Everyone turned toward the door.
A plump man walked into the hall. His face was soft and pink, flushed from simply walking. Six heavily armored guards flanked him. His clothes were bright — an eyesore of gold and silk that screamed new money. Beside him walked a boy, maybe fourteen or fifteen. Fit build. Chin held entirely too high.
They took their seats on the opposite side.
"I, Lord Pellamio, am present," the man declared. "And ready for the duel."
The bearded judge nodded. "Good. Let both heirs step forward. The heir of Velrend, and the heir of Pellamio."
Pellamio didn't wait. "Hah." He leaned forward, resting his hands on his stomach. "My condition is simple. If my son wins, the Velrend iron mines belong to me."
The long-haired judge cleared his throat.
*Ahem.
"And what does Velrend demand?"
Arthur stood. His posture was rigid. "Sir. By our Lord's order, we demand Pellamio's primary trade branch. Furthermore, as compensation for wasting our time with this baseless duel, he will hand over his main trade store — or its exact value in gold."
Pellamio's face turned the color of a bruised plum. He slapped the armrest of his chair. "What?! You think you'll win with that weak, milk-drinking child who just—"
"Silence, Pellamio."
The mustached judge didn't shout. But his voice echoed like thunder.
*Tch.
Pellamio clicked his tongue and sank back into his chair, muttering under his breath.
The mustached judge looked at Arthur. "Anything else?"
Arthur kept his face entirely blank.
*If I repeat the exact string of curses Lord Rudious ordered me to say... pig, parasitic loser, scum, spineless lowlife... a full-scale war will start right here in this room.*
"No, Sir. That is all."
"Good. Both heirs, step onto the duel field."
---
Drake and Selom walked to the center.
The hall was old gray stone. Iron torches lined the walls. Daylight cut through the high windows, stretching their shadows long across the floor. The only sound was their boots scuffing the ground.
Dead silence.
"Are both heirs ready?"
"I am ready," Drake said. Steady.
"Ready." Selom gave a half-smile.
The three judges stood.
"I am Sir Genos Belmore," the mustached judge stated.
"Sir Dray Alrent," the bearded one followed.
"Sir Caelrus Vane," the last finished.
"As judges, we oversee this." Sir Belmore stepped exactly between the two boys. "Whoever surrenders or falls unconscious, loses. There is no time limit."
He stepped back.
"Begin."
---
Selom raised his sword — tip pointed straight at Drake's face.
"Listen, kid. Just give up now. If I have to swing this, you'll end up beaten like a stray dog in the streets."
Drake didn't answer right away. He grabbed his hilt and drew.
*Shhhk.*
He dropped into a basic, unflashy stance.
"You talk too much."
*"Tch." Selom's pride took the hit. "Cocky just because you awakened!"
Selom lunged. A straight downward swing — aimed to crush Drake's guard immediately.
Drake parried.
*Clang!*
Selom didn't stop. He stepped in and unleashed a chain of heavy strikes.
*Clang! Clang!*
This was Drake's first time fighting a trained human. Goblins were wild and stupid. Selom had actual technique and physical weight. Every strike was heavy — and Drake had to plant his feet just to hold his ground. The impact shot straight down his arms, making his wrists sting.
"Hahaha! That's my boy! Break him!" Pellamio bellowed from his seat.
Sir Alrent watched with narrowed eyes. "A child who literally just awakened — against a second-year academy student. This is absurd."
"Both parties agreed," Sir Vane replied, his eyes tracking every movement.
Drake's boots scraped against the rough stone. He was losing ground. Every block sent a nasty shock up to his shoulders. A drop of sweat ran down his temple.
Then — Selom overcommitted.
Drake shifted his weight. He caught Selom's blade on the crossguard, pushed upward to break the older boy's balance, and retaliated. Three quick, brutal strikes — high at the neck, left at the ribs, low at the knee.
*Swash. *Clang!*
Selom blocked the last one and stumbled back a full step. "Just give up, you brat!" he spat — clearly embarrassed.
The judges leaned forward.
Selom gripped his sword with both hands. A faint, pulsing blue light wrapped around the steel.
"Basic aura," Sir Alrent noted quietly.
"You're done!"
Selom dashed forward. Instead of swinging — he threw a hard punch straight into Drake's gut.
*Bam!*
Drake coughed, air knocked clean out of his lungs. Before he could recover, Selom unleashed his aura-infused strikes. The blue blade moved faster now — hitting twice as hard.
To Drake, the sword suddenly felt like a falling boulder. Every clash forced him back a step. His bones rattled. His own sword trembled violently in his grip.
But there was no fear in Drake's eyes.
The vibration in his hands. The heavy pressure in his chest. He liked it. The corners of his mouth twitched — and a wide, unnatural smile broke across his face.
*Slash!*
A downward diagonal cut tore through Drake's light leather armor. A long gash opened across his chest. Warm blood seeped out instantly.
"Heh. Still time to surrender," Selom smirked. He pointed his blade at Drake — a drop of Drake's blood falling from the tip.
Drake took a slow step back. Breathing hard. Blood dripping onto the stone floor, pooling near his boots.
"You really do talk too much."
---
The hall went dead quiet.
Nobody spoke.
Pellamio leaned forward, grinning like a fool — eager to see the boy fall.
John leaned forward, his fingers digging tightly into the edges of his chair.
Arthur's eyes never left Drake. His voice was quiet, almost to himself. "The duel isn't over yet."
The judges were muttering.
"Pellamio's son has talent," Sir Vane said. "But against aura — even basic aura — pure physical strength won't last long."
*Clang! Clang!*
The swords met again. Drake hadn't landed a single clean hit. But he wasn't panicking. His smile only grew wider. The sharp sting of the cut on his chest didn't bother him — it felt like someone had thrown dry wood into a burning fire.
Seeing that smile, Selom felt deeply insulted. The kid was bleeding. Losing. And smiling?
Selom stepped back — face twisting. He channeled everything into his blade. The blue light flared.
*"Pellamio Technique — Third Slash!"
Three sharp aura blades cut through the air — straight for Drake.
And Selom didn't stop there.
He kicked off the ground and launched himself forward — sword raised, body behind the strike — riding the momentum of his own technique straight at Drake.
Time seemed to slow.
At that exact moment, Arthur's words rang clearly in Drake's mind —
*"Young Master, you have a completely different power inside you. But you can't use it properly yet. If you use it by accident, it will drain all your energy. Let me teach you a trick..."*
*CLUNGGG!*
A deafening, metallic crash exploded through the hall — violently bouncing off the stone walls.
Sir Belmore, Sir Alrent, and Sir Vane — who had been watching calmly — straightened in their seats, their eyes wide with shock.
*Swushhhh...*
The air warped. Heavy with blistering heat.
---
**[Chapter 32 — End]**