Translator: CinderTL
The nobles were not surprised by Monen's proposal.
Though their territories were mostly far from the capital, everyone knew the King was a martial arts fanatic.
Unlike the idle chatter about flowers and romance at other noble banquets, Monen's feasts always included a fixed segment: a martial arts competition.
Thus, when Monen announced the news, the nobles were not surprised but instead grew eager.
Monen was renowned for his lavish rewards.
Exquisite armor and weapons, as well as prized steeds capable of traveling a thousand miles a day, were mere ordinary gifts.
If he was truly impressed, he might even bestow a precious combat technique—a secret art that could elevate ordinary individuals to extraordinary realms!
For small noble families like Darco's Collins Family, only one combat technique had been passed down through generations. Even the most established clans possessed only a handful.
For every noble present, combat techniques were treasures beyond price.
Moreover, winning the martial arts competition could earn the King's favor—a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity!
The nobles exchanged excited glances, already strategizing which retainers to send to compete.
Darco was no exception.
He excitedly described to Roland how generous King Monen's rewards were, then licked his lips with lingering satisfaction and lowered his voice.
"So, Roland? Interested in giving it a try?"
"Hmm..."
Roland slowly swallowed his food, raising an eyebrow noncommittally.
"Let's see how it goes first."
The allure of combat techniques was indeed hard to resist.
Back when his strength hadn't yet surpassed the limits of mortals, he had once used the Momentum Slash to defeat a kobold far stronger than him.
Now, his overall strength had firmly entered the extraordinary realm. Theoretically, he could hold his own against anyone who wasn't a transcendent professional.
However, the banquet hall was packed with nobles and their numerous retainers, making it impossible to rule out the presence of exceptionally talented masters among them.
Therefore, Roland decided to observe the situation before making a decision.
As the two men conversed, Colin had already instructed the servants to clear the tables and chairs from the center of the hall, creating a spacious arena.
King Monen stood in the middle of the cleared space, his gaze casually sweeping across the crowd.
"What? Is no one brave enough to step forward first?"
"Your Majesty the King."
As the words fell, a deep voice echoed from the crowd.
Roland turned toward the voice and saw a burly man slowly stride forward. Standing behind him was Baron Marshall, the nobleman who had humiliated Darco at the inn.
The man stopped two steps away from Monen and bowed deeply.
"Your Majesty, I offer myself for the first demonstration of martial skill."
"Excellent!"
Monen laughed heartily and clapped the man's broad shoulder.
"What's your name?"
Blushing crimson at Monen's direct question, the man replied loudly, "Your Majesty, I am Brant."
"Brant? A fine name!"
Monen lightly punched Brant's solid chest with his fist, nodded approvingly, and then scanned the crowd.
"Who else wishes to participate?"
With the first volunteer stepping forward, the other nobles shed their hesitation.
Soon, another muscular attendant entered the arena.
"Excellent! Very good!"
Monen nodded with satisfaction at the eager attendants. Turning to Colin, he commanded, "Colin! Bring out some weapons!"
It was forbidden to bring weapons to the King's banquet.
Moments later, a group of servers from the Sea Pearl Pavilion carried in a weapon rack, neatly displaying various training weapons.
Unsharpened longswords, blunt-headed battle axes, and padded clubs were all laid out.
"Now then..."
Seeing that both men had chosen their weapons, Monen slowly retreated to the edge of the training ground and waved his large hand.
"Begin!"
At the King's command, Brant and his opponent clashed instantly.
The metallic clang of steel on steel cut through the already noisy hall like a knife.
To everyone's surprise, though the two men were similar in build and age, Brant's fighting skills were clearly superior.
With a deft parry, he followed through with a Momentum Slash, his sword arcing through the air like a dragon's dance, slicing across his opponent's wrist.
The burly attendant, startled, swung his sword in defense, but in the next moment, Brant changed his attack.
Clang!
Their weapons collided, and the burly attendant stumbled backward.
"My apologies," Brant said, sheathing his sword and bowing.
Only then did the attendant snap out of his daze. His face flushed crimson as he stared at his iron sword lying alone on the ground. Mortified, he retreated from the training ground.
"Excellent! Magnificent!"
Monen clapped his hands loudly, his booming laughter echoing through the hall.
"Come on, come on! Next!"
The remaining matches quickly became a one-man show for Brant. Three more attendants stepped forward, but each fell within ten moves.
Brant's swordplay was like a raging storm, yet also as fluid as flowing clouds and water. Each clash drew gasps of astonishment from the nobles.
Bang!
The battleaxe of his sixteenth opponent was knocked aside, crashing heavily against the weapon rack.
Brant sheathed his sword and stood tall, his breathing barely disturbed.
The servants watching from the sidelines had shifted from eager anticipation to awe, and for a moment, no one dared step forward.
"Well done, lad! Your skills are truly impressive!"
Brant clearly hadn't expected the other nobles' servants to be so weak. Coupled with King Monen's repeated praise, he stood proudly in the center of the arena, a hint of disdain flickering in his eyes.
This display of arrogance was not lost on those around him.
King Monen remained silent, but the other servants flushed crimson with shame.
Darco clicked his tongue, turning to his friend who was still engrossed in his meal. He lowered his voice and asked with a helpless sigh, "So, Roland, do you think you can beat him?"
Hearing the question, Roland calmly took a sip of wine, swallowed his food, and then turned his gaze back to the arena.
He had been carefully observing Brant's earlier matches.
While Brant's combat skills were polished and his physical prowess impressive, he still fell short compared to Roland.
As long as his opponent didn't have a trump card to turn the tide, Roland could easily win with his physical strength alone, without even needing to activate any of his active traits.
Just as he was about to answer Darco, Monen's booming voice once again echoed through the hall.
The Old King slammed his fist heavily on the table. Seeing no one else step forward to compete, he raised his voice in dissatisfaction.
"What? Has no one dared to challenge me?"
When still no one responded, he began calling out names.
"Baron Kirk, Baron Tarlo, Baron Tyne..."
The nobles who were called reacted in various ways.
Some bowed in apology, while others waved their hands in fear.
They had already sent their most elite retainers, but all had been defeated by Brant. Now, facing the King's urging, they could only force themselves to decline, while simultaneously turning their eyes toward Marshall.
The Baron was leisurely stroking his mustache, a smug expression plastered across his face.
"How boring," Monen said, shaking his head in boredom. Just as he was about to declare the competition over, Baron Marshall suddenly stepped forward, bowed, and said,
"Your Majesty, it seems some individuals at today's banquet are not quite fitting in."
As he spoke, he cast a meaningful glance at Darco in the corner, his eyes a mixture of contempt and an unspoken resentment.
"Oh?" Monen yawned lazily, glancing around the room.
"Are there any other servants who haven't competed yet?"
Roland noticed the complex look in Baron Marshall's eyes and couldn't help but wonder.
The baron's hostility toward Darco seemed to go beyond mere prejudice. Could there be some old grudge between him and Baron Forslin?
Darco, of course, had also caught the hidden meaning in Marshall's words. Gritting his teeth, he muttered under his breath, "That old bastard! Roland, that Brant is actually quite skilled. You don't need to..."
Though Roland hadn't answered directly before, Darco's discerning eye told him Brant was a formidable opponent—far stronger than any guard in the manor.
Just as he was about to dissuade his friend, Marshall spoke first.
"Your Majesty the King, from what I've observed, it seems Collins..."
Before he could finish, a clear voice rang out from the crowd.
"Your Majesty the King, please allow me to compete!"
Roland gently patted Darco's shoulder, offering a reassuring glance. Then, with effortless grace, he parted the crowd and strode toward the center of the arena.
This sudden turn of events drew everyone's attention to the young man.
The nobles first marveled at Roland's handsome features and elegant bearing. But when they saw his youthful face, they shook their heads in disbelief.
By common sense, Brant, a man in his prime, should have far surpassed the youth in both combat experience and physical strength.
However, King Monen narrowed his eyes thoughtfully and gestured with his chin toward the weapon rack.
"Choose your weapon."
"As you command."
Roland bowed respectfully and walked toward the rack.
With the aid of the [Steel Heart Resonance] trait, a mere touch of his fingertips was enough to select a suitable weapon. He then slowly advanced to face Brant, sword in hand.
"Begin!"
At King Monen's command, Brant attacked like a charging tiger, his longsword whistling through the air as it aimed for Roland's throat.
Seeing Roland stand motionless before him, Brant curled his lips into a mocking smile.
"Just a wet-behind-the-ears brat," he sneered inwardly. "Probably can't even hold a sword steady."
But the thought had barely crossed his mind when his expression froze.
Clang!
A deafening clash of metal shattered the silence.
Brant felt a sharp sting in his tiger's mouth as his longsword slipped from his grasp.
The iron sword arced through the air, leaving a blinding silver trail before clattering onto the marble floor with a resounding thud that made his eardrums ache.
The banquet hall fell into stunned silence.
Witnessing this, the towering figure clad in gleaming plate armor, who had been standing beside King Monen, slowly raised his hand and rested it on the hilt of his own sword.
(End of the Chapter)
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