Crash, clang, smash!
The sound of tal clashing filled the air, loud enough to make ears ring and bodies tremble. Yet, the spectators could only stare, mouths agape.
The nobles, having already witnessed Sylas's abilities firsthand, were less affected. But the commoners were stunned.
"W-what is that?"
"Are they even human?"
"Surely, they're apostles of the gods…"
They saw two human figures, yet the power they displayed far surpassed that of re mortals. Awe swept through the crowd—so stumbled back in shock, others doubted if what they were seeing was real, and a few even fell to their knees in prayer.
Is this really a fight between humans?
I used to think those ancient legends were lies.
Even the nobles, though slightly more prepared, were overwheld. Each of them wondered how much power one man could possibly hold. This was enough strength to singlehandedly destroy an entire battalion. The sheer magnitude of it made them shiver.
"It's over."
"Yes."
One noble muttered, and another nodded in agreent. Though no one said it out loud, they all had the sa thought—no one else could win against these two in the third trial.
Shock and silence fell over the young and old, noble and commoner alike. But of all those present, Ragnar, one of the duelists, was the most shaken.
How is this even possible?
Crash!
Once again, Ragnar's ax t Sylas's sword in a violent clash. From a distance, it might have looked like a straightforward battle of strength, but in reality, it was far more complex.
None of my techniques are working.
Ragnar was using every skill he knew, attacking at blinding speed. He wove his weapon in entangling moves, creating openings and feints, throwing in footwork to keep Sylas off-balance.
Yet, he isn't falling for a single one.
Each of his moves was worthy of an advanced swordsman's skill. Most knights wouldn't be able to block even the simplest of them and would likely have lost their heads by now. But Sylas deflected each one as if it were nothing, leaving Ragnar's face pale with disbelief.
"This is impossible!"
"What is?"
Ragnar's body shook as he stared at Sylas, who looked back with an expression of calm curiosity. He had thought it through dozens of tis, yet saying it out loud felt like a final admission of defeat.
"…This isn't just talent."
"Hmm."
Clang!
Sylas deflected Ragnar's ax with a flick of his wrist, looking at him with an amused expression, as if encouraging him to continue. Ragnar swallowed hard and spoke again.
"Talent and understanding are different. No matter how gifted you are, you can't respond so perfectly to sothing you don't know."
"Maybe this is just another kind of talent."
"Don't talk nonsense!"
Ragnar swung his ax again, this ti with pure brute force. Boom! Air exploded as their weapons collided mid-air.
"This isn't talent! True talent is learning and adapting to what you discover. But you…!"
He realized Sylas already knew everything. Such certainty could only co from surviving countless life-or-death encounters. A cold sweat broke out on Ragnar's brow as his suspicions solidified.
"What…what are you?"
"What do I look like?" Sylas replied.
"You're… sothing much older, inside a young body."
This ti, it was Sylas's turn to be surprised. Ragnar might not have fully understood, but he had co dangerously close to the truth.
"Answer . What exactly are you?"
Ragnar ran through possibilities in his mind. Could he be a prophet who had seen countless futures and matured prematurely? Or a divine ssenger sent from the heavens?
"Why are you standing in my way? What do you see in ?"
"It's simple." Sylas's expression hardened, erasing any hint of a smile.
"I see you, Ragnar. A warrior beyond asure, yet an utterly unfit king."
"...!"
"And I see the tragedy that would co if soone like you were to beco king."
With a resounding clash, Sylas knocked Ragnar's ax aside, forcing him to stumble back. Though the blow wasn't particularly powerful, Ragnar struggled to hold his stance. Stay updated with My Virtual Library Empire
"What king are you even dreaming of?"
"What?"
"The tis have changed, Ragnar. We no longer live in an era where a great warrior alone makes a great king."
This ti, Sylas advanced, swinging his sword aggressively. Caught off guard by the sudden shift in montum, Ragnar barely managed to fend off the onslaught with his ax.
Clang, crash, smash!
"Ugh!"
Each blow sent tremors up Ragnar's arm. Despite blocking the attacks, Sylas showed no signs of fatigue; his breathing remained steady and calm.
"A thousand years ago, you might have been a perfect king. But not today."
"If… that's so!" Ragnar managed to retreat, breathing heavily as he glared at Sylas. Yet Sylas held back, observing him rather than pressing the attack.
"Then you believe that man is more suited to be king than I am?"
"Yes."
"I cannot accept that."
Of course, he couldn't accept it. If Sylas had declared himself king, that would have been one thing.
"But I will never accept him as king."
"Then judge for yourself with your own eyes."
With a thunderous step, Sylas dashed forward, his sword finding its way to Ragnar's throat before he could even raise his guard.
"You'll understand if you ask him yourself."
"…"
Silence fell. Even though the duel had reached its conclusion, no one dared to speak. In the stillness, Sylas withdrew his sword and stepped back.
As Sylas moved away, Viscount Torben instinctively muttered,
"…The victor is Sylas Corleone."
But no one seed to fully register his words. It would be a while before the crowd gathered its senses again
"Let's take a short break."
Viscount Torben was the first to recover his composure, and his call for a temporary halt was the right decision. It wasn't exactly the best mont to continue the duels. People needed ti to process what they had just witnessed, and Torben's judgnt was spot on. It took a full hour for everyone to regain their senses.
"Hey, pinch my cheek."
"I already did. It's real."
"To think I'd witness a duel like that in my lifeti…"
"So, these kinds of people will beco our king?"
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