"I’ll give you one more chance after seeing that you are decent enough. How about you forfeit now?"
"Thank you for the suggestion, but I must decline. I have my own ambitions, as any person does."
"...You’re aiming for the prize. You have so grandiose ideas above your station."
Tsk,
Gareth clicked his tongue, further lowering his opinion of his opponent.
"Well then, you will die by my hand."
...And then match began.
The mont the words left Gareth’s mouth, he lunged.
His movents were fast—fast enough to startle the average viewer. His footwork was sharp, trained, refined. His sword shimred in the sunlight, coming down in a clean, vertical arc aid directly at Julies’s shoulder.
A decisive strike.
A strike ant to end the match quickly.
But—
Clang!
tal scraped against tal. Julies’s blade was there, waiting for it. Not late, not early. Perfect timing.
The clash sent a ripple of murmurs through the crowd. Gareth’s expression twisted, not in pain, but confusion. Just slightly.
Julies didn’t press the advantage.
He simply stepped back, blade held in a reverse grip now, as if adjusting to sothing only he understood.
"You blocked it," Gareth muttered, brows furrowing.
Julies didn’t respond. He remained poised, focused—not on Gareth’s words, but his stance.
"Very well," Gareth muttered. "Let’s see how long you can keep up."
He charged again, and this ti, the strikes ca faster—horizontal slashes, angled thrusts, deceptive feints.
Julies parried each one with minimal movent. He didn’t try to overpower Gareth. He didn’t need to. His strength lay in precision—his ability to see openings and preserve energy, to avoid being drawn into the chaotic rhythm Gareth wanted to impose.
Clang. Clang. Clang.
Each ti their blades t, Gareth’s attacks grew more violent. More erratic. He expected Julies to stumble. To panic. To break form.
But Julies just... moved.
Like water avoiding rocks.
He didn’t just dodge. He flowed.
And then—Julies ducked under a wide swing, letting Gareth’s blade whistle past his head. With a flick of his wrist, he tapped Gareth’s ribs with the blunt end of his blade.
A light touch. Not a wound.
But a ssage.
I could’ve struck you there.
The audience gasped. Even so of the nobles leaned forward, brows raised.
Gareth’s face reddened—not from exertion, but embarrassnt.
"You dare—"
Before Gareth could finish his sentence, Julies cut in smoothly, his tone far too casual for the tense mont.
"That armor of yours... it’s quite the piece."
"...What?"
"The lion emblem on the chest, and those gemstone eyes—magic stones, aren’t they? That’s not just so ceremonial armor. Is it a relic?"
Gareth blinked, montarily thrown off. His lips parted in confusion, unsure whether to feel insulted or flattered. Julies’s eyes, however, didn’t lie—they glead with open interest, like a rchant eyeing a rare treasure.
The way Julies tilted his head, slowly examining the armor from head to toe, sent a chill down Gareth’s spine. Not from fear.
From the sheer audacity.
"...I misjudged you," Gareth muttered, narrowing his eyes.
The man in front of him—this so-called servant—wasn’t intimidated. Not in the slightest. He didn’t posture or threaten.
He appraised.
Like he was already imagining what it would be like to rip the armor off Gareth’s body and claim it as his own.
Gareth raised his great sword again, this ti gripping it tighter—not out of strategy, but emotion. He wasn’t thinking about form now. He wasn’t analyzing distance or timing.
He just wanted to shut Julies up.
With a growl, he surged forward, this ti not with the finesse of a noble-trained warrior, but the rage of a man whose pride had been pierced.
Steel t steel again.
Julies didn’t flinch.
Even as Gareth bore down on him with strikes heavy enough to shake a lesser man, Julies moved with a calm that was almost maddening.
His steps were light, his blade subtle. Every ti Gareth tried to corner him, Julies sidestepped, countered, or redirected.
A flick of the wrist. A slight angle of the guard. A pivot of the heel. Efficient. Effortless. Disrespectful.
To Gareth, it felt like fighting a ghost.
And then—
Another touch.
This ti on his elbow joint.
Gareth recoiled instantly, feeling the dull sting where Julies’s blade had tapped him again.
It was precise.
Intentional.
And again, not ant to injure.
Another ssage.
You’re too slow here, too.
"You bastard," Gareth spat, spinning around with a reckless backhanded sweep.
Julies ducked under it, dragging the flat of his blade along Gareth’s thigh in response.
Tap.
"AGH!"
Gareth jumped back.
It didn’t hurt, not really—but the audience saw it. All of them did. Nobles, instructors, cadets. He could feel their eyes, could hear their murmurs, their barely-hidden laughter.
Julies finally spoke, voice still level. Cool, almost casual. But the weight behind it was undeniable.
"You use a heavy weapon. You wear magic-forged armor. You rely on force, pressure, weight. That works on people who get overwheld."
He paused.
"But you can’t overwhelm ."
That did it.
Gareth’s fury peaked. He let out a shout and activated the magic core embedded in his armor.
A surge of light pulsed from his chest as heat and mana radiated outward like a furnace, and the lion’s emblem on his armor glowed a fierce crimson.
The crowd roared. So even stood.
Now this was a relic in motion.
Julies didn’t move. Not an inch.
He tilted his head.
"Oh... So it is a relic."
It wasn’t admiration.
It was confirmation.
"You really plan to take on with that smug face?" Gareth growled.
Julies smiled faintly. Not wide enough to be a smirk, but enough to irritate.
"I don’t plan to take you on," Julies said.
"I plan to end it."
Gareth didn’t wait.
He launched.
The relic-enhanced blow was monstrous, cleaving through the air with a roar of burning mana. The impact cratered the dueling stage where Julies had just been.
Dust exploded.
So people gasped. A few thought it was over.
But as the smoke cleared—
Julies stood behind Gareth.
Upright.
Blade raised, aid at Gareth’s nape.
Still untouched.
Gareth froze.
Every instinct in his body scread at him to turn, to attack again—but he didn’t move.
Because he knew.
If Julies had struck with killing intent... it would’ve been over.
But that doesn’t an he was going loose a servent of the Draken family when his real goal was Alice Draken!
He is still hasn’t used his aura.
Swooosh—!
At that mont, A colorless aura surged around Gareth’s greatsword. Julies frownd and quickly put a distance between them.
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