Chapter 136

Chapter 136
## Chapter 136

Lucian’s calm posture caused a surge of fury to rise within Einar.

“I’m not finished!”

Regaining his balance, Einar yanked back the axe that had been halted.

While his initial strike had been built for velocity, he intended for this following blow to carry every bit of his physical power. This approach naturally left his defense wide open, yet Lucian simply waited with composure, almost inviting the assault.

“Hmph!”

Whoosh!

As the fibers of his arm muscles swelled to their breaking point, Einar’s blade whistled toward the peak of Lucian’s skull. The strike was so violent that the sheer friction of the air snapping reached the ears of every bystander.

However, Lucian didn’t even lift a hand to parry this time. He merely gave his head a slight tilt.

Clang!

“Urgh!”

Einar fought to stifle a cry of pain as the shockwave of the impact traveled from his palms through his arms. It felt less like hitting a person and more like slamming his weapon into a massive, unbreakable slab of enchanted steel.

Though he squinted from the stinging vibration, a small, triumphant grin touched his mouth.

Surely, no one could take a hit like that without consequence.

A rebound that powerful meant the force delivered was equally catastrophic. Regardless of Lucian’s capabilities, he couldn’t possibly brush off a direct hit of that magnitude.

With that conviction, Einar looked up, only for his jaw to drop in disbelief. Lucian, whose neck was currently resting against the very edge of the axe, looked nothing more than deeply bored.

“Is that the best you can do?”

“What… how…!”

Einar was so stunned he couldn’t form a coherent sentence.

The side of the neck is infinitely more vulnerable than the top of the head, where the bone is thickest. To witness Lucian absorb an axe blade to the throat without a single scratch or a hint of discomfort was unthinkable.

“Since you’re done, I believe it’s my turn.”

Fwoosh!

As if declaring that the time for games had passed, a surge of mana radiated from Lucian. At that same moment, a blistering wave of heat—a sensation completely foreign to the frozen plains—buffeted Einar.

Einar strained just to keep his feet against the sudden gale, but that was all he could manage. He had no defense left for the blade that followed.

Boom!

“…!”

Caught by a weight that felt like a falling mountain, Einar was launched into the sky. Then, struck squarely in the forehead by a secondary follow-up, he was driven into the dirt.

The exchange occurred with such blinding speed that those watching through the shimmering heat couldn’t discern what had happened.

Thud.

“Wh-what was that?”

“What just occurred?”

As the thermal distortion faded and the clan members saw Einar sprawled motionless on the earth, they exchanged bewildered looks. They had blinked against the wind, heard a solitary, deafening roar, and the fight was over.

Lucian cast a brief look over the stunned crowd before returning his sword to its rest.

“Next.”

Ivar felt the marrow in his bones turn to water.

The setting mirrored the first trial, yet the weight of hopelessness was far heavier now.

How could they possibly fight an adversary who seemed completely impervious to steel?

The combatant from the first trial—that master of martial forms—at least appeared human. Even if no one could land a hit, it was understood that a successful strike would result in a wound and bloodshed.

But Lucian surpassed mere skill; he seemed entirely unaffected by the very physics of impact.

“Father, do not give in to despair just yet.”

Brunda’s low voice pulled Ivar from his thoughts. Turning, he saw Brunda wearing a confident smirk, his gaze filled with a hungry light.

“Regardless of the authority he’s claimed, his power clearly stems from the Dragon, just as ours does. Since we share a common source of strength, there must be a way to counter him.”

“Have you discovered a method?”

“I won’t waste time with words; I’ll demonstrate it for you.”

With that, Brunda walked out toward Lucian with a swagger. Ivar was struck by his son’s audacity, seeing him remain unfazed even after such a display of dominance. He had always viewed Brunda as a simple-minded, violent man, but perhaps he possessed a willpower he hadn’t credited.

Perhaps my judgment was flawed.

He had always seen Einar as the rightful heir, the one with the perfect mix of intellect and courage. But in this moment, Brunda looked like the one truly fit to lead the tribe.

Stepping out under his father’s proud gaze, Brunda unsheathed a massive greatsword.

“I am your second challenger.”

“Hmm.”

Lucian studied Brunda. Even after seeing what had happened to the others, there was no fear in the man’s eyes. It could be called bravery, but to Lucian, it looked more like a lack of contact with reality.

This one is useless.

Even if Lucian let him live, Brunda was the sort to wait for a moment of weakness to strike, convinced he would eventually win. It was more efficient to remove him now and save Einar the future trouble.

Completely unaware that his death warrant had been signed, Brunda smiled.

“I’ll give you credit. Using the Dragon’s essence in that manner is impressive. The power of our ancestors is indeed limitless.”

“…”

“But if the source is identical, then that same power can cancel itself out. For instance, watch this!”

Hummmm!

“Dragon’s Blessing!”

“Since when could he…!”

The clansmen gasped as they saw a visible aura of mana coiling around Brunda’s heavy blade. To shape and coat a weapon in mana required a level of technical skill that went beyond raw heart-power. It was clear Brunda’s training had reached a surprisingly high tier.

Lucian, however, simply looked at the glowing sword and let out a dry laugh.

“Pathetic. Stop trying so hard to look formidable. It doesn’t look natural on you. It must be exhausting just trying to keep that energy from dissipating.”

Brunda’s expression soured at the blunt remark. As Lucian observed, the mana on the sword wasn’t a product of true mastery. He was violently forcing the Dragon’s power he had recently claimed into the metal and struggling to refill the energy that was leaking out every second.

It was like trying to keep a shattered bucket full by holding it under a waterfall.

“You won’t be able to keep that up for long. Why not give up before you pass out from the strain?”

“A moment of this power is all I need to end you.”

Sweat began to bead on Brunda’s brow from the effort of maintaining the technique. Even as his vitality visibly ebbed away, he continued to boast.

“You’re obviously using the Dragon’s power to make your skin like stone. But what happens when that power meets its own reflection?”

“Ho.”

Lucian offered a small nod of acknowledgement. Brunda’s logic wasn’t entirely wrong. If two identical forces clashed, there was a chance a Dragon’s Scale could be bypassed. While Einar’s physical strength was insufficient, a direct mana-on-mana collision might produce a different result.

“You see it now, don’t you? Even if this is just a temporary surge, the moment this edge touches you—!”

Flash!

Brunda lunged forward mid-sentence. His sudden burst of speed suggested he had been talking purely to distract Lucian and set up a sneak attack.

So that’s why he was babbling and wasting his reserves.

Lucian smiled as the man charged. Since he wasn’t entirely sure how their mana would interact, he decided not to rely on his passive defense this time.

The solution was simple.

Zip!

“What?”

With a sound like a sharp intake of breath, Lucian vanished from Brunda’s line of sight. Having swung at nothing but air, Brunda tried to spin around. But before his head could even move, his perspective shifted violently toward the ground.

“Why…?”

Splat.

With that final question, Brunda’s head hit the snow. A second later, his lifeless torso collapsed beside it.

Having decapitated the man in a single, fluid motion, Lucian shook his head and whispered.

“The theory was sound. But it was only a theory.”

Regardless of how potent a technique is, it’s useless if it never connects. There was no way Brunda, who had only a tiny fraction of the Dragon’s essence, could match the speed of Lucian, who held more than half of it. If Brunda had waited for Lucian to stand still—as he had for Einar—it might have worked. But Lucian had no reason to act as a target for someone broadcasting their intent so loudly.

Brunda likely knew he couldn’t manifest that power instantly, so he tried to manufacture an opening. But when the disparity in talent is this vast, such schemes are futile.

Of course, if Brunda had been capable of understanding that gap, he never would have stepped forward in the first place.

Turning away from the corpse, Lucian looked toward Ivar.

“Step up, third.”

“…”

Facing Lucian’s sudden shift to a commanding tone, Ivar walked forward in silence. Some might have seen his walk as stoic, but Lucian recognized it for what it was: the walk of a man who had already accepted his end. Those who see no way out usually carry that specific aura of resignation.

Ivar looked at his son’s head for a moment before speaking with a voice that shook.

“Don’t get too comfortable just because you’ve seized the throne. One day, you’ll meet an end just as bloody as ours.”

“Do you honestly believe that?”

“You’re a child; you have no idea how the world truly works.”

“I’m asking what you think.”

“…”

“Do you truly see me falling? Can you actually picture a future where that happens?”

Ivar bit his lip at Lucian’s cold, knowing grin. He had shouted the curse out of spite, but deep down, he couldn’t imagine any force that could bring Lucian down. That realization was more painful than any wound.

“You monster.”

Lucian gave a soft laugh. To the victor, the desperate insults of the defeated were the best kind of flattery.

Click, thud.

Lucian flicked the crimson from his steel and slid it back into its scabbard. Simultaneously, the second body—the father’s—slumped into the snow.

With the heads of the father and son resting side-by-side on the white ground, Lucian turned to the assembled tribe and made his decree.

“From this moment on, I am your King.”

“…”

“…”

The tribespeople fell into a heavy silence. There were no cheers, but there was no mourning for their fallen leader either. The display they had just witnessed was so far beyond their reality that they couldn’t process it emotionally.

He hadn’t shown them a masterclass in martial arts like the woman before him, nor had he fought with the desperate valor of a legendary hero. He had treated their strongest attacks like the buzzing of flies, then swatted them away with a terrifying, effortless power.

To them, it hadn’t been a duel; it had looked like a god coming down to the mortal plane to punish the prideful. The gazes they leveled at Lucian weren’t the respectful looks given to a champion, but the terrified awe reserved for the divine.

“K-King…”

“My King…!”

As one shivering elder dropped to his knees, the rest followed suit in a wave. Lucian had seen crowds bow to him before, but the energy here was different. Before, there had been a glimmer of hope for a new era; now, they were simply prostrating themselves in the hopes of not being the next to die.

Feeling the sheer terror radiating from the people, Lucian felt a pang of irony.

*I wanted them to understand my power… but perhaps I was a bit too thorough.*