Chapter 83
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 83
His glistening eyes remained fixed on her face. The man looked down at her, his expression a chaotic blur of confusion, rage, and a strange, simmering heat.
"Just who the hell are you...?"
"Can’t you tell just by looking?" Thalia sneered, tilting her chin up defiantly. "I’m that 'illegitimate wicked woman' you were just running your mouth about."
The man’s face flushed a deep crimson. As if the situation had finally clicked into place, his eyes, previously clouded by shock, regained their focus. He exhaled a sharp, hot breath, his voice rising with agitation.
"Even so, this is going too far! I am a knight and a nobleman! Since when is a noble treated with such—!"
"And since when is it legal to openly insult the Imperial family?" Thalia cut him off, her lips curling into a sharp, mocking twist. "You publicly disparaged the Empire’s princess and committed an act of insubordination against a future sovereign. You wouldn’t have a leg to stand on even if your head were lopped off right now, would you? You should be grateful it ended with nothing more than a wine shower."
"I was merely offering plain-spoken advice out of loyalty—!"
"Save your barking for the dogs." She bore down on him, her eyes flashing with venomous intensity. "Loyalty? Plain-speaking? Don’t make me laugh. You were just howling your frustrations at random."
Cowed by the sheer malice she radiated, the man flinched and took a step back. Watching his pathetic display with a mocking gaze, Thalia spoke in that silky-smooth voice she used whenever she intended to get under someone’s skin.
"If you find Aila so pitiful and tragic, why don’t you run to her and offer your comfort? Who knows? Perhaps the perfect princess, so beloved by the entire Empire, might actually grant you her favor."
She looked him up and down, scanning him from head to toe, before letting out a frivolous, mocking laugh.
"Actually, never mind. You wouldn’t stand a chance. My sister is surprisingly particular about faces."
The man’s face was now so red it looked as if it might burst into flames. Barkas watched in silence as the heat in the man’s eyes curdled into intense hostility.
Fascination turns to enmity; desire is swiftly replaced by rage. Most men who encountered her reacted this way. With veins bulging in the whites of his eyes, the man leaned toward her as if he might lunge at any moment.
Barkas had seen enough.
He pulled the hood over Thalia’s head, then cupped the back of her head and drew her firmly against his chest. Thalia let out a startled gasp, her arms flailing slightly. Holding her fast as she tried to squirm away, he studied the man’s expression. Though the man huffed with indignation, he seemed desperate to snatch the woman out of Barkas’s arms.
Grinding his teeth, his eyes wide and glaring, the man shouted, "Hand her over this instant! I cannot let such an insult pass!"
"And if you don’t let it pass, what then? Are you going to draw your sword on me? Or perhaps—"
Thalia, who had been shouting back at the man while trying to push Barkas’s hand away, suddenly fell silent. She seemed to have finally sensed the grim atmosphere radiating from the man holding her.
Barkas carefully adjusted the hood to hide the face of the woman who was now stealing glances at him, then observed the reaction of the crowd. Most looked dumbfounded, but more than a few watched with a mix of interest and curiosity. Of course, there were also several who displayed blatant hostility.
It seemed his plan to gradually earn the vassals' submission and build a flawless foundation had already gone awry. Swallowing a sigh, he turned his gaze back to the hulking man.
"I suppose I must repeat my wife’s question. What do you intend to do if you don’t let this pass?"
"I demand an apology for the insult I have suffered!"
Barkas rubbed his chin as if considering the demand. Alec Gutvan was a powerful figure with significant influence in the southeastern region. Among the warriors of the Khan people, who revered martial prowess, many would follow this man blindly. Having commanded a cavalry unit of hundreds of elite warriors and established himself firmly as a local lord, he likely presumed he could handle a green youth in his early twenties however he pleased.
Coming here to cause such a scene the moment Barkas returned was undoubtedly an attempt to seize the upper hand.
Barkas’s lips quirked. "Is an apology absolutely necessary?"
"It is! You must offer a formal apology in front of everyone for insulting and mocking me!"
"What do you think?" Barkas looked down and posed the question to Thalia. "Do you have any intention of granting that request?"
A look of betrayal immediately shot back at him. The light of the chandeliers shimmered over her deep blue irises, which always seemed to scrape at his very core.
"I’d rather die. I’d bite off my own tongue first!"
"There you have it."
When he turned his dry gaze back to the man, he saw a murky malice blooming within those bloodshot eyes.
The man spat out his words. "Then, Young Lord, you must apologize on your wife’s behalf. No matter what, I must receive compensation for the insult I have endured."
The sound of sharp intakes of breath echoed through the hall. Even those who had sought to test Barkas seemed taken aback by the excessive demand. Barkas paused for a moment before slowly opening his mouth. Just then, a frantic hand reached out to stop him.
Looking down, Barkas frowned as he saw her pale face. Thalia, gripping his arm tightly, cried out in a strained, urgent voice, "Don’t do it. If you apologize, I’ll never forgive you!"
Once again, his stomach churned. Previously, he had thought this sensation was close to unpleasantness. But now, the thought crossed his mind that it might be something else entirely.
He pried her hand off and stepped slowly toward the man. The man’s gaze remained fixed on her. Blocking that line of sight, Barkas spoke softly to the face that reeked of pungent wine.
"We are men of the East, are we not? If there is something you want, you must seize it through strength."
"Does that mean...?" A look of deep suspicion crossed the man’s huffing face.
Barkas added calmly, "Let us settle this in the traditional way. We shall duel. If you win, I will offer a formal apology in front of everyone."
A violent stir swept through the banquet hall. Contrary to the expectation that he would jump at the proposal immediately, the man hesitated, sending a searching look Barkas’s way. It occurred to Barkas that half of this man’s aggressive behavior might be a front.
After scrutinizing him with cunning eyes, the man finally spoke. "Do you even know what a duel entails? A duel in this land is of a different caliber than the childish games played in the Imperial Palace. To us, a duel means a desperate struggle with our lives on the line."
Thalia sucked in a ragged breath and yanked at his coat. Ignoring her, he replied in a nonchalant tone, "So, are you afraid?"
A thick vein bulged on the man’s broad forehead. After scanning Barkas with blatant contempt, the man let out a scoff. "At least your spirit is that of an Easterner."
"Your answer?"
"Fine. I accept the duel."
The moment the man’s answer fell, the hall erupted in a roar of voices. Barkas gestured toward Daren, who stood looking dazed and bewildered by the sudden turn of events.
"Prepare the horses and armor."
"The sun has already set, my lord. We should wait until daybreak—"
"What is the point of dragging it out until then?" Cutting Daren off, Barkas looked up at the man provocatively. "The Khan people learn to fight on horseback before they can even walk. Does the setting sun pose a problem for us?"
"It poses no problem at all!" the man snarled in response. "You there! Fetch my armor and weapons at once!"
"Sir Gutvan, please calm yourself and let us speak again tomorrow..." A young man, appearing to be an aide, tried to intervene frantically, only for the man to strike him across the face with his fist.
"Don’t make me say it twice!"
Clutching his bleeding nose, the young man scrambled out of the banquet hall. A feverish excitement began to permeate the hall. The man, too, was in a state of agitation. He spat out each word with deliberate emphasis.
"The duel will be held before everyone. If I win, you will bow your head to the dirt right then and there and apologize. For a match where lives are at stake, shouldn’t there be at least that much compensation?"
"B-Barkas!" Thalia, who had been frozen by the uncontrollable situation, stepped in front of him.
He finally turned his gaze to her. Thalia murmured in a small, trembling voice, "I... I’ll just apologize... I’ll do it, so... don’t do anything reckless."
Her watery voice scraped mercilessly at his insides. He pulled her robe tighter to hide her face more thoroughly, then looked up at the man with eyes devoid of emotion.
"Fine. Have it your way."
The man’s grin widened. It was the face of someone certain of victory. Alec Gutvan licked his lips like a bear before its prey and asked, "And what will you demand if you win, Young Lord?"
Just then, servants rushed into the hall carrying armor. Taking a gauntlet from a nimble-footed boy, Barkas tilted his head. His answer sounded dry even to his own ears.
"I have nothing I wish to demand from you."
Sliding his hand into the steel glove, Barkas added slowly, "Because if I win, you will never be able to speak again."