Chapter- Banquet [7]

A distinguished middle-aged gentleman stepped forward, raising his hands for attention.

"Given that this is Lady Rithvale's celebration, I'll oversee this duel. No weapons, no essence usage will be allowed. We'll keep this to simple hand-to-hand combat. First to yield or be unable to continue loses."

Renard gave a sharp nod and took his position with practiced form.

His stance betraying years of formal training as he settled into a combat-ready pose. Every line of his body screamed discipline and noble martial education.

On the opposite side, Alaric barely seemed to register the weight of the occasion.

He stood with both hands still casually tucked in his pockets, gaze half-dazed yet oddly sharp beneath the haze of wine.

His posture so relaxed he might have been waiting for tea service.

"Agreed," he murmured, tilting his head like a predator humoring prey.

From the edges of the circle, Marcus and his companions erupted in cheers for Renard, voices rowdy and eager, already declaring victory in their friend's name.

"Go lord Renard, show him whom to not mess with."

"Yeh. Remind him who's the boss, Renard."

The man raised his hand and called out, his voice cutting across the hushed murmurs.

"Begin!"

Renard moved first. His steps were sharp, trained, every muscle in his frame flexing with restrained power. A straight jab shot toward Alaric's jaw, crisp and fast enough to make a few of the nobles gasp.

Alaric… didn't bother dodging conventionally.

With one hand still buried in his pocket, he tilted his head just enough that the punch grazed past, a lock of his loose hair brushing Renard's knuckles. His other hand flicked lazily, sweeping his hair back with a careless expression.

The nobles chuckled, some even clapped, taking his gesture as mockery.

"Fight seriously!" Renard snapped, his pride stung. He pressed in harder, throwing a hook toward Alaric's ribs.

This time Alaric swayed aside, his balance loose but fluid, like water in a half-filled cup.

The wine in his body made his movements appear sloppy, yet every slip carried him just out of reach.

When Renard overextended, Alaric's foot slid forward, his shoulder dipping and...

Thump!

A quick shove to the chest sent Renard stumbling back a step.

Cheers and laughter erupted around the cleared space.

Renard's jaw tightened. He came in again, faster now, fists driving like hammers.

This time, Alaric finally pulled his right hand from his pocket, only to deflect Renard's punch with the back of his wrist in an almost lazy motion before immediately returning it to his pocket.

The casual dismissal sent ripples of shock through the watching crowd.

"Is he... toying with him?" Cordelia whispered to Catherine, her eyes wide.

Marcus's confident cheering faltered slightly. "Come on, Renard! Finish him!"

But Renard lunged again and continued the assault.

This time, he caught Alaric once, a strike across the shoulder.

The impact forced Alaric take few steps back, his eyes half-lidded as if the world tilted.

Livia's hands clasped tighter around the pendant on her chest. She leaned forward, her breath shallow.

But Alaric only exhaled, rolling his shoulder back into place, the red flush on his cheeks giving him the look of someone far too relaxed for a duel.

Not gonna lie, he's stronger than me.

Renard lunged, aiming a clean strike at Alaric's stomach—

Only to find his wrist seized.

But the strength alone won't help him win.

In a sudden shift, Alaric's languid air sharpened. With a twist, he dragged Renard's momentum sideways and spun, one hand still in his pocket as the other torqued Renard down.

Thud!

Renard hit the ground on his knee, saved from falling flat only by quick reflex.

The crowd roared louder now, half in amusement, half in awe.

Marcus shot up from the side, shouting in encouragements.

"Renard! Break him apart! Don't let him mock you!"

Renard snarled and surged back to his feet, chest heaving.

Alaric tilted his head again, lips curling in a half-smirk.

"You sure you want to keep this up?"

Renard's composure finally shattered completely.

With a roar of rage, he abandoned all of techniques and launched into a wild assault, fists flying in desperate combinations fueled by wounded pride and humiliation.

"Stand still and fight me properly!" he bellowed, throwing fists wildly, each swing carrying the strength of desperation.

The floor echoed with the heavy thuds of his boots as he pressed forward, trying to overwhelm Alaric through sheer aggression.

Alaric continued his maddening dance for several more exchanges, that infuriating smile never leaving his face.

But then something shifted in his crimson eyes.

The playful amusement hardened into something colder, more calculating.

"Alright," he said quietly, finally pulling both hands from his pockets.

"I'm bored now."

The change was instant and terrifying.

He caught Renard's wrist mid-swing, twisting it hard until a crack resounded.

"Argh!"

Renard cried out, but before he could retreat, Alaric's fist slammed into his jaw.

The hall rang with the impact.

Cheers erupted among some nobles, the boredom of the evening washed away by raw spectacle. Others whispered, gauging Alaric anew, weighing his strength and presence.

Renard staggered, blood already trickling from his split lip and lounged again. But Alaric didn't let up.

He sidestepped Renard's next wild swing and drove his elbow into the young man's ribs.

The impact drove the air from Renard's lungs in a sharp gasp, doubling him over.

Before Renard could recover, Alaric's knee came up to meet his face. The crack of cartilage breaking echoed across the sudden silence as blood exploded from Renard's nose.

"Stop—" Renard tried to speak, but Alaric wasn't finished.

He drove him back with brutal strikes, each punch landing clean, deliberate. A hook to the cheekbone.

An elbow across the temple. A knee into the gut that made Renard choke and collapse to his knees, gasping for breath.

When he tried to look up, Alaric's fist connected with his jaw, snapping his head sideways and sending a spray of blood across the marble floor.

The smirk returned, darker now. Alaric grabbed him by the collar, forced him upright, and hammered another fist across his face. Blood burst from his nose, his eye swelling shut, his pride shredded with every blow.

The gathered nobles watched in stunned silence as what had seemed like a drunken fool systematically dismantled someone they'd considered a skilled fighter.

Each strike was calculated, brutal, and delivered with the kind of precision that spoke of real combat experience.

"Magnificent," someone whispered.

Marcus's face had gone pale, his earlier confidence replaced by dawning terror as he realized what kind of opponent they'd all underestimated.

Cordelia gripped Catherine's arm tightly, her eyes wide with mixture of horror and fascination. "He's not even breathing hard," she murmured.

Eleanor had gone completely silent, staring at Alaric as if seeing him for the first time.

Livia's pendant had cut into her palm from how tightly she was gripping it, but she couldn't look away from the methodical destruction playing out before her.

Selene's expression stayed unreadable, lips pressed in a thin line.

And then silence fell, except for the dull, meaty rhythm of Alaric's fists.

By the time he let go, Renard crumpled to the floor, blood dripping from his nose and mouth, his body trembling, his face unrecognizable under swelling and bruises.

While Alaric stood over him without a scratch on him. Even his hair wasn't mussed.

Viviane stood frozen in shock, watching her son.

Her proud, capable son, reduced to a broken heap on the floor.

The plan to humiliate this upstart had backfired spectacularly, and now everyone would know that House Valtair's heir couldn't even handle a supposedly drunk boy.

Her face cycled through disbelief, rage, and finally a kind of hollow defeat as she realized the implications of what had just occurred.

Without a word, she rushed forward. And dropped to her knees beside her broken son, her voice trembling as she called his name. Hands shook as she cradled his bloodied face, glaring up at Alaric with venom.

"How dare you…" she hissed, though her tone quivered with helplessness.

She could do nothing, this was a duel, sanctioned, witnessed, and lost.

To protest further would shame her family even more.

Still, she clutched Renard to her chest, her fine sleeves smearing with his blood.

Alaric stood above them.

The middle-aged man who had announced the duel hurried forward, lifting his arms. "T-The duel is over! Winner is Lord Glimor!"

The silence stretched until Alaric casually brushed an imaginary speck of dust from his sleeve and looked around at the stunned faces surrounding him.

"Well," he said with that same lazy smile, though now it carried an edge that made several people step back instinctively, "that was refreshing. Anyone else feeling bored this evening?"

————

{A/N: I deeply apologize for the inconveniences I had caused you guys.}

I'll try making up for it soon.

Though I couldn't do Mass release yet.

I'll try dropping the price of privilege tier of next month.