A Scoundrel Does What Scoundrels Do
"What's going on!"
A knight came rushing in at the sound of the screams. The door flew open with a bang, and he burst into view.
"Gasp!"
The knight's eyes widened in horror at the scene inside the room as he crossed the threshold. This was no ordinary drunken brawl from the grand duke's heir. Blood was splattered across the walls and floor. A burly servant writhed on the ground, his right arm torn clean off at the shoulder, gushing blood. A grotesque lump of flesh and bone fragments clung to chunks of meat rolling on the floor. It was a human arm.
"Gaaah! Aaaagh!"
The servant thrashed in agony, screaming his lungs out. Instinctively gripping the hilt of his sword, the knight scanned the room for enemies. There were none. Instead, there stood Kyle Hartvalt in front of the bed. Red blood droplets speckled his face and clothes.
The situation was clear as day.
"Damn it…!"
The knight dropped to his knees and yanked a tourniquet from his belt, roughly binding the servant's mangled shoulder. The arterial spray was no joke. Without immediate action, blood loss would kill him.
"Uwaaagh! Save me! Please save me!"
The servant wailed like a beast. Once the bleeding was stanched, the knight slowly turned his head. His gaze fixed on Kyle.
Blood dripping from the grand duke heir's jawline. The severed arm on the floor. The servant convulsing in pain. The knight's voice came sharp, accusatory.
"Who did this!"
It was no tone for a knight serving his lord to take with the grand duke's eldest son. He sounded like he was cornering a confirmed criminal.
Kyle casually wiped the blood from his shoe sole on the floor.
"Watch your tongue."
He replied indifferently.
"And that look in your eyes—insolent as hell."
Kyle's icy voice twisted the knight's brow in fury. The servant, writhing on the floor, clutched the knight's pant leg with his bloodied left hand.
"Huff, gasp… Sir Dick… my arm… my arm…! Please save me…."
Dick Werner. A mid-level knight in the Hartvalt order.
Dick looked down at the servant's gruesome state. Rage darkened his face. He glared at Kyle again, grinding his teeth.
"I'll ask once more. Did you do this, Your Highness?"
This time, his voice dripped with even thicker hostility.
Kyle stared calmly into Dick's eyes. To the Blood Cult Leader who had ruled the martial world, reading a man's emotions and intentions was easier than breathing.
No loyalty to his lord in those eyes. Just contempt for the incompetent eldest son drowned in booze. A sense of superiority—that a knight who wielded aura was worth more than that useless bloodline.
And.
'Strutting around like he's hot shit because he's cozy with Karon.'
Everyone already saw the second son, Karon, as the real heir to the Hartvalt Grand Duchy. Karon, racking up feats on the monster frontline. The original story's flawless male lead, perfect for the next grand duke.
Compared to him, Kyle was the wastrel eldest son pickled in liquor. It was obvious which way the knights and servants leaned.
But Kyle had no reason to indulge that.
"I told you to watch your tongue."
His voice sank chillingly.
"And that look. No matter how you slice it, you're just a rabid mutt dying to bite its master."
Dick's face flushed red at the blatant mockery slipping through Kyle's lips. Sure, the guy was grand duke blood—but a powerless, reputationless piece of trash in the territory.
"That's too far!"
Dick snarled.
"Take it back! I have a knight's honor to uphold!"
Knight's honor.
Kyle couldn't hold back a scoff at the shallow, repulsive phrase.
"Knight's honor?"
He chuckled lowly.
"Ha. Sounds like something an orc would roll on the ground laughing at."
Dick's eyebrow twitched. Kyle stepped forward.
"My status is crystal clear: eldest son of this grand duchy, your superior, the Grand Duke Heir. And you're baring your teeth at your lord like some mangy cur—yet you dare wrap that in a knight's honor?"
Dick's eyes wavered briefly under the sharp rebuke. But stubborn defiance quickly filled them.
"My only lord is His Grace the Grand Duke!"
He thrust his chin up.
"Even you, Your Highness, have no right to such brutal private punishment in this territory!"
It sounded principled. But underneath lurked arrogance—refusing to see Kyle as family.
Dick bent to support the servant's good shoulder.
"I'll take this servant for treatment."
No asking permission. Kyle's blood-red eyes flashed oddly at the sheer gall.
"Think you can act like an ass and just walk out?"
Dick halted mid-stride to the door. He turned, eyes burning not with fear, but venom—eager to use this chance to oust the thorn in his side for good.
"This atrocity crossed the line—way over."
Dick said coldly.
"I'll report every detail to His Grace."
What're you gonna do about it? The words reeked of it. Report to the grand duke, and Kyle would vanish into confinement or punishment. That shallow certainty shone in Dick's eyes.
Kyle exhaled softly.
Some beasts couldn't be reasoned with. For them, only a physical lesson in their place would do.
That was Kyle's way.
'Time to put this dog in its place.'
He muttered inwardly, then pointed at the empty wall in the corner.
"What's that?"
The abrupt question. Dick instinctively turned to look.
Even a trained knight couldn't avoid an unconscious glance in a sudden moment.
In that split-second gap—less than a second—Kyle struck.
The Blood God's Power coiled in his dantian surged through his meridians. It exploded into his right fist.
Kyle's current body was far too weak for a fair knight duel. But a feint to steal sight. The Blood Cult Leader's experience pulverizing human vitals without error.
Combined? A whole different game.
His body sprang like a coiled spring. Waist torque. Ankle spring. The bursting Blood God's Power.
All fused into a heavy fist.
SPLAT!
A gruesome rupture echoed through the room. Kyle's fist slammed perfectly into Dick's unguarded face.
"Guhk!"
Dick barely registered the hit. The power-packed fist crushed his face, shockwaves rattling his skull. Brain shaken, his eyes rolled back as he toppled like a felled log.
Thud!
He crashed with the servant he'd been supporting. Blood and foam bubbled from his mouth as he convulsed.
But Kyle's merciless violence was just beginning.
He grabbed Dick's hair as he flailed senselessly on the floor. Then raised his heavy boot.
Thud!
"Guhk!"
The boot stamped Dick's face.
Crack!Splat!
"Who the fuck."
Thud!
"Does this mutt."
Splat!
"Think he is, defying his master."
Bones cracking, flesh bursting—the horrific sounds filled the room. Blood God's Power in his toes shattered even a knight's tough body.
Dick's nose collapsed entirely. Bloodied cartilage rained to the floor.
"Gu, guhk… spa…."
Dick reached out, spewing bloody froth.
Kyle grinned.
"Begging for mercy?"
His boot hovered over Dick's jaw.
"You said you'd tell the grand duke. Go on—show him your fucked-up mug."
Cold bloodlight gleamed in Kyle's eyes.
"Show him how I butcher a rabid dog that bites its owner!"
SPLAT!
The final boot crushed Dick's temple. His neck snapped at an unnatural angle. He slammed into the blood pool, out cold.
The armless servant, witnessing the brutality up close, froze in agony and terror, barely breathing.
"Hiiik… hik…!"
He trembled, trying to crawl back. But blood pouring from his shoulder pinned him.
A demon in human skin. That's what Kyle looked like to him.
Then—urgent footsteps thundered from the hall. Knights summoned by other servants who sensed the chaos.
"What the hell is this!"
Armed knights stormed the room.