The sudden challenge hung in the air of the Training Hall, silencing the clanging of steel and the shouts of practice as every head turned towards Prince Darian and the knight Lorin. The collective expression that greeted them spoke of stunned disbelief.
An annoying "stupid prince" good only for throwing fits and teasing maids was challenging a knight. Lorin was new to the order, but still a trained fighter, leagues stronger compared to Darian, who didn't know which end of a sword to hold.
"Your Highness, is this necessary?" Captain Jarek asked, the strain in his voice heavy with foreboding. He knew the risks. "I will speak to the higher-ups. I can try to get a direct order for his punishment."
The old Darian would have thrown a violent tantrum and retreated into his shame. But this was Min-jun, the Critic who had lived off negative engagement, wearing the disgraced prince's body.
"Sorry, Captain," Darian said, his voice now completely drained of the inherited fury he had felt a moment before. He flashed a sharp, cool look at the sneering knight. "I'll teach this fellow a lesson he shall never forget."
Already drunk on the sudden spotlight, Lorin smirked and offered a mocking suggestion: "But Your Highness, aren't you somewhat lacking at swords? What about switching with another squire? You know, someone who can actually hold a blade?"
He publicly belittled Darian's authority, sealing his position as the foolish, lowest-ranking heir to the throne.
"Well, sorry to say," Darian said with a cold smile touching his lips. "I am enough for you."
Lorin snorted, crossing his arms in an exaggerated display of confidence. "Alright, Your Highness. I will fight you with one hand. If you are able to make me use my other hand, you win, and I will listen to whatever you say." Lorin thought, Even with no hands, I could beat the foolish, idiotic prince.
"And if I win," Darian pressed, leaning into Lorin's overconfidence, "I will take anything you ask as my fair share of the bet."
Captain Jarek turned to Darian again, worry etched deep into his disciplined face. "Are you certain about this, Your Highness?"
"Relax, Captain," Darian replied, the confidence entirely Min-jun's own.
"I am confident."
Immediately, soldiers and knights stood shoulder to shoulder and formed a circle around the main ring. Everyone knew what was going to happen: the stupid prince was going to get his ass beaten, completely humiliating himself in the process.
Matching wooden practice swords were passed to both Darian and Lorin. Lorin still exuded arrogant superiority, eager to quickly end this.
"Are you ready, Highness?" Lorin asked, the condescension practically dripping from his voice.
"Yeah."
Darian immediately charged at the knight, swinging the wooden sword in a clumsy, predictable arc. Lorin easily countered and parried the blow, then openly mocked Darian by hitting his body with the sword—not to injure, but to humiliate him.
"You're slow, Your Highness! Is this what they teach in the royal schools?" Lorin laughed, drunk with his own confidence and the muffled jeering of the crowd.
The original Darian, possessed of a primal, inherited rage, would have rushed again. But Min-jun had something else in mind.
The RantLord wasn't playing for a skill-based victory; he was playing to destroy his opponents with a narrative.
As Lorin raised his sword high for yet another easy, mocking tap, Darian charged forward again. He swung his sword not at Lorin's sword but toward his opponent's torso. Lorin easily countered, expecting the same worthless attack.
But the strike of the sword wasn't the main attack; it was just a distraction to create an opening.
As Lorin was completely focused on the parry, Darian tossed something he had been holding in his left hand: a handful of fine, gritty sand right into Lorin's eyes.
Lorin roared, blinded for a crucial second, dropping his guard as he frantically scratched at his stinging eyes.
That was all the time Darian needed. He had not been trying to defeat the knight, he was trying to humiliate him completely.
Darian drew his right leg back and then struck Lorin square in the groin with a full-power kick.
The sound of the impact was sickening. The newbie knight, too confident to predict such a low and dirty move, let out a strangled, agonizing cry as he dropped the sword and crumpled to the cobblestone ground, howling and clutching his injured self.
Darian didn't stop there. He stood over the writhing knight, snatched Lorin's fallen wooden sword, and started to rhythmically and forcefully beat his opponent's groin with the blunt weapon.
It was such a shocking sight, so basically dishonorable and brutal, that the crowd of knights fell silent. All had anticipated Darian's humiliation, but to see such raw, unadulterated, calculated cruelty was enough to make some of them feel their sympathy for the suffering Lorin.
"Enough!" Captain Jarek roared, rushing forward. He did not need to ask.
"The Prince Darian wins!
The two other knights, their faces grim, rushed to carry away the crumpled, weeping Lorin, whose pride, overconfidence, and everything else lay shattered on the cold stone floor.