How About the Battlefield?
Even after the Blue Tiger Knights had been dismantled, Kyle’s steps did not falter. Next came the Red Griffin Knights. And finally the White Dragon Knights—the ones who carried themselves with the greatest airs of nobility, forever preaching honor and pride.
The outcome never changed. Those who tried to flee met Reina’s blade at the doorway and lost their heads. Those who stood and fought were butchered by Kyle’s blood-red sword strikes.
Slice!
“Cough…!”
The last upper-grade knight of the White Dragon Knights vomited blood and collapsed. His throat had been carved open; the body toppled to the floor with a wet thud. That was the end. Every member of the four knight orders who had remained inside the Northern Duke’s Castle was now completely annihilated.
Golden Lion: forty-eight. Blue Tiger: forty-nine. Red Griffin: forty-six. White Dragon: fifty. A total of one hundred and ninety-three. That was the number of knights who had lost their lives at the hands of Kyle and Reina in a single day.
Not the ones stationed outside—the ones inside the castle were all dead.
Kyle angled his dripping sword downward and surveyed the room. The White Dragon Knights’ waiting chamber could no longer be called a waiting chamber. The once-elegant space, adorned with white and blue patterns, was now drenched in dark, sticky blood. Shattered swords, severed limbs, and the wide-eyed corpses of knights who had died in terror lay scattered across the floor.
Kyle’s own appearance was equally wretched. His black uniform had been shredded beyond recognition. Fresh crimson lines scored his shoulders, forearms, flanks, and thighs. His own blood and the blood of others had soaked him from head to toe. Yet his eyes remained perfectly steady, gleaming with a deep, terrifying blood-red light.
He turned slowly and looked at Reina standing in the doorway. Her condition was not much different. The neat clothes she had worn were now heavy and discolored with gore. Blood dripped from the ends of her jet-black hair. Even her snow-white cheeks and the elegant line of her neck were smeared with someone else’s clotted blood.
Kyle’s lips curved faintly as he studied her. “Reina.” He wiped his chin with the back of a bloodied hand. “How does it feel to cut down traitors?”
Reina gazed at the corpses strewn across the floor. The mouths that had spewed filthy obscenities at her. The eyes that had looked down on her for being a woman. The wretches who, at the brink of death, had discarded every scrap of pride and honor to crawl and beg for their lives. All of it lay before her now.
She lifted her head quietly and met Kyle’s eyes. “I realized just how insignificant they truly were.” Her voice was ice-cold. “They spoke of honor, yet they were desperate to save their own skins. They held swords in their hands but were never prepared to die.”
Reina’s eyes sank even deeper. “It makes me feel pathetic that I once struggled so hard to earn recognition from men like these.”
A satisfied smile spread across Kyle’s face. “Exactly, Reina.” He nudged the corpse of the upper-grade knight with the toe of his boot. “Fighting with your life on the line only makes sense when you accept that you yourself can die at any moment.”
His voice was frigid. “These fools picked up swords to cut others, yet never once imagined they would be the ones cut down. From the beginning, they only ever drew their blades to look impressive.”
Kyle’s gaze returned to Reina. “A sword like that can never grow sharp. The moment you force death upon others while refusing to face it yourself, the blade grows dull.”
Reina gave a quiet nod. Kyle asked her, “And you?”
She answered without hesitation. “I am different from them.” There was no tremor in her voice. “From the moment I swore to follow my lord, I knew I was stepping onto a path of thorns. The knightly road of chasing empty glory is over. I understood that my hands would have to be stained with uncountable amounts of blood.”
Reina tightened her grip on her sword. “If I had feared death, I never would have taken my lord’s hand in the first place.”
Kyle watched her for a moment, then gave a low chuckle. “Good.” It was a genuinely pleased sound. “Never forget that resolve.”
At that moment—
“Kuhuhu.”
A beast-like laugh rumbled from the doorway. It was Valgrim. He strode straight through the pools of blood without a hint of hesitation and slowly scanned the room: the corpses, the severed limbs, the blood-drenched floor, and the two figures standing at its center. A satisfied smile curved his lips.
Reina bowed her head at once in respectful greeting.
“A most excellent exchange,” Valgrim said, looking at Kyle. “Not a single traitor left alive. A truly refreshing hunt.”
The words were praise. Had the current Grand Duke Roderick witnessed this scene, he would have howled in fury. To Valgrim, however, the bloodbath meant something else entirely. It was the place where a rotten abscess had been excised. The scar left after lancing the pus that had clung to the name Hartvalt. Nothing more, nothing less.
Kyle offered the old man a slight bow. “I appreciate the compliment, but…” His tone was far from bright. “This matter has cost me quite a bit.”
Valgrim’s thick brows twitched. “Cost you?” He laughed, incredulous. “After butchering this many rats and growing even stronger, what possible loss could you have suffered?”
Kyle flicked the blood from his uniform sleeve. “The original agreement between us was one month.” He folded down his fingers one by one. “I spent a week training alone in preparation. After that, I only received challenges for four days. Eleven days have passed in total.”
His gaze swept across the scattered corpses. “Which means I should still have nineteen days left to accept challenges and fight until my blood runs dry.”
Valgrim watched him in silence. Kyle continued.
“Yet as you can see, I’ve already carved through every last member of the four knight orders—men too pathetic to even call knights—who remained inside the Northern Duke’s Castle.” He shrugged. “Do you think the knights outside those orders, the ones who hold grudges against me, will suddenly come forward to challenge me now? They’ll know they have no chance in terms of skill…”
Kyle clicked his tongue. “If there had at least been a rule against killing my opponent during one-on-one duels with upper-grade knights, I could have traded wounds and enjoyed more varied fights. But even that has become difficult now.”
The corner of his mouth twisted. “After the grand duke’s heir executed one hundred and ninety-three traitors in a single day, there won’t be a single knight left in this castle with enough spirit or resentment to challenge him.”
It was the truth. The Blood Spirit Divine Scripture grew through struggle. Yet the prey had vanished. From Kyle’s perspective, it was undeniably a loss.
“The knights on the battlefield would be different. They would have both skill and real venom.” Kyle’s voice carried clear regret. “But they hold no grudge against me, nor do they have the leisure to return all the way to the main castle just to challenge me.”
He looked Valgrim straight in the eye. “So I must ask.” Eyes covered in a blood-red glow shone coldly. “My hunting ground has run dry. What becomes of our wager now?”
Valgrim stared at him for a moment, then let out a hollow laugh. “I told you clearly.” His voice dropped lower, yet a satisfied smile remained on his lips. “In one month, if you failed to meet my expectations and became nothing more than a bug crawling on the ground, I would rip your limbs off with my own hands.”
His gaze pressed down on Kyle. “A month has not yet ended. The matter is not yet fully decided.”
Kyle nodded. “I agree.” He glanced down at his own battered, wounded body. “Today’s battles were helpful. I gained a sense for fighting multiple opponents, and I have grown considerably stronger myself.”
Yet Kyle’s expression showed no satisfaction. “Still, it isn’t enough. I need to become stronger. For that, I require more battles—ideally life-or-death struggles against true experts who can force me to risk everything.”
It was pure, unfiltered longing. The only thing he pursued with such desperate sincerity was strength.
Valgrim studied those eyes for a long time. Then he spoke as if tossing out a casual remark.
“In that case, how about going to the battlefield?”
Reina’s eyes trembled faintly. Kyle, too, fell silent for a moment.
The battlefield. The Northern Frontline. A harsh, snow-swept land where monsters, demi-humans, and barbarians still surged endlessly—a place where blood and slaughter never ceased. The very place where Caron Hartvalt, the second son whom Roderick cherished and viewed as the next grand duke, was currently stationed.
Kyle looked at Valgrim. This isn’t simply a suggestion to train. The former grand duke would not send him to the front lines without purpose. Kyle read the true intent hidden behind the words.
He gave a small chuckle. “Grandfather.”
“Speak.”
“The one-month deadline has not yet expired, and I have not fully proven myself.” The corner of Kyle’s mouth lifted. “Yet it seems you already have expectations for me.”
Valgrim did not deny it. Kyle continued.
“Even I never imagined all four knight orders of the grand ducal house would join forces to commit such foolishness. Thanks to them, my training plan has been thrown into complete disarray.” He shrugged. “It seems your own plans have been moved forward as well. A shame.”
Valgrim’s eyebrows twitched. But after looking at Kyle’s face, he let out a short laugh. “You call it a shame, yet you’re smiling.”
Kyle smoothly wiped the smile from his lips. “Ah, my mistake.” He spoke as if it were nothing. “I apologize.”
Valgrim shook his head, dumbfounded. “It is exactly as you said.” Arms crossed, he looked down at Kyle. “Excluding the week you trained alone, I have only properly observed your conduct for four days.”
Heavy weight filled Valgrim’s voice. “Yet in those four days, the decisiveness, the martial prowess, and the cold skill with which you cut out the rotten traitors…” He paused. “I will admit it honestly. You exceeded my expectations.”
It was unmistakable praise. “Therefore, for the remaining nineteen days, go to a real battlefield where blood and flesh fly and prove your worth even further.”
Kyle laughed shortly. “Nineteen days?” He shook his head in disbelief. “The battlefield is not a child’s playground. What exactly do you expect me to prove in nineteen days? The Northern Frontline is hardly an easy place.”
Valgrim nodded. “I know that as well.” His tone grew cold. “I am not telling you to end the war and return in less than twenty days.”
“Then?”
“It is a midterm evaluation.” Valgrim’s eyes narrowed sharply. “How you act after joining the front lines. Who you cut down, who you spare. How the knights and soldiers there receive you.” His voice lowered. “And whether you can still bear the name Hartvalt in that place.”
Kyle immediately understood the meaning behind the words. Caron was on the front. The man Roderick regarded as the de facto successor, the one the knights believed would become the next grand duke. Yet here was Valgrim, testing whether Kyle—not Caron—possessed the qualifications to be that successor.
Kyle’s eyes flashed with cold light. “So,” his voice echoed quietly through the blood-scented chamber, “if I go to the battlefield and show you a useful side that meets your approval…”
Kyle’s sword lightly prodded a nearby corpse.
“…you wish for me to become the Grand Duke of Hartvalt?”
A brief silence fell. Kyle continued.
“Or are you warning me in advance that the family’s rotten state is beyond saving, and that you intend to close the doors of the Hartvalt Grand Ducal House yourself?”
It was an extreme question. Either Kyle would seize control of the family, or Valgrim would end it with his own hands. For an ordinary noble, even imagining such words would be blasphemous.
Yet Valgrim laughed when he heard them—a ferocious, wild laugh like a beast unleashing its primal nature.
“Yes.” Satisfaction flooded the former grand duke’s eyes. “That is the correct answer.”
Valgrim glanced at the corpse of a nearby White Dragon Knight, then mercilessly stomped down, crushing the head beneath his boot.
“Everything is exactly as you predicted, Kyle.” With a face full of firm resolve, the old man stared at him. “If you do not prove yourself worthy to become the Grand Duke of Hartvalt, I will close the doors of the Hartvalt Grand Ducal House with my own hands.”