The Iron Beauty's Surveillance
The Private Training Ground, exclusive to the direct lineage of the Hartvalt Grand Duchy.
"Hoo."
Rough breaths echoed rhythmically through the vast space, where cool air lingered. Kyle had stripped off his upper garments entirely, his body glistening with sweat that poured down like rain. In his hands, he gripped a training wooden sword reinforced with a heavy steel core.
Whoosh—whoosh—
Simple swings slicing through empty air. Yet there wasn't a hint of wasted motion. The rotational force started at his toes, flowing through his ankles and knees, up his waist, and perfectly transmitting to his shoulders and wrists.
The Blood God's Power wasn't some common novel's meditation technique that grew stronger just by sitting still with eyes closed. It demanded movement. Tearing muscles. Rattling bones. It grew especially fast in the heat of battle. Pain and impact. Wounds and recovery. Killing intent and struggle. All these were the roots that stimulated and fueled its growth.
Zing—
A murky blood-red energy seeped into the severed muscle fibers. Pain surged in tandem, but the wounds healed at an astonishing speed, reconstructing his flesh to be even tougher and denser.
"Not bad."
Pain always came with it. The price of rapid growth. But it was worth the cost.
My stamina's improved noticeably.
The Blood God's Power showed its most explosive growth in the early stages. The more he abused his body, the tougher his stamina became, his recovery turning monstrous.
Whoosh—Boom!
The wooden sword tore through the air with a sharp whoosh. The body of the former wastrel was slowly gaining the power of a beast.
It was just as Kyle roughly wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.
Creak—
The heavy iron door of the training ground swung open. Kyle turned his head, wooden sword slung over his shoulder.
What entered his view was a single knight with jet-black hair cascading down to her waist. Her strides were impeccably controlled. A longsword hung at her waist, and her black-and-white uniform clung tightly to her curves. The side slit of her long skirt revealed her thighs and garter belt, a dizzying contrast to her icy demeanor. Her skin was pale to the point of porcelain, her lips a vivid red. And framing it all were her cold eyes, accentuating her stunning beauty.
Leina Garyen.
Past memories in Kyle's mind immediately identified the woman before him. The genius swordswoman famed for her beauty, hailed as the greatest beauty across the entire North—the Iron Beauty.
"This is the direct lineage's private training ground. Who the hell let you crawl in here?"
At Kyle's question, Leina gave a curt nod, her gaze unwavering. But her chin barely moved—a gesture far from the proper salute a knight offered her lord.
"By His Grace the Grand Duke's command. From today, I am to oversee and assist the Young Master in his training."
"Haha, oversee? Assist?"
Kyle let out a hollow bark of laughter at her response. On the surface, it sounded like a training instructor's role, but the reality was different. Grandfather Balgrim had given him a week's reprieve, so they couldn't just lock him up recklessly. But neither would the Grand Duke leave him completely unchecked.
Obvious.
A cheap ploy to control his every move by assigning the most rigid and nitpicky Leina as his watcher. Above all, it was classic "busywork dumping" on a subordinate.
"Ha. Looks like our great daddy dumped a real stinker on you."
A blatant sneer slipped from Kyle's lips.
"The North's knight order's famed beauty, the noble genius swordswoman, forced to babysit a shut-in wastrel instead of order training. You got hit with some prime busywork, huh?"
Leina's brow furrowed ever so slightly at Kyle's provocative word choice. She was the model knight, pursuing only skill and the path of the sword. Yet because she was a woman, despite her countless achievements, she'd been repeatedly passed over for promotions and key operations. She'd tried to prove everything with her blade and loyalty alone, but the old guard's jealousy was relentless. And now, the task handed to her was tending to the Hartvalt family's biggest headache—a wastrel.
Kyle's words pierced that truth exactly, enough to scrape at her pride. But Leina suppressed her emotions thoroughly, replying coldly.
"It is indeed by His Grace's command, but I harbor no personal feelings on the matter."
A textbook response. But in her eyes coiled a deep loathing toward Kyle—like gazing at a rotten rat carcass in the gutter. Extreme contempt.
Kyle perfectly recalled why she radiated such murderous hostility.
It's because of that incident.
He remembered a few months back. The old Kyle, stumbling drunk through the main castle, had run into Leina in the hallway.
Her feel was damn good back then.
Matching her title as the North's top beauty, her allure had stirred him. He'd approached her immediately, groping her firm ass with sticky hands.
"Hey, that's one solid ass you've got. As a chick, your skills ain't shit anyway, so come to my bed instead. Bet you'd pop out a sturdy kid. Or I heard northern bitches are weak in the backdoor— you into that too?"
A horrific sexual harassment, wielding his status as the Grand Duke's heir like a weapon. For Leina, who prized her knightly pride above her life, it was an utter humiliation igniting rage.
She'd been furious at the time but couldn't harm the Young Master. She'd formally protested the incident, earning Kyle a confinement punishment.
A repulsive wastrel hiding behind his noble blood, treating her like a whore. That was Leina Garyen's memory of Kyle Hartvalt.
"No personal feelings? Your face says otherwise, loud and clear."
Recalling that, Kyle snickered.
He stared straight at Leina and tossed out casually,
"You still holding a grudge over that ass slap, huh?"
Her shoulders twitched at the taunting question. An undisguisable disgust. A shadow of deep fury flickered across her pale face for an instant before freezing back into icy composure.
"...I don't know what you're referring to. Think what you will, Young Master."
She phrased it to maintain minimal courtesy, but the meaning was clear. She hadn't forgotten a thing.
Kyle picked up a towel from the floor, wiping the sweat from his nape as he walked toward her.
"Think what I will, huh. Whatever."
He stopped right in front of her nose. A faint bodily scent and the clear aura of an aura user wafted over.
"Let's make this clear upfront. You crawled in here thinking you're overseeing my training? You got nothing to teach me. If you're just gonna nag with annoying bullshit, crouch in the corner and stay out of my way."
A declaration outright ignoring the Grand Duke's orders. A chill glinted in Leina's eyes.
"That's not for you to decide. As long as it's His Grace's command, I'll remain in this training ground. Watching by your side is my duty."
Kyle's lips twisted oddly at Leina's stubbornness, her true colors showing.
"Yeah? Gonna cling on no matter what, huh. Fine. Then I'll give you a fun opportunity in return."
"An... opportunity?"
Leina echoed back, suspicion thick in her voice.
Kyle tilted his chin up, looking down at her as he whispered,
"In six days, the family training arena opens, and anyone can formally challenge me to a duel. You heard that loud and clear, right?"
The public duel declared by Grandfather Balgrim. Leina had already heard the rumors spreading fast through the knight order. Any knight with a grudge against Young Master Kyle could cross blades.
"The knights'll probably line up foaming at the mouth to crush me. But you can challenge me formally too."
No trace of fear in Kyle's voice.
"Might have to wait in line a bit, but when your turn comes, you can slash my body, carve wounds, tear off flesh—and I won't hold you accountable to anyone."
Kyle pierced straight into Leina's eyes.
"A legal chance to draw your sword on me. The perfect shot for you to wash away that past humiliation, status and rank be damned, right?"
Leina's pupils dilated slightly. She thought Kyle must be insane. How could someone who couldn't even handle aura be this brazen? Did he still not grasp the terror?
"...One month."
Kyle held up a single finger.
"The duels last a whole month. So don't waste my time buzzing around till then—go sharpen your skills properly."
The pinnacle of arrogance. Lecturing her—the North's top genius swordswoman—to improve her skills. Leina's reason iced over. She spat coldly, radiating chilling hostility.
"Your arrogance knows no bounds."
"Not arrogance. Confidence."
Kyle smirked, leaning in toward her. He deliberately chose low, nerve-grating words and whispered,
"And the only reason I'm offering you this special chance? That ass I groped back then felt pretty damn great. Call it payback."
In that instant.
The training ground's air froze solid. Shame and fury hardened Leina's face. A eerie killing intent rose like heat haze from her entire body. She looked ready to draw her sword right then.
But Kyle just shrugged off her aura.
"I gave you your chance. Don't regret it."
Ignoring Leina completely, he turned and walked back to the center. He picked up the fallen wooden sword and resumed his heavy swings.
Whoosh—Boom!
Basic conditioning and crude sword forms. Leina stood frozen, blankly watching his back.
Arrogant, disgusting trash.
Her assessment unchanged. But her keen knight's eyes didn't miss the bizarre changes in Kyle's body. Just days ago, it had been a limp, booze-soaked mess. Yet now, with every swing, his back and shoulder muscles exploded with power, swelling.
His physical abilities are better than I thought.
Leina assessed coldly inwardly. The sword's arc through the air and muscle usage weren't those of a dissipated life. His swordsmanship even looked honed over years.
But limits were clear.
Still, aura-less half-assed body. No way he beats a mid-level knight like me.
Leina clenched her fist. She couldn't fathom what scheme drove this wastrel's empty bravado. But since he'd offered a chance, she had no intention of dodging.
Lips pressed tight, she moved to a corner of the training ground and began coldly observing Kyle's training.
And so time passed.
The day of the duel drew steadily nearer.
