A Mercenary’s Rebirth Among Nobles — Chapter 172

Chapter 172

Not‌⁠ only were the⁠⁠ heads of each⁠‌ family stunned by‍⁠⁠ the deafening cheers.⁠‍

In⁠ fact, those who⁠‌ felt the most‌⁠‌ pressure from the‌⁠ uproar were the‌‌ knights planning to challenge Felicia.

Until now, to them,‌⁠ Felicia had been nothing more than‍‌⁠ a newcomer—the disciple⁠ and adopted daughter‌⁠⁠ of the Swordmaster.‌⁠

A woman who had‍ never shown her true skill in⁠ front of others⁠ and who, relying‌ solely on her‌ relationship with the⁠‌ Swordmaster, had proclaimed‌‌ herself the next‌ Swordmaster.

That⁠⁠‍ was how they‍ had always seen⁠ her.

But⁠ then, what was⁠ that nearly worshipful‌⁠ roar?

While⁠⁠ the challengers hesitated at such an⁠⁠ unexpected reaction—

Clang!⁠

“…!”‌⁠‌

A shockwave rang through⁠ the entire arena‍ and instantly swallowed⁠‌‍ the cheers. Startled‍‌ by the sudden‍ phenomenon, the crowd⁠‍ fell silent in‍ unison.

A moment later, the‌ challengers realized that‍‍ the source of‍‍⁠ the vibration was Felicia—and they were⁠ horrified.

‘She‌⁠ caused that just‌‍ by striking the‌⁠ scabbard against the⁠⁠ ground?’

Had‍‌ she shattered a wall with a single blow, it‍ wouldn’t have been‍ as shocking.

With⁠‍‌ an absurd amount of mana, anyone‌ could increase their‌ destructive power.

But‌‌‍ to cause a vibration with no⁠‍ destructive force—barely enough⁠‌ to shake the‍ body slightly—to propagate⁠ that far?

That‍⁠ was a technique⁠ impossible to achieve unless one’s control⁠⁠ over mana approached‌‍⁠ a divine level.‌

At⁠‍ the center of‍ the now silent‍ arena, Felicia opened⁠ her mouth.

“My⁠ name is Felicia‍ Brightner. Daughter of⁠‌ Eisen Brightner, the⁠⁠ previous Swordmaster, and‌ the Swordmaster of⁠ this era.”

The⁠ challengers felt a lump in their‌⁠ throats at that arrogant declaration.

No‌ one had acknowledged her as Swordmaster yet, and still‍ she proclaimed herself the Swordmaster of‌⁠⁠ her time.

The‌‍‍ word “presumptuous” was‍⁠⁠ about to slip out—but it didn’t.⁠‌

No‍ matter how much⁠‍‌ they tried to‌‍ say something, the‍ words wouldn’t come,⁠‍‍ as if their‍ bodies themselves acknowledged‌ she had the‌ right to say⁠ it.

“Come.”‍

Felicia‍ gave a slight⁠‍ beckoning gesture with‍‍ her finger, as⁠ if no further‍‌ words were needed.‌⁠

At‍ that attitude—without a shred of doubt‌ that she was the Swordmaster—one of⁠ the challengers gritted⁠ his teeth and‍‍ shouted.

“Aserad‌‍ Tolgrim, of House‍ Tolgrim, requests a duel with Lady⁠‍ Felicia!”

The⁠‍⁠ challenge order had already been announced⁠ beforehand, but at‌‌ that moment, it‌‌‌ no longer mattered.⁠

Those⁠‍ who were supposed⁠ to challenge before‌ Aserad were completely‌‍ paralyzed by Felicia’s‌‍ presence.

Before‌ they could all‍‌ be crushed by⁠ one person alone,⁠‌ Aserad chose to step forward himself.‌⁠

“…”

Felicia‌‍‌ watched him silently.‌‍

Her‌ gaze seemed to⁠ say, “You’ve said your name, now‍‌ attack. Why are‍⁠ you still standing‌‌⁠ there?”

Aserad‌‌ jumped into the‌‍‌ arena and drew⁠‌ his sword.

“Draw⁠ yours too!”

“I⁠‍ already have.”

“What‍‍ nonse—?!”

Aserad‍‍‍ stopped dead.

Felicia⁠ truly already had⁠ her sword drawn.‍

Seeing‌‍ the blade shining‍⁠‌ with the characteristic‌ gleam of fae‍ metal, Aserad swallowed⁠ hard.

‘When did she draw⁠ it…?’

Up⁠ until the moment‍ Aserad jumped into‍ the arena, the⁠‌‌ sword had been⁠ sheathed.

After⁠⁠ that, he hadn’t seen the slightest‍⁠ movement—not even a twitch of her‍ arm.

‘…Don’t⁠‌‍ be fooled. It’s⁠ just a cheap‌⁠ trick.’

Quick‌ drawing wasn’t proof‌ of great swordsmanship.‍ If he didn’t‌ let himself be⁠ intimidated and observed⁠‌‌ carefully, he was‍ sure he’d find‍ an opening.

Aserad‍‍ forced himself to‌‍⁠ think that and‌‌⁠ suppressed his hesitation.‌

The‌‌ problem was, no⁠‌‍ matter how much⁠ he looked, he⁠‍ couldn’t see any‍‌ opening.

Any⁠‌⁠ attack he imagined‍ ended up being‌‌ blocked, inevitably followed⁠‌ by a counterattack.

‘Damn‌‌ it… this feels⁠‍ like when I was facing my‌‌ childhood sword instructor. Openings? What openings?‌‍ Should I just‌‍ go first?’

“…”‌⁠

Felicia,‍ sword in hand, quietly observed the⁠ stiff Aserad. She⁠‍ seemed to be⁠ waiting for the‍‍ challenger to make‌ a move.

But as time passed‌ and Aserad showed⁠‍⁠ no intention of‍ striking, Felicia let⁠⁠ out a sigh.⁠⁠

“That’s enough. Step down.”‌‌

“What?”⁠

“It’s‌‌ over.”

“Hey!‌ What do you‌‍ think you’re doing?‍‌⁠ I haven’t even‌ swung my sword‌ once!”

“I⁠ have.”

“…?”⁠

“Touch‌ your neck.”

Aserad⁠ frowned and brought⁠ a hand to‌ his neck.

Immediately, he shuddered at⁠ the sensation of‍ warmth.

When⁠ he pulled his‌ hand back, he‍‌ saw red blood‍‍ sliding between his‌‌⁠ fingers.

‘When?!’‌⁠

Aserad’s‍ eyes widened in⁠‍ horror.

The‌ neck was one‍‌‌ of the most⁠ critical vital points.⁠ A slight cut‍‍ could sever an‌ artery, making it‍‌ almost impossible to‍ gauge the force‌ used.

And yet, from that‌ distance, with an‌⁠ invisible slash, she⁠ had cut only‍‍ the skin of‌ the neck.

It‌ was more absurd‌ than striking a finger with a hammer and breaking⁠‍ only the tip⁠ of the nail.

“Step⁠‍ down. Your trial‍ is over.”

At⁠‌ Felicia’s irrefutable words,‌ Aserad bowed his⁠‍⁠ head deeply.

With‍ the anticlimactic end‌ of the first⁠‍ challenger, the others‌ clenched their hands—damp‌ with sweat from⁠‌ the tension.

Depending‌ on their level,‌⁠ each saw something⁠⁠ different—but all shared⁠⁠⁠ one impression.

‘There⁠‌ are no openings.’⁠⁠

If‍‍‍ they could at‌‍ least see the‍ smallest gap, they‌⁠ might attempt something.⁠‍ But not even that.

If‌ this continued, they‍ too would be shamefully defeated and thrown out of‌⁠ the arena.

But⁠ once the battle‍‌ began, there would‍‍‌ be no time‌ to look for‍⁠ openings.

“Next.”‍

Felicia’s⁠‌ calm voice echoed,‌‌‍ and the challengers⁠ squeezed their eyes shut.

***‍

“Step down.”

The‍ seventh challenger stepped‍ down from the‍ arena with his⁠‍ shoulders completely slumped.‍

Even‍⁠ after switching challengers‌‌ seven times, there⁠ had been no⁠‍ notable change.

All‌‍ of them, just⁠‍ like Aserad—the first⁠‌ challenger—did nothing but⁠ drag out the⁠‍ time and end‌⁠ up with a light cut on‍ the neck before‌‌ retreating.

For the nobles watching,⁠⁠‍ it was a frustrating spectacle.

If‍ they had already‌⁠ drawn their swords,‌‍ why not swing‍‌ them already? What‌ were they even‍‌ doing?

Especially the heads of the families to⁠ which the challengers‌ belonged were going⁠‌‌ from frustration to‌⁠⁠ shame.

‘How‌ could such humiliation‌⁠⁠ exist?! With all‌ these people watching,‌⁠ doing something this‍ pathetic…!’

‘You‌ should’ve never challenged‌‌ her! You walked‌‌ up so confidently,‍ and now you‌ make a fool⁠ of yourself.’

‘I‌‍‍ was the idiot for trusting you.⁠‍ Just wait until‍ you return to‍ the family.’

The‌‍‍ family heads ground⁠‌ their teeth in‍⁠⁠ embarrassment, but the challengers also had‌ their own thoughts.‍

If‍ there were no⁠ openings, how were⁠ they supposed to swing their swords?⁠

Blindly‍ attacking would only‌ make the scene‌‍ more pathetic than⁠ standing still and⁠‍ losing.

Precisely‍ because they had the minimum skill‍ to understand the‍ difference between themselves‍ and their opponent,‍⁠ they could choose⁠ not to move.‌

Of⁠ course, the family heads, who had never faced Felicia‍ directly, had no⁠⁠‍ way of understanding‌ those feelings.

It was then that‌ the eighth challenger⁠ entered the arena.‍

“Biserk‌ Elster, of House‍‍ Elster, requests a duel with Lady‍‍ Felicia.”

“…Oh.”⁠

At‍⁠ the sight of⁠ the challenger, Felicia‌‌⁠ let out a small exclamation and‌ shifted her stance.⁠‌‍

Upon‌‍‍ seeing that movement—which‍‌ was the first time she had‍ changed posture—the audience‍‍ stirred in surprise.⁠

“The‌ king’s great warrior‍‌‌ took a stance…!”

“She‌ didn’t even do‌‌ that when facing‌ all the other⁠‌ knights!”

“Is⁠ this knight going‌⁠ to show something‌ different?”

All⁠ eyes focused on⁠‌ the challenger.

However,‍ against all expectations, this time too,‌ he hesitated and‌ failed to act‌‌‌ decisively.

Just⁠⁠ like before, after⁠ some time had‌ passed, Felicia moved⁠‌ her sword.

Clang!‌⁠

“Ugh!”‍

A groan escaped from⁠‌⁠ Biserk’s mouth. Feeling‍‌ the numbing impact⁠‍‌ in his hand,‌ he stepped back‍‌‌ and saw the‌ broken blade of‍ his sword flying‍‌‍ off into the⁠‌ distance.

Though the process had⁠‍ been slightly different,‍ the result was‍⁠⁠ the same as the previous challengers.⁠‌

“Step down.”

“…Before‌ that, allow me⁠‌ to ask something.”‌

“What?”⁠⁠

“Why‌ did you break‌‌ only my sword?”

Biserk was confused.

A sword was the‌‍ symbol of a knight. Deliberately targeting⁠ and breaking only‌ the weapon could‍ be seen as⁠ humiliation.

“Was⁠⁠‌ it an important sword?”

“No.‍‍‌ I was just⁠ wondering what meaning it held.”

“It‍⁠ doesn’t hold any⁠‍ special meaning. I simply thought I couldn’t aim at‌‍ your neck, so I aimed for⁠‍‌ your sword instead.”‍

“What?”‍⁠

“If‍ I aimed at‌ your neck and you dodged in‌‍ an odd direction, things could get⁠‍ serious.”

“…!”⁠

Aiming‌‌ only at the‌ surface skin of‍ the neck was‍ a technique that,⁠ with the slightest‍ error, could kill‌‌‌ the opponent.

In‍⁠⁠ other words, it⁠⁠ was only possible‍‍ when the skill‌ gap was overwhelming.

Put‌⁠ differently, against an‍‌‍ opponent with some‌‍ level of competence, it was an⁠⁠ extremely risky move.‍‌‍

If⁠ the enemy dodged‌‌‍ perfectly, it was‌‌ fine. But if‌ they dodged awkwardly‍ and the blade⁠ sank deeper, it‌‍‌ could result in‍⁠ certain death.

That‌⁠‌ meant Felicia had‍ recognized Biserk as⁠ someone of “intermediate”‌ ability.

‘Even‌⁠ so, doesn’t that‌ mean I’m a bit better than‍ the others?’

It⁠‍ was an assessment‍ some might find humiliating, but Biserk⁠ felt genuine joy.‌⁠‍

Felicia’s⁠ attacks had been⁠ so fast that‍ the others hadn’t‌ even been able‍⁠⁠ to react.

But⁠‍ with him, she‍ had changed her‍ method of attack because she believed⁠⁠⁠ he might respond.‍⁠‌

To⁠⁠‌ be acknowledged by⁠‌ the Swordmaster of‍⁠ this era—how could⁠ he not be‌‌ happy?

Suppressing‌ the smile that⁠‍‍ threatened to form⁠ on his face,‌ Biserk bowed his head to Felicia.⁠‌

“Thank‌ you for the‍‌ explanation.”

After‍‌ saying that and⁠⁠ stepping down from‌‍ the arena, Biserk‍ suddenly felt numerous‍ stares on him.‍

Turning⁠⁠ around, he saw⁠‌ in the eyes‍ of the other⁠⁠ challengers a mix‍‌ of envy and‌ jealousy.

Those⁠⁠⁠ who had already‍⁠ challenged envied the⁠ higher evaluation he⁠‌ received.

Those⁠‌ who had yet⁠‌ to challenge feared‌‍‌ they wouldn’t even⁠⁠⁠ reach that level‌⁠ of recognition.

Unwittingly,⁠⁠ Biserk had become⁠ the line separating‌ the mediocre from‍ those with at⁠⁠ least minimal skill.‌‍‌

Walking⁠ through the challengers with an inexplicable sense of pride,⁠ Biserk suddenly stopped‌‌ as he realized‍‌‌ something.

‘…Wait‌⁠‌ a second. Recognition⁠⁠‍ from the Swordmaster?⁠‍ Did I just⁠ think that I’d‌⁠ been acknowledged by‍ the Swordmaster?’

Thinking‍⁠ it through, it⁠‌ felt strange.

This‌ match existed precisely‍‌ to determine the‌⁠ next Swordmaster. Just‌ a few minutes‍ ago, he himself⁠⁠ had been filled‌⁠ with ambition to‌ defeat her and‌ take that title.‍‍

And yet, not even‍‌‌ ten challengers in,⁠ he and the⁠ others were already‍⁠ recognizing her as the Swordmaster of‍ this era.

Realizing⁠⁠ how his perception‌‍ had shifted without‌⁠‍ him noticing, Biserk‍ let out a bitter smile.

‘I’m‌⁠ starting to understand,‌ even just a little, what it⁠ means to be‍ a Swordmaster.’

To⁠ become a Swordmaster,‍⁠ you don’t need‍ anyone’s acknowledgment.

You‍‍ only need to‌⁠ make it impossible‌‍ for anyone to‍ deny that you⁠ are.

Finally‌ grasping the weight‍ of that title,⁠‍‍ Biserk looked at‍ Felicia and muttered.‌

“She’s too far out⁠ of my reach.”⁠

***⁠‌‌

“Wow… I thought he’d‍⁠ finally show something‌‍‌ decent.”

“I‌ have no idea‍‌ what any of this is supposed‍ to be.”

When⁠ even Biserk failed‌‍⁠ to put on‍‍ a noteworthy performance,‌ the family heads‌‌ let out sighs⁠ of disappointment.

At‌ this rate, not‌‌ only the title‌ of Swordmaster but‌‌‍ the entire pride‍ of the north‍‌ would become a joke.

At‍⁠ least one of‌‌‍ them should charge‍ in with the‌‍ resolve to die,⁠⁠ shouldn’t they?

“I’m⁠ worried the foreigners‍‍ who came to‍ pay their respects‍ will look down⁠ on the north.”‌⁠

“Sometimes‌‌ you need to‌ charge in even‍ knowing you’re not‌⁠ good enough.”

“Young‍‌ people these days…”‌

Lucian‍‌ gave a faint smile at the⁠‌ clicking tongues of⁠‌ the family heads.⁠‍‍

If‌⁠ they themselves stood‌ before Felicia, they‌‌ wouldn’t be any‍ different. They were⁠⁠ only talking because‌ they had mouths.‌⁠

‘Well,‍‌‌ even if everyone‍‍ is defeated in one blow, it‌‍‍ wouldn’t be so‍ bad to have‌ one or two‍ people with enough skill to cross‌⁠ swords with Felicia.’‍‌

No‍ matter how impressive her strength was,⁠ if people didn’t have the ability⁠‌ to perceive it,‍⁠‌ it was meaningless.⁠

At‍ the very least,‍⁠ they needed someone⁠‍ who could provide‍ a visually compelling⁠‍ match.

While‌ Lucian was searching‍‌⁠ among the challengers⁠‍‌ for someone like⁠ that—

“Your⁠ Highness. It’s serious.‌⁠ You must come‌⁠‌ at once.”

Raymond⁠‌ approached silently, soaked‍‌‌ in cold sweat,‌‍ and grabbed Lucian.⁠‌

His‍ hands were so‌‌ damp it was⁠‌ as if he‌‌ had pulled them‍‌‍ from a bucket‍ of water.

“What⁠⁠ is it? Don’t‌ tell me the‌‌ enemy attacked?”

“It’s worse than that.‌ The First Prince‍‌ is currently in‌‍ the White Castle‍ prison.”

“What?”

At⁠ news that far exceeded any expectation,‌ Lucian blinked in‍⁠ astonishment.