CHAPTER 306: CH 306: THE CHALLANGE - PART 2

The crowd gathered near the estate’s arena, nobles, knights, and servants murmuring among themselves with barely contained excitement.

Whispers of the duel had spread like wildfire, and now every pair of eyes was fixed on the center stage, eager to witness which of Duke Armstrong’s sons would stake the stronger claim to the future of the duchy.

Nigel stepped forward first, his gaze calm but firm, mana gently rippling off his form like a tide ready to crash. His voice rang clear, confident, and resolute.

"I’ll be the one to fight. For my honor—and for my brother’s."

The crowd hushed at his declaration. The Duke, seated in his elevated position, gave a small nod.

"Granted."

Across the arena, Christan gave a dry chuckle and motioned toward his personal guard. A knight clad in black armor, face hidden behind a darkened visor, stepped forward in silence.

The air around him shifted subtly—the mark of a seasoned warrior accustomed to killing.

"There’s no need to hold back anymore. Make sure no one questions who the strongest in this family is."

Christan told the knight with a crooked grin.

The knight gave a simple nod and entered the arena.

The Duke turned to Kyle, who stood silently beside his seat, arms folded and expression unreadable.

"Well? What do you think of this match? Who’s going to win?"

The Duke asked.

Kyle glanced at the black-clad knight, then at Nigel, whose stance was measured, breathing steady.

"I haven’t seen either of them fight before. But judging from the mana they’re emitting, they’re close. On par, at least in terms of raw strength. The rest will come down to technique and control."

Kyle said.

The Duke chuckled at that, stroking his beard thoughtfully.

"Hm. You always were observant, but you never showed interest in such things before. If you had, maybe I could have named you a candidate. But alas..."

His eyes narrowed slightly.

"The Grand Duchess has claim to you now. You’re no longer mine to promote."

Kyle didn’t reply.

He didn’t need to.

His focus was on the arena, where the battle had just begun.

Nigel drew his short sword with a burst of mana that cracked the ground beneath his feet.

The black knight responded with a massive two-handed blade, heavier and slower, but reinforced with thick layers of enchanted steel.

Their first clash was thunderous.

Sparks flew as steel met steel, the force of their collision rippling outward like a shockwave. The crowd gasped as both were pushed back, neither yielding an inch.

The knight recovered quickly, swinging his heavy blade in sweeping arcs designed to keep Nigel at bay.

Nigel ducked, slid under the reach of the weapon, and retaliated with a flurry of quick, precise strikes. It was clear from his movements that Nigel was trained for speed, for momentum, for unrelenting pressure.

But the knight... he absorbed those hits like a wall, his armor barely dented.

A grunt escaped him before he countered with a punishing blow to Nigel’s shoulder—one that would’ve shattered bone had Nigel not twisted just in time.

Kyle’s eyes narrowed.

He could see it now.

"This knight isn’t just strong. He’s trained in suppression tactics. His job isn’t to win. It’s to grind the opponent down until they break."

Kyle muttered to himself.

The Duke glanced at Kyle.

"And do you think Nigel will break?"

Kyle didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, he watched as Nigel took another hit, this time to the ribs, and stumbled. For a moment, it looked like the fight was tilting.

But then Nigel roared, mana exploding around him as he charged with reckless abandon. The knight raised his sword to meet him—but Nigel vanished.

A step behind him.

In a blink, Nigel reappeared, slashing upward from the blind spot. His blade caught the knight’s side, carving into the armor and drawing blood.

The knight hissed, for the first time visibly shaken. But before he could recover, Nigel spun into a low stance and drove the hilt of his sword into the knight’s exposed knee.

The knight collapsed.

And Nigel placed his blade at the base of the knight’s neck.

Silence.

Then the Duke clapped once, sharply. The duel was over.

Kyle, still calm, sipped the tea someone had handed him again.

"He didn’t break. He adapted."

The Duke gave him a sidelong look, and for a moment—just a moment—regret flickered in the older man’s eyes.

"I see. Perhaps I chose wrong. But then again... I no longer have the right to choose you."

He muttered.

Kyle remained quiet. His answer was the same as before: he was never meant to rule. He had another war to win—one the Queen still watched with endless patience.

Nigel glanced up at the Duke and Kyle, sweat trickling down his brow, sword still resting against the downed knight’s exposed neck.

"Do I have your permission to end this, Father?"

The Duke lifted his hand and gave a single, firm nod.

"Finish it."

But just as the sword was about to come down, a low groan echoed from the knight’s helmet.

Nigel froze. The knight’s chest heaved, and suddenly, the armored figure let out a chilling laugh, one that sounded unnatural, forced, and drenched in malice.

Before Nigel could react, the black armor around the knight began to shimmer, as if it were dissolving into nothingness.

The dark steel evaporated into a wisp of smoke, and what emerged beneath it wasn’t the form of a man, but a swirling mass of corrupted divine mana.

It poured out like a tide, dark and sickening, and the air itself seemed to twist as the very essence of it sickened the earth beneath their feet.

Nigel staggered backward instinctively, but the sheer speed of the corrupt energy was overwhelming.

He could feel its oppressive weight, the presence of something ancient and malignant, reaching out to him.

The knight’s voice, now a distorted whisper, echoed from within the corruption.

"You will suffer my wrath. You will be crippled, marked, and bound to my power for the rest of your miserable life."

It hissed.

Nigel took another step back, but it was too slow. The corrupted mana surged forward, swirling around him, almost as if it were alive, closing in with terrifying speed.

His heart raced, and the air seemed to grow heavier by the second, but before he could react any further, a sharp crackle of mana split the air.

Kyle descended into the arena with unhurried precision, landing lightly between Nigel and the advancing wave of dark energy. Without a word, Kyle raised his hand.

In an instant, the corrupted mana froze mid-air as if caught in a vice.

The ground beneath them cracked, and Kyle’s mana surged outward in a wave of radiant, almost blinding light.

It crushed the dark energy with raw, unrelenting force, suffocating it before it could reach either of them.

Kyle’s eyes blazed with an intensity that was rare for him, as he focused on the corrupt energy.

The air itself seemed to hum with power as Kyle bent the mana to his will, twisting it until the malignant energy crumbled and dissipated, leaving only a cold, empty space in the wake of the chaos.

The arena fell silent.

Nigel, still shaken, looked at Kyle in disbelief. The black knight’s form was no longer visible, only a faint residue of dark mana lingered in the air, now harmless under the weight of Kyle’s control.