Chapter 128

Chapter 128
## Chapter 128

It wasn’t merely Brunda who reacted; the combatants flanking him also wore masks of pure disbelief and distortion.

Far from being simply insulted, they looked as if the very notion of Lucian offering resistance was a physical impossibility they hadn’t prepared for.

“…Hmph, it seems you possess the heart of a true fighter.”

Brunda struggled for a beat to find his voice, finally forcing those syllables out. Because the praise was so strained, he couldn’t maintain his poker face, and his mouth continued to tremor.

That lapse was fleeting, however. Pulling himself back together, Brunda closed the distance to Lucian and held out a hand.

“A honor to meet a warrior. I am Brunda, offspring of Ivar of the Red Axe. What do they call you?”

“Lucian. Lucian Asagrim Valdek.”

Lucian provided his full title and reached out to grasp the offered hand.

The moment their palms collided and locked, Brunda erupted into a loud, grating laugh.

“The monikers of foreigners are unnecessarily tedious! It must be a burden to recite such a long string of words every time you speak!”

“In formal environments, my attendants handle the introductions, so it is of little consequence.”

“Ah, so you are a high-born aristocrat? Forgive my failure to recognize your station.”

“No apologies are necessary. I plan to remain just as oblivious to your own ranks.”

“Hoh, now that presents a slight issue…”

Brunda’s tone trailed off as his lips twisted into a predatory grin.

In that same instant, he began to flood the hand holding Lucian’s with overwhelming force. This wasn’t just raw physical mass; it was musculature pushed to its breaking point by focused mana. He wasn’t testing Lucian’s grip; he was attempting to pulverize his bones.

“This is our domain. Even if we don’t know who you are, you are required to know us. Do you not agree?”

“I’m not so sure.”

Despite the bone-snapping pressure applied to his hand, Lucian’s features remained entirely tranquil. He had anticipated this exact maneuver the second the hand was extended. Lucian even managed a faint, mocking smile as he tilted his head to the side.

“I don’t see it that way at all. It appears our perspectives are at odds.”

“…!?”

Brunda’s eyes stretched wide as he stared at Lucian, whose calm hadn’t cracked in the slightest. But before Brunda could utter a syllable, Lucian began to exert his own strength.

A strangled sound nearly burst from Brunda’s throat. A hand that wasn’t even half the size of his own felt like a vice capable of ripping the very tendons from his thumb.

*This absolute maniac…!*

Panic-stricken, Brunda fought back with everything he had. Initially, he tried to maintain a facade of ease, but that vanished instantly; he was now visibly and desperately trying to yank his hand free. Yet, regardless of his thrashing, his limb stayed anchored in Lucian’s iron hold.

After watching Brunda’s struggle for a silent moment, Lucian slammed the joined hands toward the floor.

“Guaaaagh!”

*Thud.*

“Warrior Leader!?”

As a howl of pure agony broke from Brunda, the fighters behind him watched with eyes bulging from their sockets. It seemed the reality of the situation had finally pierced through their shock.

As the warriors stepped forward to clash, Brunda—now forced down onto a single knee—bellowed a command.

“Halt! Stay where you are!”

“But—!”

“I ordered you to stay back!”

Even as cold sweat drenched his face from the intense pain, Brunda clung to his pride, refusing assistance. Lucian let out a brief, derisive chuckle as he observed the warriors, who were gnashing their teeth in fury but dared not move.

“You really ought to take the help they’re offering.”

“Shut your mouth!”

“Standing alone demands actual competence. If you lack the power, you should swallow your pride and take the help to stay alive. Even if it costs you your reputation.”

Brunda turned a hateful glare up at Lucian. He was clearly flagging, but the embers of defiance in his gaze hadn’t been snuffed out yet.

“I… will… not…!”

“Then you will perish.”

“I would… choose death…!”

“Hoh.”

Lucian let out a note of genuine respect for that stubborn tenacity. However, despite the verbal admiration, the eyes staring down at Brunda remained as cold as ice.

“Then I shall be happy to provide it.”

*Crunch.*

“Kugh!”

Brunda collapsed onto both knees as a wave of excruciating pain washed over him. A force far more devastating than before began to grind his skeletal structure. Only at that moment did Brunda grasp Lucian’s actual goal.

*He isn’t just trying to hurt me. He’s going to shatter my hand, exactly as I intended to do to him…!*

As that realization hit, his heart plummeted. If his hand was ruined, he wouldn’t just lose his claim as an heir; he wouldn’t even be fit to be called a warrior. He would be discarded by his siblings and end up groveling beneath Gunstein.

In the moment that terror, following closely behind his pride, took hold of his entire being—

“Halt!”

Someone yanked back the entrance to the tent and stepped inside. A warrior who looked more senior than Brunda looked at Lucian and addressed him.

“That is sufficient. Do you truly wish to paint this banquet in blood before the meat has even been served?”

“And who are you to offer such counsel?”

“Einar. I am the sibling of the idiot you are currently pinning. We share the same father, though our lineages differ by mother.”

“Kh…!”

Brunda’s skin turned crimson with intense shame. It was clearly agonizing to be seen in such a pathetic state by his competitor, Einar.

Lucian studied Einar for a beat before responding.

“It was your kinsman who reached for blood first.”

“The fragile are always in a rush, while the powerful remain composed. Why should the strong feel the need to mimic the flaws of the weak?”

“Hoh.”

A second sound of respect left Lucian’s lips. If the first had been a surface-level acknowledgment, this one was heartfelt. It was impressive that someone who had likely never been schooled in debate could be so persuasive.

“You have quite the gift for words.”

“I only speak what I truly believe.”

“Well, if that is your stance.”

Lucian opened his grip on Brunda’s hand as if conceding the point. Only then was Brunda able to retract his limb, his fingers already fractured and trembling. Looking at his half-brother, Einar gave a sharp, disapproving click of his tongue.

“Take your seat.”

“….”

Brunda shook with suppressed humiliation but sat down in silence. He understood that any further protest would only deepen the stain on his honor.

Once the tension eased, another contingent led by yet another figure entered the pavilion. Unlike Einar, who had stepped in out of a twisted sense of brotherhood, this new arrival looked as though they had been waiting in the wings to capitalize on the carnage. As the four heirs sat in proximity, a heavy, uncomfortable silence filled the space.

“It appears the assembly is complete.”

With a booming, gravelly voice, the final guest made his entrance. Catching sight of the veteran warrior with a scarred ear and a single piercing eye, Lucian recognized him instantly. He was Gunstein’s father, the leader of the Blue Dragon Tribe and the rival of Marius.

He was also the guardian of the Dragon’s Heart that Lucian had come to claim.

Ivar of the Red Axe.

Ivar marched through the hall and claimed the seat of power. In that instant, every person except Lucian stood up abruptly and roared.

“The lowly blood of the Dragon offers tribute to the Great Blue Dragon!”

“….”

“….”

Following the thunderous greeting, the room fell into a suffocating quiet. Eyes from every corner of the tent focused on Lucian, who remained firmly in his chair. It was a wordless weight, an implicit demand that he stand and show the same subservience.

However, Lucian merely rested his jaw on his palm with an arrogant look and spoke.

“How long do you plan to leave them standing? Their legs must be getting tired, so please, accept their greeting already.”

“…!?”

The heirs were stunned by his nonchalance, as if he were a mere spectator to the entire event. Even Ivar, who had looked disinterested until now, narrowed his lone eye. Unable to stay quiet, Brunda spoke up to explain the protocol to Lucian.

“Everyone is waiting for you to show your loyalty to the Chieftain.”

“Loyalty? Me, to your Leader?”

Lucian gave a sharp snort and tilted his head mockingly.

“How quaint. Why on earth would I do that?”

“You arrogant piece of filth!”

One furious fighter leaped to his feet, shouting. He was one of the men who had stood by while Lucian and Brunda were struggling.

“You occupy this space in Gunstein’s place! Therefore, it is mandatory that you show the honor that Gunstein would have shown!”

“Flawed reasoning. I have never stood in Gunstein’s place. I simply claimed the privileges he once held.”

“Is that not exactly the same thing!?”

“Hardly. Gunstein showed reverence to the Leader because he is his offspring and a subject of this clan. But I am not his child, nor am I a member of this tribe, so why should I bother?”

“….”

The warrior’s jaw dropped, finding no retort. When viewed logically, Lucian’s point was sound. What one earned by toppling a warrior was merely the social rank that warrior held. A tribe could not force the personal debts of a loser onto the winner. It was a basic truth, but the sheer audacity of an heir snubbing the Chieftain had paralyzed his mind.

“No, regardless of that…!”

“Silence.”

Ivar’s mouth, which had been set in a hard line, finally moved. At that freezing tone, the warrior went quiet and sat back down. After a moment, Ivar focused on Lucian and spoke.

“You are technically correct. You owe me no personal fealty.”

“I am glad you see reason.”

“However, before we move forward, realize this. I am currently overlooking your numerous insults. If you fail to exhibit even the most basic manners, my patience will evaporate.”

“Insults? What crimes have I supposedly committed?”

Lucian shrugged his shoulders as if genuinely baffled. Without pausing, Ivar gestured toward the space behind Lucian.

“There are many, but the most ridiculous is bringing a plaything to this sacred gathering.”

At the mention of a ‘plaything,’ Lucian’s group turned their heads. Indeed, Ivar was pointing his finger straight at Felicia.

“I do not know how immoral your kingdom is, but only warriors are permitted entry here. Unless your goal is to mock us, remove your concubine at once.”

“Then there is no issue. She isn’t a concubine; she is a warrior.”

“…What?”

Ivar asked, his face contorting into an expression of utter bewilderment. He looked so stunned that he couldn’t even maintain his stern mask. The other successors and their men had similar reactions.

“Did I hear that right? A woman is being called a warrior?”

“You heard correctly. She is a combatant and my personal protector.”

“Pfft! What a pathetic story!”

“A woman as a shield!”

“Now that is a rare comedy!”

“Hahaha!”

Upon Lucian’s confirmation, mocking laughter flooded the tent. Everyone was convinced Lucian was spinning a desperate lie just to keep Felicia near him. Especially since he hadn’t just labeled her a warrior, but his bodyguard.

“So, you are sheltered by a woman? You put a blade in a girl’s hand and ask her to save you?”

“Well, we fight side by side, but you aren’t entirely off the mark. If I were to trust anyone with my life, it would be her.”

“This is a masterpiece. A true work of art.”

A dark smile spread across Ivar’s face. He had been looking for a way to break this annoying brat. To think the boy would destroy his own standing so thoroughly. Inwardly laughing at Lucian’s perceived idiocy, Ivar asked with a blend of mockery and intent.

“Tell me then, how capable is this woman? Is she more powerful than you?”

“She is more powerful than you.”

“What?”

“I said she is significantly stronger than you. To be more accurate, I should say she is stronger than every person currently in this tent.”

The laughter died instantly. The faces of the warriors twisted as if they had been spit upon, and their hands instinctively moved to their hips. Since they were barred from bringing weapons to the feast, their fingers gripped nothing but air, but they looked ready to kill.

In the thick, murderous atmosphere, Ivar stared at Lucian with eyes full of lethal intent.

“Are you prepared to stand by those words?”

Lucian replied immediately, without a shred of doubt.

“If there is even one warrior in this room who can survive a single blow from her sword, I will hand you my head.”