Episode 50

The Trial Room’s interior remained unchanged, though the lighting today was unusually bright from the start. It felt almost deliberately irritating, as if designed to make those below feel like sinners, regardless of their actual guilt. Yet, the atmosphere differed from last time.

I glanced up at the wall and immediately understood why. Only one person was on the wall today.

It was a young man with turquoise hair that hung limply like seaweed—Archmage Assad. He was so elusive that he earned the nickname of a recluse.

Why is he here? I wondered.

“You came,” he said, his tone suggesting he had been waiting for me.

I studied his face from a distance before bowing politely. “It is nice to meet you. The Badniker—”

“No need for more formal greetings,” Assad interrupted.

“Yes.”

“Sit.”

At his command, I sat on the table where I had placed my belongings last time. By now, it felt almost like my designated spot.

I looked up at Assad and asked the question burning in my mind. “Where is the Council of Elders?”

“Right in front of you.”

“Sir Assad, are you also a member of the council?”

“Not officially, but I am a part of it. It is more of an honorary position,” he explained.

This was news to me.

Assad wore an expression of reluctance as if he had been coerced into a task he despised. He showed no interest in me, which wasn’t surprising. Mages often had peculiar temperaments, treating anything that failed to intrigue them as less than worthless.

I doubted I was entirely worthless, but to him, I was probably no more than a discarded trinket on the street.

“Luan Badniker, let’s establish some facts,” Assad began.

“Yes.”

“The series of events that you experienced in the Jewel Mountains—the betrayal of the Fang Knights, their true identity, your encounter with Swordmaster Carzakh, and, according to Delac, your crucial role in defeating the Jewel Beast. Are these accounts accurate?” he asked.

“They are,” I replied.

“Afterward, the Council of Elders refused to acknowledge this, and you proposed a spar as proof. Is that also correct?”

“That’s right.”

Assad’s words were straightforward, devoid of exaggeration or distortion. His demeanor suggested he wasn’t inclined to deliver a harsh judgment.

Had Kayan’s concerns been unnecessary?

“Alright,” Assad said, propping his chin on his hand with a bored expression. “I think the Council of Elders acted unreasonably, but you proposed the sparring match yourself. If you carry the Badnikers’ blood, you must stand by your words.”

I didn’t argue.

“Your opponent will be an apprentice knight of the Iron-Blooded Knights. Is that acceptable?” Assad asked.

I was certain they would send their strongest apprentice knight.

When I didn’t respond, Assad pressed me with an annoyed look.

“It doesn’t matter,” I said.

“Really? We will proceed with the sparring now unless you object. If you aren’t in good shape, I can delay it for a day or two,” he offered.

“No. Let’s do it now.”

“Then head to the training hall in the garden. Immediately,” he instructed.

With that, Assad disappeared.

Did he use magic? If so, he should’ve taken me with him, I grumbled inwardly as I left the Trial Room.

***

The Badnikers’ main house was enormous, with multiple training halls—I knew of at least seven. Finding the one hosting the sparring session proved easier than expected, as only one hall was crowded.

“Why are there so many people?” I muttered, standing dumbfounded.

Then a familiar face emerged from the crowd. It was Arjan.

“Young Master Luan,” she greeted me.

“What’s all this about?” I asked, confused.

“Didn’t you hear?” she replied. “The Council of Elders announced throughout the entire main house that your Spar of Proof will take place this afternoon.”

What is a Spar of Proof?

I stared blankly as Arjan explained that a broadcast had echoed through the main house while I had been facing Assad.

“A sparring match will be held in the fourth training hall. The participant is Luan Badniker, who received a new blessing. He will prove himself there. We encourage everyone to attend if time permits.”

Although it was framed as an opportunity, the announcement’s true intent was clear—to publicize what could have been a private matter.

“Oh, they are trying to bury me,” I remarked.

“It is a great opportunity for Young Master Luan,” Arjan said, her voice tinged with excitement. “With so many witnesses, no one can question or manipulate the outcome. Look. It’s not just knights and servants. Even the Great Masters are here.”

She pointed toward a group of authoritative figures.

Are they the Great Masters? I wondered.

It was the first time I had seen them all gathered in one place.

“And my mother?” I asked.

“She is with Sir Kayan,” Arjan answered.

“Please take care of her.”

“Of course,” she assured me.

I patted Arjan’s shoulder and entered the training hall.

“Young Master Luan,” a familiar voice called out. It belonged to the blunt-looking man who had stood guard outside the Trial Room.

“It’s time. Head to the training ground,” he instructed.

“Understood.”

“Aren’t you going to wear armor?” he asked.

“Armor? Isn’t this a spar?” I countered.

“Yes, but the Badnikers’ spars are brutal. You could die if you are unlucky,” he warned.

I pondered it for a moment before soon shaking my head. “It’ll be fine.”

“You’ll regret it,” he said, his tone unsettling.

I met his gaze, and he added, “I’ve said my piece.”

“Noted,” he replied.

I went to the training ground. As I twisted my joints to warm up, I noticed a commotion on the other side.

I focused my attention and saw a familiar figure emerge from the crowd.

“You didn’t run away,” he remarked.

We shared the same blood, but he didn’t resemble me exactly. His unwelcome smile greeted me.

“I told you I’d teach you a lesson soon,” he said smugly.

“Hector,” I said flatly.

“Hector?”

“Brother Hector,” I said, tilting my head. “I heard it would be a member of the Iron-Blooded Knights.”

“That’s right,” he confirmed. “I joined the knight division last year.”

“Got it.”

I could roughly piece together what was happening. This was no coincidence. The Council of Elders and Hector likely shared overlapping interests—both wanted me beaten. The Council had secured a skilled individual who wouldn’t complain if he beat me, while Hector saw an opportunity to teach me a lesson.

The person beside us, apparently the marshal, asked again, “Do you want to wear armor now?”

Looking at him, I realized he was trying to be considerate in his own way, but it didn’t change my mind. I couldn’t sacrifice mobility for defense. Everyone had their own fighting style.

“It’s fine,” I replied curtly.

“Understood. What weapon would you like?”

I initially planned to fight bare-handed but reconsidered.

“A sword,” I answered.

Soon, a knight brought me a sword of suitable length. I drew it and gave it a few test swings.

They didn’t tamper with my sword. Of course, Hector and the Council of Elders wouldn’t stoop so low.

“I am Jane, the marshal in today’s spar,” the blunt collector announced.

I nodded, noting his feminine name.

Next came the standard formalities: the purpose of the spar, the format, the marshal’s authority to intervene, the acknowledgment that injuries were permitted but fatalities were not, and so on.

Finally, Jane announced, “Both sides, forward.”

I sheathed my sword and stood beside Hector. Even now, he was wearing the same rotten smile.

I couldn’t help but say, “Stop smiling and get serious.”

“What?”

“I know you are excited to teach me a lesson, but this is still a spar. You have to give your best,” I said flatly.

This was a matter of basic courtesy. Even my master maintained a serious demeanor during spars, treating it as a learning experience, not a simple lesson.

At my words, Hector let out a low laugh. His ridicule seemed to ripple through the crowd as if contagious. Looking around, I realized most of the spectators were Iron-Blooded Knights.

He is very thorough in preparing his supporters.

Hector said with a smile, “Yes. One must do their best against any opponent. But you can’t be considered my opponent. Know your place.”

“Ah, yes,” I replied flatly.

There was no point in arguing with him, so I simply shook my head.

Hector’s expression hardened, clearly displeased with my indifference.

“The spar shall commence,” Jane announced.

At Jane’s signal, Hector closed the distance instantly. His sword moved even faster as if surpassing sound itself. Its blue blade flashed before me in a blink, but I blocked it.

Hector looked a bit surprised but resumed his relentless assault. I focused on defense while studying Hector’s swordsmanship.

Is this originally the family’s secret swordsmanship?

Yet it had a distinct edge as if Hector had infused his flair into it. His style was strong, explosive, and aggressive—a form of swordsmanship that made regaining the initiative nearly impossible once lost.

True to his reputation as a genius, his swordsmanship’s overall refinement and completeness were exceptionally high. In the brief exchange, I realized that matching him in pure swordsmanship would be no easy feat.

Predictably, I soon lost my grip on the sword. It clattered loudly against the ground, and Hector smiled again. He paused, his stance relaxed, savoring the moment. His smug expression suggested he was toying with me, like a predator savoring its catch.

A soft scoff escaped me, more from disbelief than anything else.

Then, Hector’s expression hardened slightly. The more he laughed at others, the less he could tolerate being laughed at himself.

I kicked off against the ground just as Hector was about to speak.

His eyes widened. I could see his hand gripping his sword, but my fist moved faster. It connected with his face, sending him sprawling to the ground.

Ignoring the sudden silence around us, I said, “I told you not to smile.”

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