Chapter 129

Chapter 129
## Chapter 129

“Ha.”

A dry, hollow sound vibrated in Ivar’s throat.

He had not truly anticipated the foreigner would offer such high praise for the girl—not as a defensive maneuver, but with absolute certainty.

The situation was preposterous, yet Ivar’s frame trembled with a dark, hidden glee at the realization that the perfect moment to destroy Lucian had finally presented itself.

“A statement uttered cannot be retracted.”

“I am well aware; otherwise, the words would have remained unspoken.”

“Excellent!”

Ivar rose abruptly, his palm striking the wood of the table with a sharp crack that echoed through the hall.

Before a single soul could break the silence, he projected his voice in a grand announcement.

“Kinsmen of the Dragon, attend to me! By the strength of my lineage, I have guided this people! Yet the seasons have paled my hair and sapped the vigor from my spine!”

“…!”

“I am burdened by age, and the Weight of the Dragon is a load I can no longer carry alone. Thus, I seek to pass our legacy to a worthy heir! Are you prepared to take up this grueling responsibility?!”

Every successor, save for Lucian, rose as one and inclined their heads. It was a formal choreography, a silent confirmation that required no spoken words.

Ivar’s brow pinched as he noted Lucian remained seated and still, but his annoyance evaporated quickly.

A peculiar, sharp grin tugged at his mouth as he went on.

“…Very well! Your determination is noted! However, any who wish to claim this mantle must demonstrate their quality through three ancient challenges!”

Upon hearing this, the fighters gathered for the feast felt their throats tighten.

By invoking the rites of Chieftain selection, it was clear a trial was to commence immediately.

Dread and excitement mingled, for the nature of such a test could easily crown one man while ruining another.

With every gaze locked onto him, Ivar announced the opening challenge.

“Let he who seeks the throne display the power of the soldier who follows him! Show us the caliber of the warrior your spirit can command!”

Following Ivar’s shout, the eyes of the gathered men shifted toward Lucian.

The challenge itself was a classic; it had been used many times in their history to judge a leader’s influence.

The complication lay in the boast Lucian had made only moments before.

Having given his solemn word, if he dared to send out anyone other than the girl, he would be branded a coward and a liar forever.

‘He is finished.’

The soldiers traded mocking grins at Lucian’s perceived blunder.

The only logical path left for him was to withdraw from the trial and watch from the sidelines in shame.

Yet, shattering their assumptions, Lucian replied with a composed smirk.

“Your logic is sound. A follower is the reflection of their master. By observing the servant’s prowess, one can see the true depth of the lord.”

“…?”

The warriors stared in confusion at Lucian’s casual demeanor.

Was he truly going to risk everything on that solitary woman?

While the crowd remained trapped in skepticism, Lucian hammered home his resolve.

“Fine, I shall play your game. But I warn you—be cautious. My protector is far less patient than I am.”

—

—The foreigner has named a woman as his champion!

—He intends for her to duel our greatest warriors!

The scandals of the feast hall surged through the tribe like a wildfire.

The men who had been present made sure the news traveled fast.

Some did it to ridicule Lucian’s perceived insanity, but most spoke of it simply because the claim was too outrageous to keep quiet.

“A female warrior? Has the world gone mad?”

“Who can say? Perhaps that is the custom in the lands beyond the horizon.”

“He is a lunatic! A man who uses a woman as a shield dares to call himself a king?”

“Could the signs have been misinterpreted?”

“Sign or no sign, I refuse to bow to such a weakling!”

The common folk were in a state of fury over an act that spat in the face of their heritage.

The looks that had once held a hint of awe or trepidation were now curdling into pure malice.

For Ivar and the other rivals, the atmosphere was shifting exactly as they had hoped.

Regardless of the mounting tension, Lucian and his inner circle remained entirely unbothered.

The only person struggling was Gunstein, who had just realized the truth about Felicia’s role.

“My Lord! Why was I kept in the dark about this?!”

“Was I being secretive? You have seen the blade at her hip every day.”

“I assumed it was a trinket for protection! Even our village women carry small blades for emergencies!”

“Well, now you are informed. Next time you find something odd, feel free to ask.”

“No, that isn’t the point…!”

“Your Highness.”

Gunstein jumped at the soft voice appearing at his elbow.

He turned to find Felicia, who had moved with such silence he hadn’t noticed her approach. She was now kneeling respectfully before Lucian.

‘I didn’t hear a single footstep, yet she is right here…?’

Paying no mind to the startled Gunstein, Felicia looked to Lucian.

“How much restraint should I exercise?”

“What do you feel is appropriate?”

“It makes no difference to me. The end result will be the same: they will learn their place.”

“Then follow your instincts. Since combat in this territory is traditionally a fight to the end, you have my permission to do as you see fit.”

“As you wish. I shall calibrate my strikes according to the opposition.”

“…?”

Gunstein’s head whipped back and forth between them.

Because they spoke in such vague terms, he couldn’t grasp the gravity of their words.

“My Lord, what is this talk of ‘calibrating’? What is she adjusting?”

Lucian flashed Gunstein a wide, predatory smile.

“Simply put? She is deciding how much of them will be left when she is done.”

“…!?”

—

The following morning, the entire population of the tribe congregated at the base of the Chieftain’s great hall.

This was the traditional ground for duels overseen by the high seat.

Einar, arriving ahead of the main crowd, surveyed the scene and grumbled to himself.

“He seemed to possess a certain dignity, but I was mistaken. He is nothing but a merchant of empty threats.”

“Are you referring to the outsider, brother?”

“Who else? After making a suicidal boast, he clings to his pride and walks right into his own execution.”

Einar sighed at his lieutenant’s prompt.

If she was a subordinate he trusted so implicitly, even as a woman, she likely possessed some measure of talent.

Perhaps she had labored until she achieved a level of competence.

But to suggest she could finish every bout with a single motion…

‘Even if she only faces the weakest among us, it is a physical impossibility.’

If one gambles everything on an opening gambit, it might work once.

But if that gambit is repeated, the rhythm is exposed.

The third challenger would be preparing a parry; the fourth would spot the opening.

By the time she reached the fifth or sixth, the trick would be useless.

Unless she possessed a thousand different killing moves, the restriction of a single blow was a death sentence.

“It appears his blind faith in a girl has become his noose.”

“Faith? Don’t be foolish. It’s idiocy. A man who hides behind a skirt instead of drawing his own steel deserves whatever fate finds him.”

Standing near Einar, his other brother and rival, Gormsen, spat a jagged laugh.

Unlike Einar’s disappointment, Gormsen looked ready to claim Lucian’s life himself.

“It is better this way. Now our people won’t have to worry about a foreign ruler. Our father can finally rest easy.”

“On the contrary, the Guide’s reputation will be destroyed. Once the omens fail, the authority he has cultivated for decades will vanish.”

“You worry for that old ghost? The man who has been a thorn in our father’s side for years?”

“Whatever his motives, his wisdom is vital to these lands. Do not let your hunger for the throne blind you to what sustains us.”

The brothers traded sharp, icy glares.

This was their standard interaction; they were polar opposites who disagreed on every fundamental principle.

Usually, the argument would escalate, but surprisingly, Gormsen was the one to concede.

“Fine. You are tiresome, but with a stranger in our midst, we should focus on the common enemy. Let us remove him first.”

‘…You speak of unity, yet you did nothing when Brunda was almost maimed?’

Einar kept the thought behind his teeth.

He could at least agree with the desire to keep their sovereignty out of foreign hands.

Just as their tense exchange ended, the crowd began to roar.

“The King… no, the foreigner has arrived!”

“The Chieftain is descending!”

The shouts erupted from both flanks of the gathered tribe.

Lucian and Ivar emerged at the exact same moment, almost as if they had synchronized their entrance to command the stage.

It was a slight that might have normally pricked Ivar’s ego, but today his face was a mask of calm.

“The witnesses are assembled. We shall not waste time with pleasantries.”

Without any grand speeches, Ivar initiated the proceedings.

He cast a side-long glance at Lucian.

“Stranger. Do you stand by the vow you made yesterday?”

“Certainly. She shall be my blade.”

Lucian spoke without a hint of doubt.

At his signal, Felicia, who had been lingering in the shadows of the group, stepped into the open.

Seeing a woman actually prepare for combat, the crowd erupted into a chaotic drone of whispers.

“She’s really doing it… a girl is going to fight!”

“What is that man playing at?”

“He swore his own life if she fails even once.”

“Hah, he is either the bravest man alive or the most deluded.”

Ivar’s grin widened as he listened to the discontent.

In these frozen wastes, a woman claiming the title of warrior was an insult to their very identity.

Even if she triumphed by some miracle, the tribe would never truly follow a man who relied on her.

Ivar looked over his heirs, his satisfaction plain to see.

“Who will be the first to step forth? Who will present a warrior worthy of the Dragon’s blood?”

“I will take the lead.”

Gormsen stepped forward instantly.

More specifically, he gestured for Strad, his most trusted lieutenant and uncle, to take the field.

Strad was a veteran, a man of iron who had dedicated his life to seeing his nephew on the throne.

Ranked among the ten most formidable fighters in the tribe, his selection was undisputed.

“Excellent! Warriors, take your places! Prove your might and honor the master you serve!”

Despite Ivar’s booming voice, the crowd remained eerily quiet.

To them, this wasn’t a clash of titans; it was a veteran soldier against a girl.

It felt wrong—grotesque even.

In that heavy silence, Strad looked at Felicia with a sneer of pity.

“Girl, do not hold a grudge against me. Your master’s arrogance has brought you to this.”

“Are you still breathing?”

“What?”

“It has already concluded. Cease your talking and expire.”

“What kind of madness is—?”

Strad’s words cut off as he felt a sudden, hot dampness at his throat.

Frowning in confusion, he reached up to touch the sensation.

Dark, thick blood flooded over his fingers and rained onto the snow.

Only then did the realization hit: a deep, clean line had been drawn across his neck.

“H-ghhh…!”

A wet, whistling sound escaped the hole in his throat.

The wound widened rapidly, circling his entire neck like a red ribbon.

Before he could attempt another breath, Strad’s head slid from his shoulders and hit the ground with a dull thud.

“…”

“…”

The spectators stood frozen, unable to process the image.

What had just occurred?

The man’s head was on the ground, yet no one had seen a sword drawn, nor heard the ring of steel.

While the entire tribe stood in a state of shock, Felicia spoke into the silence.

“Next.”