KOR 33

Chapter 33…

To Lionel and the Crimson Veil, the battle may have felt far too easy.

It couldn’t be helped.

All Akrasion had done was make a single charge.

That alone was enough to send Balrok to his death.

But the truth was Dante was quite tired right now.

Not utterly exhausted, but honestly he desperately wanted to collapse to the ground and lie down.

Still, he didn’t show it at all.

He didn’t want to show any weakness in front of trash like Lionel and the Crimson Veil.

It was a childish thought, but he couldn’t help it.

They say a man stays like a child no matter how old he gets.

Besides — wasn’t his appearance young now as well?

So it was fine.

Dante thought so.

“You—you are…” Lionel stammered.

He couldn’t believe what he had just seen; his pupils trembled violently.

“Show some respect, Lionel Velast. I am the captain of Akrasion’s knights and a senior commander of the allied forces. That means you are not in a position to speak informally.” Dante said.

Lionel was also the captain of the Crimson Veil.

But within the allied forces, Dante was clearly his superior.

He’d been gaining experience on this battlefield for a full three years — that made it obvious.

No matter how grand the Empire’s knight order might be, this place had its own command structure.

If that wasn’t followed, one could be punished for insubordination.

Of course, Lionel, born to a noble bloodline, surely believed nothing like that would ever happen to him.

Grit—!

Startled back to his senses by Dante’s words, he ground his teeth.

“Do you think I’ll show respect to some lowlife like you? If anyone should bow, it’s you. How dare you speak that way to the blood of the Velast count—!” His veins bulged; he was clearly consumed by rage.

Lionel surely knew in his head that behaving like this wouldn’t do him any good.

But his unyielding pride held him back.

An arrogance that would never let him bow to any seed he considered lower, worthless, or inferior dominated him.

Dante looked at him with an emotionless gaze.

Lionel’s rage, showing a hint of madness, was no different from the countless trash Dante had faced before.

“Not worth it.” Dante decided.

There was no point in wasting time trying to talk sense into him anymore.

His eyes swept over the Crimson Veil lined up behind him.

They, too, wore expressions full of the same arrogance and displeasure as their captain — only they weren’t showing it as blatantly as Lionel.

“What did you say? Worth? You dare talk to me about worth?” Dante’s words must have hit a nerve.

Lionel, already ready to explode, finally unleashed his boiling anger.

“Draw your sword! I challenge you to a sacred knight’s duel! Any knight who values honor would never refuse, would he?”

Dante let out a sigh.

It was so obvious.

He could see straight through Lionel’s thoughts.

‘Did I look pretty worn out?’ Dante thought.

He really was tired, so Lionel’s judgment was precise.

Dante met his gaze again, quietly.

There was no anger, no sneer, no mockery in that look.

Only calm.

Endlessly cold.

The silence that followed pressed down, all the more chilling.

“What a bunch of crap.” came Zionhak’s sneer from behind.

He’d tried to stay out of it, but Lionel kept crossing the line and Zionhak could no longer hold back.

“Lord Zionhak.” Dante raised his hand to stop him.

If he were to punish Lionel, he wanted to do it with his own hands.

“I accept the duel.” Dante nodded.

A chilling smile crept onto Lionel’s face.

He seemed confident — believing that facing a fatigued opponent could very well mean victory.

‘Foolish,’ Dante thought.

Yes, Dante was tired. He honestly did not have the strength to raise his sword.

He had that urge to simply collapse to the ground.

Even so—

Dante could say with certainty that Lionel would never win.

The gap between them was simply too great to be decided by stamina or mana consumption alone.

A knight who had awakened a mere sigil versus a knight who had bloomed his full specialty.

The gulf between them was inexhaustibly deep and vast.

“Fine. Draw your sword. I’ll teach you how painfully costly it is to cocky after trusting in that pitiful skill of yours.” Lionel said, and Dante slowly drew Arpheon.

The brilliant silver blade flashed in the sunlight, giving off a mysterious aura.

“Who’s going to teach whom? That’s ridiculous.” Zionhak burst out, holding back a snort, but Lionel ignored him.

His target was Dante — the rest were mere nuisances he could deal with later.

“As you said, I drew my sword.” Dante raised Arpheon with an indifferent face.

Lionel bared his teeth and said, “Even if it’s a duel with some provincial scion with the stench of a rural county, we should still keep to proper form.”

He struck a pose, all show.

“I am Lionel Velast, second son of the Velast count, vassal of the Empire. In the name of the goddess Adrea, I challenge you to a sacred duel.”

He omitted a lot, but it met the formal requirements.

Heh.

He had said he would never show Dante any courtesy — and yet…

Dante burst out laughing at the absurdity, then set Arpheon upright in response.

“I am Dante Aquites, eldest son of the Marquis Aquites, meritorious house of the Empire. Under the sanctity of the goddess Adrea, I accept your duel.”

“…What?” Lionel’s face froze like stone, as if he’d heard something he shouldn’t.

“W-What did he just say?”

“Aquites! He said Aquites!”

“Could it be… the Aquites family?”

The Crimson Veil’s knights turned pale.

To be the captain of Akrasion — that meant he was the son of Zenon Aquites.

Shivers went through them.

Lionel’s hands trembled like leaves.

“Th-That can’t be. Why would the heir of that house be here… It’s a lie! It must be a lie—” Lionel’s murmured words fell apart into nothing.

Aquites.

The imperial sword’s patron house, the most powerful house in the Empire.

Of course, the Velast house did not even come close to the Aquites.

The difference between a meritorious house and a vassal house was as vast as heaven and earth.

And the thought that Dante — whom he had scorned and despised — might be the heir of the Aquites house was intolerable.

It simply couldn’t be.

But—

“Sometimes misfortune comes unexpectedly. Like now.” Arpheon’s blade pointed at Lionel.

“Come then, Lionel Velast. Aquites’ heir will teach you.”

He looked like he wanted to throw his sword away right then.

But he couldn’t.

The sacred duel had been formalized. If Lionel fled now, he would forever lose his status as a knight.

He might even be expelled from his family for sullying their honor.

That would be worse than death.

It was simply an option he could never choose.

Lionel gritted his eyes and finally lifted his sword.

But it was a mess.

The tip wavered, his lower body unstable.

His gaze wandered, unable to focus.

It was a disgrace unbefitting the captain of any knight order.

“I’ll let you take the first strike since you demanded it. But you don’t look like you intend to fight—so I’ll go first.” Dante said.

“W-wait!” someone shouted belatedly, but it was too late.

Arpheon sliced through the air.

It was a cut with no mana poured in, but its trajectory was not crude enough for someone like Lionel to block.

Swoosh—

Dante’s blade easily passed Lionel’s defense and carved a red line across his shoulder.

“Guh!”

The Crimson Veil’s proud red cloak split with a rip.

Blood spilled out but was obscured by the red fabric.

“Aah!” Lionel, realizing he could not retreat, gritted his teeth and swung his sword.

“You lack strength in the wrist. That’s why your blade twists.” Dante commented.

Sshhk—!

“Your lower body is weak. If your footing isn’t firm you can’t deliver true power.”

Drip—!

“Watch your opponent through to the end. How do you expect to fight if you can’t pin down the enemy’s position?”

Swoosh—!

A single piece of advice, and another cut appeared.

Within minutes Lionel staggered, covered in wounds.

Of course, the blood still wasn’t clearly visible; only a red pool formed at his feet.

“S-Stop…” Lionel dropped his sword and flailed on the ground, seeming dizzy from blood loss.

“Do you admit defeat?” Dante asked.

There was no answer.

“Speak, Lionel. You were the one who called for this duel.”

He urged Lionel to acknowledge his defeat, but no words came.

In fact, it was more accurate to say Lionel couldn’t speak.

He was no longer in his right mind.

His consciousness was nearly gone; his body had reached its limit.

If they wasted any more time, he would surely die of blood loss.

“…Pathetic.” Dante shook his head and raised his sword above his head.

“So this is the kind of skill you’ve been using to bully the weak?”

A knight is supposed to be loyal to his country and liege above, and protect the people below.

Lionel had done none of that.

“You have no right to be called a knight.” Dante declared, having seen enough of him.

“Return what you’ve been given to the goddess Adrea.”

Crack—!

Before he could finish speaking, Arpheon flashed like a ray of light.

Tendrils of blood sprayed from his armpits, wrists, the backs of his knees, and his ankles.

Dante had severed all the tendons.

That alone made it impossible for him to continue as a knight.

But Dante did not stop there.

Wooooom—

Gathering the small amount of recovered mana into Arpheon, Dante drove the blade forward.

Pewk—!

Into the left side of his chest.

Exactly where the sigil was located, Arpheon plunged.

“Aaah!” Lionel, who had kept his mouth shut even as tendons were cut, finally let out a scream.

The sigil dispersed.

The mana that had been filling his body lost its hold and flew off into the air.

“No! Aaaah, noooo!” he tried to reach and grab it, but his hands only clutched emptily at air.

Dante watched Lionel scream in despair and said, “That is the end of my instruction.”

…He thought it would never be used again, but that was that.