By the time Erich entered, the qualifying round for the Iceborn was already well underway.

A boundary line marked off by roughly waist-high tents. Around it, the watchmen hovered, acting as referees.

However, there was one notable thing: unexpectedly many people had applied, and thus countless participants were now crowded into a cramped space for the qualifiers.

In the center of it all, three people were seated side by side on the highest platform, which allowed them to see everything, conversing quietly.

“I didn’t expect this many would participate.”

“It’s all thanks to your grace, grand duke.”

Konrad flashed a cheeky grin at the grand duke as he spoke. The grand duke replied with a slight smile.

But beside the grand duke, there was a woman whose expression remained stern throughout.

She, positioned in the middle just like the grand duke, had similarly sharp features. Konrad addressed her.

“Your grace, grand duchess, if you’re uncomfortable, you may retire inside. As the mistress of the ducal household, you needn’t remain here among such lowly folk.”

“What could be so uncomfortable? It is merely a gladiatorial tournament, after all, sir Konrad.”

She responded with a chilly smile. Before they could exchange more, a loud shout rang out from somewhere.

“Number 134—Palmer of Lanor! And number 23—Huller of Dresden!”

It was the voice of a watcher calling the participants. As his shout faded, the two called took to the ring, facing each other with tense faces.

As they stood on the ring, the watcher declared, impassively,

“Begin!”

No greetings, not even names exchanged. As the two participants faltered at the unusual conduct—so unlike previous gladiatorial tournaments—Palmer, the larger of the two, figured out the situation first.

“Ha!”

― Kang!

With a fierce shout, their swords clashed and sparks flew. Palmer’s attack, befitting his larger frame, crashed down on Huller.

Huller began to stagger, and Palmer used the opening to slash Huller’s shoulder with his sword.

“Kruk!”

Huller staggered backward. He checked his shoulder, then stepped forward again, swinging his sword first.

― Kang! Kakang!

But due to the injury, as the fight went on, Huller was gradually pushed back.

― Kwagak!

Finally, palmer drove his sword into Huller’s side after a bout of exchange.

“Kuek!”

Seeing his opponent collapse, palmer turned his head toward the referee watcher—signaling for the victor to be declared.

However—

“Continue.”

Palmer had already rendered his opponent unfit for combat; confusion flickered in his eyes.

― Chwaak!

Suddenly, Huller, who had been collapsed, sprang up, and his sword slashed across Palmer’s throat.

“Keok….”

Palmer, certain of his victory, clutched his sliced neck as he staggered and soon collapsed to the cold ground.

At the sight, the grand duchess wrinkled her nose as though at a foul stench.

“Wasn’t the match over?”

“It’s not finished until one yields outright. That’s the special rule of the Iceborn.”

The grand duchess’s eyes narrowed. Amid such wild sword fighting, who in their right mind could call surrender? Still, she accepted it. No wonder the South had never welcomed the Iceborn’s hosting.

“Keurgh… Keuk.”

Palmer’s huge body toppled forward, blood gushing from him. The watcher approached, felt his neck, and announced,

“Victor, Huller of Dresden.”

― Thunk.

But even Huller, the victor, collapsed in place, bleeding profusely. Soon, he stopped moving as well. When all was said and done, there was no victor left on the ring.

Even so, the referee watcher called the next participants with an air of nonchalance at the dead man.

“Next! Number 1—Erich of Krupp!”

With a gesture, the watcher quickly had the corpses cleared from the ring.

Upon Erich’s name being called, those seated on the platform reacted.

“Your son is up now.”

“Is that so?”

At Konrad’s words, the grand duke replied impassively. Even after the bloodshed mere moments before, he did not bat an eye.

Anyway, moving on, Erich’s opponent would be—

“Number 98! Karthus of Logos!”

The mention of Karthus’s name drew the attention of those waiting their turn.

Karthus, called, began to walk forward calmly. The grand duchess’s lips twisted at the sight of him.

“… A famous gladiator, isn’t he.”

“Ah, some unlucky match-ups today. Karthus is well-known, even beyond the Great Wall.”

Just as Konrad said, Karthus appeared hefting two short swords, the symbol of a gladiator. Wearing leather armor that barely covered his torso, he spun his swords-nimbly on the ring.

“Begin.”

Again, the judge gave no opportunity for introductions. But unlike the awkwardness shown by prior participants, Karthus seemed accustomed to this sort of fight, slicing forward swiftly.

― Chwaak!

Yet Erich’s sword deflected Karthus’s attack and immediately traced an arc toward his face.

“!!”

A red line appeared on Karthus’s cheek, a drop of blood falling. The smile he’d worn since his name had been called vanished instantly.

‘He was definitely slower than me…?’

Karthus retraced the prior scene in his mind. Erich’s attack had not been particularly fast. To block simultaneous attacks from two directions, you’d have to be at least twice as quick. And yet, he’d been countered?

“Hm.”

Karthus calmed his breath and charged at Erich once more.

― Kang!

When their swords met, Karthus could feel through his grip: he’d blocked the attack, now it was a simple matter to attack with his other sword. As he swung down with his right hand—

― Chwaak!

“Gyaaaah!”

Suddenly, Karthus’s wrist was flying through the air. He tried to retreat, but a red line had already been drawn across his chest.

“….”

Karthus clutched his severed wrist, wondering at the near-magical swordplay.

He’d thought he blocked, yet the sword’s trajectory bent and cut off his other wrist.

‘Stronger than me?’

Karthus stared at Erich’s young face, not understanding how this could be.

‘He’s simply a monster.’

Maybe if he’d focused from the start, he’d have had the chance to surrender.

But Karthus had no extra life to spare for confirmation. With blood still gushing from his wrist, his consciousness began to fade. His opponent simply stood there, watching Karthus without moving.

But as a veteran gladiator, Karthus had met countless stronger opponents before. He knew this type well. A young nobleman, inexperienced in real battle—these sorts always made the same mistakes.

― Cheolpeodeok.

So Karthus collapsed backward, making sure a sword was within reach if Erich came near. Eyes closed, he waited for Erich to approach.

― Jeobeok, jeobeok.

Then—

― Puk.

“Keuheok.”

Something hot plunged into his chest. Karthus looked up at Erich, who was stabbing him through without any visible concern.

Karthus’s shocked eyes gazed up at Erich. A young man, standing coldly over his fallen opponent, never letting down his guard. That was the last sight Karthus would ever see.

That was its end.

The life of Karthus, a gladiator famous even beyond the Great Wall.

“Amazing. I thought he’d be countered….”

Konrad briefly commented on Erich’s duel, stroking his chin. As soon as he finished, however—

“… That’s only expected from the scion of the ducal house.”

The grand duchess replied icily. Though she claimed it was only natural, her face had grown even colder than before. Clearly, Erich’s victory was not to her liking.

However, Konrad, having noticed a certain curiosity during the fight, asked the grand duchess,

“By the way… do all your children receive their swordsmanship directly from the grand duke?”

“Sometimes yes, sometimes no.”

“I see. There’s something oddly familiar about that technique.”

“… Is that so?”

While Konrad was pondering this,

The grand duke and grand duchess, too, had watched Erich’s match with eyes full of surprise.

When, how, had he become so strong? Hadn’t Erich never properly been taught swordsmanship? Would even Ludwig have managed this?

“Victor! Erich of the Krupp family!”

Erich glanced up at the platform, then turned his back and left the ring. As though the three’s curiosity meant nothing to him.

What greeted him as he descended was Finn, who suddenly looked ten years older. He rushed up to Erich, exclaiming,

“M-my lord! Well done, sir! You showed an excellent performance before grand duke…”

“Finn.”

“Yes?”

“Bring me some water. The qualifiers aren’t over yet, anyway.”

“What do you mean by that?”

― Chwaak.

Erich swung his sword at the air, shaking off the blood that stained its blade.

“I’ll have to fight at least five more times today. There are just too many people.”

“Five more times?”

Finn’s eyes went wide. Even one of these matches could be fatal, yet Erich would go through so many in a single day? It defied all common sense.

― Ddalkak.

But Erich calmly sheathed his sword and replied,

“That’s the Iceborn.”

Finn couldn’t understand. But there were a few things he knew for sure. Erich was extremely familiar with the Iceborn. And, more importantly—

When it came to Erich’s martial strength, Finn apparently had nothing to worry about.

***

― Dduk. Dduk.

In the dark night, a knight was removing armor drenched in blood. Each time he unfastened a strap, scabs and droplets of blood fell to the ground.

At that moment, a cold woman’s voice sounded from deep within the shadows of a thick robe.

“Milon.”

“Your grace, the grand duchess.”

Milon ceased doffing his armor and immediately knelt on the spot.

“He got through the qualifiers far too easily. Fought six times, not a scratch.”

There was dissatisfaction and disappointment heavy in the obscured grand duchess’s voice. Submissively, Milon guessed at her intention.

“If you’re about to ask if it’s because of the swordsmanship I taught him, it isn’t. He already possessed complete swordsmanship.”

“I may be an ignorant woman where swords are concerned, but even I know such progress can’t happen in a day. I’m not blaming you, so pay it no mind. Still, I’m worried.”

“What kind of worry, your grace?”

“That your house might return to its original position.”

Though she did not raise her voice or curse, her words stabbed sharply into Milon’s chest. She was delivering a cold warning.

“Then I will do my best to prevent that.”

“No need to try. Just show me results. Do you think you can beat him?”

“….”

Milon paused before answering, thinking for a moment.

“If I stake my life, there’s nothing I can’t do.”

“… There’s no need for that. I have my own move planned.”

“What do you mean by your move?”

Milon, who had kept his head bowed, looked up. But realizing who was before him, he bowed his head again.

“That’s not something you need to know. Just do what you have to do.”

“… Understood.”

With that, the grand duchess departed. Even after she left, Milon did not raise his head for a long while, only clenching his eyes shut and his teeth hard together.

― Kwaduk.

Milon’s face twisted with anguish and pain.

————-= Clacky’s Corner ————-=

【ദ്ദി(⩌ᴗ⩌)】

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep