The air in the courtroom was dead silent.
Moments ago, it had been chaos—swords drawn, accusations flying, Gazel Dwargo himself descending like a god of war. But now? Not a soul dared move. The five accused had vanished into the shadows like a violent gust of wind, leaving only tension and blood in their wake.
Even the most battle-hardened guards stood paralyzed.
Vester took a shaky step forward. "A-A thousand pardons, my liege, but… are you… alright?"
Every gaze turned, locking onto the crimson stain leaking down from beneath Gazel's cloak. The stain had grown darker, blooming like a flower over his forearm.
Gazel paused, then slowly pulled back his cape.
"A mere scratch," he said, voice calm… but his eyes? Stormy. Calculating. A man trying to solve a puzzle he didn't like the answer to.
But the truth was—he had not expected to bleed.
Not today. Not in that throne room. Not in a friendly bout against a wandering tiefling. And especially not from such a precise strike.
The cut was shallow… but intentional. Placed with surgical accuracy, it had nicked a vein just enough to spill blood but not enough to cause lasting damage.
The kind of blow you use to send a message.
He knew exactly where to strike.
That wasn't luck. That was control.
And Gazel had felt it—a flicker of fear, brief but undeniable.
In their exchange of five blows, the tiefling hadn't once aimed to kill, nor to flee. No, what he wanted… was something else entirely.
Proof. Recognition. Dominance.
It wasn't hunger for destruction that drove him—it was obsession. The kind that's born from trauma, from a world that crushes the weak and glorifies the strong. The kind that births monsters... or kings.
"His instincts are monstrous," Gazel thought grimly. "But his eyes… they weren't evil."
He could've severed my arm if he committed to the strike.
He didn't.
So the question remained: Is he a threat?
Or is he something worse—a variable.
One that could burn kingdoms or save them.
He would find out eventually. For now, he had made a choice.
Trust him. Just a little.
Their duel wasn't just steel meeting steel—it was the unspoken conversation of two warriors who walked the same unforgiving road.
"Vester." The king's voice broke through the stunned silence, now low, lethal and stared at the noble that caused the entire mess in the first place.
This will be my first gift.
-
Back at the edge of the forest, our camp was a quiet chaos.
We'd spent five days in Dwargon. Five long, painful, utterly disorganized days.
Nothing went according to plan. I mean—sure, we left alive. But that wasn't saying much when you were missing both your arms.
"Are you still upset about losing, Akuma-sama?" Garm asked, his brow raised.
"...Of course not. What makes you say that?"
"Well… you're pouting."
Tsk. Observant little gremlin.
I wasn't mad about losing. I expected that. What annoyed me was how I lost. I was supposed to give Gazel a good fight, maybe sever his arm just a little, then use that as a perfect chance to demonstrate my healing potion and boost our PR.
Instead? Boom. Hakuro's skill went right through my guard and took both of my arms off like they were paper decorations.
Turns out, reading about a skill in a novel does not translate to blocking it in real life.
Still, I gained more than I lost—figuratively speaking. Kaijin and his crew trusted me completely now. And I'd gained something more important than respect.
Fear.
From nobles. From soldiers. From an entire city. All for surviving a duel with their living legend.
I just hoped it didn't stir Yuuki's interest too soon.
"Hey, is it just me or are Kaijin and the others… not moving?"
I turned around.
"Oh. They're unconscious. Huh."
Garm and the other two were laid out like corpses, eyes rolled back and foam trailing from their mouths.
"What the hell…?" I blinked. "They fainted from the ride?"
Guess their bodies weren't built for Ranga's full-speed forest sprint.
Not a problem. A bit of Sticky Thread, and I hoisted them up like sacks of potatoes.
We were ready to move again. I had shifted into my wolf form so the four dwarves could split up between me and Ranga.
Naturally, Ranga hated it.
He growled at them like they were free snacks and sulked the entire time. I had to bribe him with headpats and promises of belly rubs.
"Your dazzling strength knows no bounds, my master!"
Ranga's voice echoed in my mind as we ran.
"Hah-hah-hah! Yeah, you'll look like this someday too if you keep it up!"
The other wolves howled in agreement. I grinned to myself.
Elsewhere…
Far from the forest, a figure stepped through blackened shadows.
She was young. Beautiful. A storm dressed in black.
Her dark-silver hair flowed like mercury behind her, tied high for battle. Her eyes scanned the horizon, unblinking.
A hero. Or at least, that's what people called her.