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Translator: penny
Chapter: 23
Chapter Title: Proxy Blood Fate Begins
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An old saying goes that time drags on when you're steeped in emotion or flies by like an arrow.
And right now, there was someone living proof of that proverb.
Syl Argent.
When that bastard Lucas Argent, who hadn't even been treated like a person in the family before, applied for Proxy Blood Fate against her.
Every day had crawled by slower than hell for Syl.
Sleep evaded her completely, and each morning she woke with bloodshot eyes, grinding her teeth.
But above all, her father—whom she could always summon with a glance.
The mere thought that Wolfram's gaze had turned to that trash illegitimate son for even a single second twisted her guts and made her throat burn with revulsion.
In fact, she'd vomited onto the floor several times, unable to hold back the nausea.
But emotions like anger follow a peculiar course.
First comes denial, thrashing against the unacceptable truth.
Then sharp, piercing rage.
Followed by forced compromise, the kind that says "no choice."
And finally, deep depression as all feelings settle.
There's one emotion that arrives at the end of that long tunnel.
Acceptance.
When that unfamiliar calm called acceptance arrives, the human mind twists strangely, rebuilding shattered thoughts in bizarre new shapes.
Syl was no different.
The moment acceptance set in, a wholly different emotion reared its head in her heart.
'Entertainment.'
Yes, this was a game.
Lucas Argent up until now?
She'd openly scorned him as a bastard, but that was it.
She hadn't dared touch him, treating him like an asset to sell off someday.
But this Proxy Blood Fate was different.
A formal duel under the family name.
A legitimate contest.
A righteous victory.
A justified humiliation.
The perfect chance to utterly crush Lucas's honor, pride, breath, and every glint in his eye—legally, with no one to say a word against it.
And under the mischievous "winner's privilege," with her father's permission on her back, she could smash him just short of death.
The same way she'd tormented her own slaves—
Inflicting pain through "reminders of your place" over and over until his mind shattered, until his last gasp.
The instant that thought burrowed into her mind, Syl's time stopped wandering in the sticky mire of anger.
Her stagnant emotions evaporated, replaced by hot, exhilarating anticipation surging in.
Finally, she realized it.
This Proxy Blood Fate would be the perfect stage to reclaim her lost pride and drag that bastard into the mud.
And just like that, a month flew by.
The day she'd been waiting for finally dawned.
Syl arrived at the arena an hour early, too excited to wait.
Wolfram's training facility, reserved for the Argent family's First Heir alone.
In the center of the colossal, coliseum-like duel ring, a strange smile played on her lips.
"They say in the East that even a lion hunts a rabbit with full effort. No matter how high you stand, arrogance spells doom. And right now... I'm living that wisdom."
As her words ended, the man beside her bowed deeply.
"A very wise judgment, Lady Syl."
At Syl's side stood a massive knight clad in jet-black armor, silently enduring.
Black plate that seemed to swallow light, a presence so heavy even his breath went unheard.
Just his existence pushed the surrounding air back half a step.
He was one of the elite guards assigned only to the four heirs of the Argent family: the Black Iron Knight.
They moved solely at the command of heirs or the Family Head, their prowess said to surpass even upper knight-rank of most kingdoms.
And one of them now held his breath silently behind Syl Argent's shoulder.
Syl lifted her chin slightly, savoring his presence.
And murmured to herself inwardly.
Today.
Today is the day I completely break that bastard!
"Garin. Let me say it again: end it quick... but don't damage that beastkin girl Piel too much. She's about to become your opponent soon."
"As you command."
Syl's eyes rolled back lightly in ecstasy.
"Don't. Break. Her. Got it? It's rare to find someone who could be a close friend, and it'd be a shame if you ruin her before I can mold her to my taste."
This Proxy Blood Fate was a fight with the outcome decided before it even began.
That little fox beastkin girl who'd clung to the near-dead bastard a month ago.
No idea how she'd recovered, but combat experience? Skill? Training?
She knew nothing of any of it.
Could this even be called a fight?
No, it wasn't even a tiger letting its guard down against a rabbit.
It was like telling someone to step carefully so as not to crush a passing ant by mistake.
So Syl was certain.
A monster like a Black Iron Knight could knock out a single beastkin child without a scratch.
Her order to Garin was no challenge at all.
Just one more effortless task, like a passing breeze.
And with five minutes left until the appointed time.
Other servants and heirs besides Syl began filing into seats outside the duel ring—
Soon after, Family Head Agram appeared to witness the Proxy Blood Fate personally.
The moment he stepped into the arena, despite knowing his dignity well, Syl felt a chill crawl up her neck.
Wolfram, Seratina, Walter—the three heirs—and every servant knelt in unison, offering silent salutes to the Family Head.
The air sank instantly under the weight of the "Argent family."
"Welcome, Family Head."
Second Heir Seratina bowed primly, and Agram gave a light nod in response.
"Yes. ...Where's Lucas?"
"He hasn't arrived yet. If there's any chance he's fled, I can send a pursuit team to drag him back right now."
"No need."
Agram's voice was coldly low.
"He will come."
Without hesitation, he took the grandest seat in the viewing stands.
But his gaze never once turned to Seratina.
As if he "knew the answer," he quietly stared only at the entrance opposite where Lucas would appear.
Everyone around tilted their heads at the sight.
A Proxy Blood Fate important enough for the Family Head to attend in person? This was unprecedented.
Proxy Blood Fate sounded grandiose, but within Argent, it was a frequent event due to the heirs' competition for Family Head.
In reality, it often arose from petty squabbles between heirs.
Since the ones risking their lives were their slaves, not the heirs themselves.
So the Family Head rarely showed up for such things.
No, as far as Seratina knew, not once.
Yet today, Agram had come personally for a Proxy Blood Fate forced by a mere bastard.
No one could help but be shocked.
The mood grew strangely heavy, and the time until the Proxy Blood Fate began shrank to one minute.
That was when it happened.
"...He's coming."
Agram, who had stared silently ahead, finally spoke.
All eyes turned at once.
And right then.
From the shadows of the opposite passage, two small shadows stretched long as they emerged.
A young boy.
And trailing silently behind him, a little fox girl.
The duel ring fell utterly silent, as if holding its breath.
Lucas Argent had finally arrived.
"Lucas Argent...."
"He really showed up...."
"I thought he'd run away in secret... Does he actually think he can win?"
Murmurs spread fishily through the arena.
Lucas strolled in with an awkward expression, utterly fearless.
His nonchalance and brazen attitude drew suspicious whispers and stares from the servants filling the stands.
But not a single voice cheered him on.
Pity, contempt, sympathy, mockery—only those gazes abounded.
And Syl was right there in that mold.
No, deeper than anyone.
"Lucas Argent. I didn't think you'd actually show. By the way, the proxy I'm sending for this Proxy Blood Fate is one of the strongest knights in Argent: a Black Iron Knight!"
With those words, the black-armored figure strode past Syl to the center of the duel ring.
Heavy footsteps echoed from within the plate armor.
And his blue-black sword slammed into the ground with a 'thud.'
Gasps and stifled cries erupted from spots in the stands.
Some maids blushed, whispering his name.
"Garin... Lord Garin!"
"He's so cool...."
In contrast, Lucas just shrugged once.
Stepping forward instead was the polar opposite of the jet-black knight.
A petite fox beastkin in a maid outfit: Piel.
The stands' atmosphere flipped in an instant.
"Oh my... that girl's facing Lord Garin?"
"Think she stands a chance...?"
"She'll get herself killed, won't she?"
It was a spectacle so lopsided it felt wrong even to laugh.
Monster versus child.
Professional killer versus an underdeveloped beastkin girl.
Syl swelled with even greater pride at the reactions.
"Garin! Remember my order?! Don't damage Piel!"
"Of course, Lady Syl."
No one in that arena believed Piel could win.
Everyone saw her as a victim dragged out by the foolish bastard, forced to accept her fate.
Syl did. The heirs did. The servants did. Even Garin, her opponent, did.
But one person was the exception.
Piel's "master."
"Piel, ready?"
The moment his voice reached her, Piel's eyes changed completely.
"...Yes, of course, Master."
Those were no longer the eyes of a suppressed, teary little fox.
Garin's brow twitched.
"Hoo..."
Even a black knight who'd felled countless lives had to acknowledge that spirit.
Not the eyes of prey.
The eyes of a hunter.
"Take up a weapon."
Garin nodded toward the weapon rack.
"At least for those eyes, I'll give you a fair fight."
But it was a meaningless courtesy.
"No need."
Piel quietly raised her hand.
"I have one right here."
Weapons were trivial.
She could just make her own.
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