case.
Kyle was no longer the stumbling degenerate he had been.
He was toppling knights, shaking the foundations of the family, and pulling even Balgrim's interest.
Rodrik murmured under his breath.
"I have to break that bastard."
Even Balgrim couldn't stop it openly.
Within the rules of the duel.
In a way that wouldn't dishonor the family.
He had to find a way to make Kyle permanently unable to fight back.
Morning of the third day.
The interior of the training arena located on the outer edge of the Grand Duke's castle was quiet.
Only three people were present.
Kyle Hartvalt.
Rayna Garo'en.
And Graham Berk, serving as judge.
There were no spectators.
No one could intervene.
Only the two of them, swords drawn, faced each other.
In accordance with the formal courtesies before a duel, Rayna planted her sword and bowed with perfect, impeccable knightly etiquette.
There was not the slightest hint of disorder in her posture.
Kyle looked at her and let out a quiet chuckle.
"Still so stiff."
Rayna's brow twitched minutely.
Kyle opened with a provocation from the very start.
"Hey, your ass is looking pretty solid."
Rayna's shoulders went rigid.
Kyle had dredged up, word for word, the exact words he had once thrown at her in the corridor—back when he hadn't yet regained his memories from his past life and was still the old degenerate who'd been harassing her.
"A bitch like you couldn't possibly have real skill anyway, so why don't you come to my bed? I'm sure you'd give birth to a solid little one. Or did I hear that female knights have weak asses—do you like it from behind too?"
The worst humiliation and disgrace imaginable for a woman who valued her honor as a knight more than her own life.
The memory Rayna had wanted to erase most had been thrown back in front of her.
Kyle snickered, shaking his head.
"If you want to work off that grudge from the time I smacked your ass, you'd better put every last ounce of effort into it."
He pointed his sword tip at her, speaking in a cold, mocking tone.
"For the record, I have no intention of taking back a single word I said back then."
Rayna's gaze turned glacial.
There was anger in her eyes.
But her breathing did not falter.
If anything, more force flowed into her grip on the sword.
Her stance dropped low, her blade's tip angling inward—toward Kyle's throat.
"Then."
Rayna's voice was as cold as ice.
"I'll tear that filthy mouth of yours apart with my sword and make you take it back."
The corners of Kyle's mouth curled upward.
Rayna's stance was different.
Qualitatively different from the knights he had felled yesterday.
He could tell even from her ready posture, before the sword had been swung.
"Then prove it."
A faint crimson glow shimmered across Kyle's green eyes.
"If you can't prove it with your sword, it means nothing. Come at me like you're going to kill me. Even if you accidentally kill me during the duel, Graham here will vouch that there'll be no punishment."
Graham clicked his tongue.
It was a despicable provocation.
He didn't stop it, though.
If anything, it would give her every reason to fight at full strength.
Graham raised his hand.
"Begin."
In an instant, Rayna moved.
Thwack!
Her body shot forward like an arrow, her feet driving into the ground.
There was no hesitation in the tip of her blade.
She wasn't swept up by rage, and her swordplay did not waver.
Like a raptor diving at its prey.
Cold, fast, and precise.
Her sword, wrapped in blue aura, streaked toward Kyle's throat.
If he didn't block it, he would die.
Kyle raised his sword to parry.
CLANG!
The metallic shriek tore through the sealed arena.
Kyle's feet skidded back half a step.
In that instant, Kyle was certain.
'She's on another level.'
Nothing like Roman or Barren.
Not even comparable to Leon.
Qualitatively different from the mid-level knights he had felled on the second morning.
Rayna alone was several times more difficult than the combined efforts of two mediocre mid-level knights.
CLANG! CLANG! CRASH!
Sword met sword, stained in crimson and blue aura.
Rayna's sword was short and precise.
She exploited the rebound to flow seamlessly into her next attack, shifting her center of gravity with fluid grace.
Most of all, there was no wavering in her will to cut him down.
A smile tugged at the corner of Kyle's mouth.
'This girl really is a genius.'
Even the Blood Cult Leader's trained eye could see that Rayna Garo'en's talent was genuine.
But at the same time, he could see her limits.
'She never had a proper master.'
She had clawed her way up on talent alone.
Excluded from the battlefield because she was a woman.
Passed over for promotion.
And yet she never put down her sword even while being treated as a decorative piece.
That was why she was strong.
But she was not complete.
'If she had had a proper master, she would have already reached Sword Saint by now.'
Even so, the Rayna standing before him could hold her own against any high-level knight.
'With a little more polishing, she'll become something real.'
Kyle smiled, deflecting her blade.
He had no intention of breaking Rayna in a single exchange.
He was going to enrage her endlessly.
He was going to pour every last drop of himself into her.
He was going to make her desperate.
Blood Cult warriors were forged that way.
Kyle sidestepped her thrust and provoked her again.
"Are you going to be this eager in bed too?"
CLANG!
Their swords clashed.
Sparks flew.
Kyle held his blade against hers, grinning right in her face.
"Turns out you're not as sharp-tongued as I thought."
Rayna's gaze burned even colder.
"Shut your mouth!"
Her blue aura surged more violently.
But her sword did not waver.
If anything, it grew sharper.
Cut deeper.
Kyle let out a quiet, delighted laugh at the killing intent crashing toward him like a storm.
'That's right. Come at me like that.'
Rage flowed through Rayna's blade.
All of it was the first tempering to forge her into a Blood Cult warrior.