Chapter 524: Act 272 – The Duel
Dejyar, who stepped out from behind Marquis Julian, had a tall and slender form, inheriting the long face and high cheekbones of the Anlek mountain folk. However, what set him apart from others were his fingers, which were a quarter longer than average. As the saying goes, those who are born with unusual traits are bound to be extraordinary individuals. The Eagle, Dejyar, was a perfect embodiment of this old saying; he was one of the three most famous swordsmen in the Anlek province, having trained in his early years under the renowned master Olyph of Ota. Later, he created his own sword style, the Eagle Strike, and became a master in his own right.
Dejyar wielded a slender long sword, which was advantageous for thrusting and struck like a cunning serpent, matching perfectly with his swordsmanship.
“I wonder what this person named Kagebo, appearing beside Marquis Julian, is plotting?” Brendel pondered slightly before raising his sword. However, Princess Margadale held him back, saying, “Sir, this person possesses significant power; you may not be his opponent…”
At this moment, Brendel had already recognized the identity of the nun beside him and couldn’t help but feel fond of her. He had long heard of this nun princess’s gentle and kind nature. She had sheltered many war refugees during the unrest in Erluin in the name of the Temple. Unfortunately, good people often have tragic ends; it was said her own husband poisoned her in the end.
Brendel sighed internally at the fate of beautiful women and smiled slightly, saying, “How do you know I am not his match?”
“You…” The princess widened her beautiful brown eyes, thinking to herself how ungrateful he was when she was only worried about him.
Dejyar waved the tip of his sword impatiently, “Are you ready?”
“Wait.” The nun princess interrupted, turning to stare intently at Marquis Julian, who was covering his bloody face. “My lord the Marquis has sent a servant to fight on his behalf, but we will fight personally. According to the rules of nobility, this gentleman is entitled to demand a higher stake!”
Marquis Julian ground his teeth and extended his left hand. A servant nearby cautiously approached to remove a ring from his hand. The Marquis nodded, signaling the servant to present the ring. He said, “Alright, this is my wager. Now the duel can begin, right?” As he spoke, his gaze flicked venomously between Margadale and Brendel, like a poisonous serpent.
Brendel was unaware that such things were part of noble duels, and he paused slightly. However, the latent spirit within him quickly took over his conscious personality, and with Sue’s character of seizing benefits when possible, he would not let go of an advantage. Seeing the ring presented by Marquis Julian, his eyes brightened slightly. A serpent coiling ring—this guy truly lived up to his royal status and had some good things on him.
“Marquis Julian, how imposing! A single ring is so precious.” Brendel feigned ignorance and mocked loudly.
Princess Margadale couldn’t help but cough softly, her face turning slightly red. The serpent coiling ring was a creation of the dwarven rune master Pinod and was priceless. It was rumored that although this Marquis had a bad reputation, he was exceptionally generous, and there was never a tale of him being stingy; on the contrary, many spoke of him as a spendthrift. It was evident that this was indeed the case.
Marquis Julian was nearly driven mad by Brendel’s comments, snorting coldly, “This is a magical ring that can defend you against a fatal attack. Do you know its value, bumpkin!”
“Oh?” Brendel feigned a look of realization.
The Marquis inhaled sharply, thinking that continuing the conversation with this guy might drive him insane. He simply tossed out a bag, which clinked loudly as a pile of bright gold coins spilled out. However, Marquis Julian didn’t care about the money; he merely insulted, “Is this enough to buy your life, country bumpkin!” The bag contained at least a hundred thousand torls. Brendel thought to himself what a plump sheep this guy was, but he quickly nodded, indicating it was sufficient.
Marquis Julian cursed the bumpkin again in his heart.
Princess Margadale felt a bit flustered but maintained her composure, saying, “The gentleman on my side has signified that he has no objections. As a witness, I declare the duel can begin. This duel is a noble’s ceremony; I hope both parties will adhere to the standards of gentlemen and promise to abandon all despicable acts during the duel; no sneak attacks, no poison, show compassion, and do not aim to kill.”
The voice of the nun princess was soft and gentle; she was probably the most mild-mannered and anti-violence duel witness in Erluin’s history. At this point, both Brendel and Dejyar, who was using the alias Kagebo, raised their swords as a pledge. They both understood that this vow was mere formalities; they had never heard of a noble duel that didn’t end in bloodshed. Once on the duel field, nobles shed their last traces of civility.
Dejyar lowered his sword, signaling for Brendel to take the first move. As a master in his own right, he still carried himself with the pride of a master despite appearing here under a pseudonym. He felt it beneath his dignity to let an inexperienced youth attack first. However, Brendel had no such concerns; believing in seizing opportunities, he immediately assumed an aggressive stance.
“Military swordsmanship,” Dejyar sneered inwardly.
Brendel launched out with a thrust aimed directly at Dejyar’s heart; his modified military swordsmanship was filled with killing intent, and each strike was aimed to take a life. Dejyar, using his slender long sword, intercepted the attack, and the swords clashed with a ringing sound in mid-air. Brendel gripped the hilt with both hands, slicing diagonally down against Dejyar’s blade.
Realizing something was off, Dejyar felt a sense of danger. There was no such ferocity in military swordsmanship, but his decades of sword-fighting experience were not in vain; he spun his sword in a flourish to disengage Brendel’s attack, stepping back slightly, frowning. After just one exchange, he found himself on the defensive—Brendel’s military swordsmanship seemed extremely odd to him.
However, before he could think further, he suddenly felt a tightening in his chest, a crisis awareness from his experience causing him to react just in time to see Brendel’s sword charge at him after being deflected. Feeling a surge of coldness, Dejyar instinctively drew a short sword with his left hand to block against his throat. When Brendel closed in to his range, there was a metallic clang, and Dejyar’s left hand trembled slightly; a shallow cut appeared on the short sword and his neck.
Cold sweat broke out on Dejyar—this guy was insane; he was fighting for his life. Luckily, he reacted quickly. However, in his decades of battle experience, he had never fought like this. As a swordsman master, he had never expected to find himself in such a situation. He felt powerless; his previous swordsmanship seemed completely useless in this battle, as if only his instincts for killing could help him prevail. Sweat began to bead in his palms; this was unprecedented for him.
But even when fighting for his life, a master’s reactions were faster than those of ordinary soldiers. Since his eagle swordplay employed both long and short swords, he executed a downward slash with the short sword to push Brendel away, pressing forward with the long sword for a crucial thrust—Brendel could only retreat, and Dejyar finally breathed a sigh of relief. With Brendel’s retreat, he pressed forward again.
But the next moment, the eagle swordsman found himself sweating profusely; he saw Brendel block his sword with his left hand, immediately suffering a deep wound, but he stepped forward, thrusting straight toward Dejyar’s rib. Dejyar could clearly judge that if this thrust landed, the blade would pierce between his seventh and eighth ribs, severely injuring his lung. Dejyar felt utterly defeated; a silver-glimmering shield suddenly appeared in the path of Brendel’s advancing sword, and with a clang, sparks flew as Brendel’s sword struck hard against that shield.
The surface of the silver shield rippled like mercury, but after the watery patterns settled, not even a faint mark was left behind.
Next, a series of flashes formed a spherical array around Dejyar, and upon closer inspection, they were silver convex mirrors. After flashing into existence, these mirrors disappeared again, forming a hemispherical defense around the eagle swordsman.
A passive element.
Brendel had long known Dejyar’s element was the Silver Barrier, and this passive ability was somewhat similar to the Fire Shield, automatically protecting the holder from external physical attacks. Of course, this was not absolute defense; if the attacker’s power exceeded that of the element holder, it could easily break through this layer of protection.
Such passive elements could provide a significant advantage in a fight of equal levels, and in encounters where a higher-level opponent faced a lower one, they were nearly invincible. Dejyar finally resorted to this elemental power, which indicated that he was already inferior to Brendel in swordsmanship. If this were a contest of sword skills alone, Dejyar had already lost—but unfortunately, this was a duel.
Dejyar finally had time to wipe away the sweat from his brow, only to find it all cold. He raised his head to look at Brendel, unable to believe that this much younger opponent’s swordsmanship far surpassed his own. Though clearly military swordsmanship, it transcended that; in his youth, he had received pointers from the Sword Saint Darus and had witnessed that legendary master’s modified military swordsmanship, but this young man’s military swordplay was a step further, every strike making him feel as if he was on the battlefield, an overwhelming sense of bloodshed pressing upon him.
Entering the realm of swordsmanship meant entering the domain of the Sword Saint.
Dejyar stared at Brendel and couldn’t help but ask, “Who are you?”
