Chapter 172

Chapter 172
## Chapter 172

The thunderous waves of applause didn’t just leave the noble patriarchs in a state of shock.

In reality, the heaviest weight of that vocal worship fell upon the knights who had stepped forward to test Felicia.

To them, Felicia had been viewed as little more than an unproven novice—simply the ward and student of the Sword Saint.

She was a woman who had never truly displayed her prowess in the public eye, laying claim to the legendary title of Sword Saint purely because of her lineage and connection to the man himself.

That had been their firm conviction, but what was the meaning of this roar from the crowd that sounded less like cheer and more like religious devotion?

While the challengers wavered, unsettled by the audience’s fervor, a piercing resonance sliced through the air.

Thrum—!

“…!”

A physical ripple pulsed across the entire stadium, surging outward in every direction and instantly drowning out the wall of sound.

Caught off guard by the sudden phenomenon, the spectators fell into an abrupt, eerie silence.

A moment later, a chill of terror ran through the challengers as they realized Felicia was the origin of the wave.

Had she generated such a massive vibration merely by tapping the tip of her sheath against the stone floor?

It would have been less terrifying if she had simply shattered the fortifications with a blunt show of force.

With an absurd amount of mana, anyone could manage raw destruction.

But to transmit a vibration that carried no lethal intent—one that only caused the marrow of their bones to hum—across such a distance?

Such a feat was unattainable unless her mastery over mana had crossed into the territory of the divine.

Standing in the center of the now-hushed coliseum, Felicia spoke.

“I am Felicia Brightner. I am the daughter of the previous Sword Saint, Eisen Brightner, and I am the Sword Saint of this era.”

The competitors bristled at her bold proclamation.

Not a single soul had formally recognized her as the Sword Saint, yet here she was, already draping the mantle over her own shoulders.

The urge to shout ‘How dare you’ reached their lips, but the defiance died there.

No matter how they struggled to voice their protest, the words remained trapped, as if their throats had constricted shut.

It was as if their own biological instincts were conceding that she possessed the authority to make such a claim.

“Step forward.”

As if any further debate was a waste of breath, Felicia signaled the challengers with a simple wave of her hand.

Provoked by that dismissive confidence—one that showed no doubt regarding her own status—one of the knights ground his teeth and roared.

“Aserad Tolgrim of the Tolgrim family seeks a match with Sir Felicia!”

The sequence of the duels had been established beforehand, but those formalities had evaporated.

The men who were meant to precede Aserad were currently paralyzed, suppressed by Felicia’s sheer presence.

Aserad felt that if he didn’t intervene, the entire line of challengers would be defeated by her spirit alone before a single blade was drawn.

“…”

Felicia regarded Aserad with a silent, heavy stare.

Her eyes seemed to be questioning why he remained stationary after announcing his intent.

Aserad vaulted onto the platform and unsheathed his steel.

“Draw your weapon as well!”

“It is already out.”

“Stop talking nonse—!”

Aserad, ready to snap back at her, suddenly went rigid.

Felicia’s sword was indeed drawn.

Seeing the edge radiating the distinct, ethereal glow of Fairy Light, Aserad felt his throat go dry.

When had she pulled it?

The blade had undeniably been tucked in its scabbard the moment Aserad jumped onto the stage.

Since that second, he hadn’t detected a single twitch of her shoulder, nor any sound of metal leaving wood.

…Do not be fooled. It is a mere sleight of hand.

Speed in unsheathing was not the ultimate measure of a master.

If he maintained his composure and looked for a gap in her defense, an opportunity would inevitably present itself.

Aserad tried to steady his racing heart with that logic.

The issue was that no matter how intensely he scrutinized her, there was not a single flaw to be found.

Every mental simulation of a thrust or a strike ended the same way: with his blade parried and a counter-blow ending his life.

Dammit, this feels like standing before my master back at the academy. Forget finding an opening; should I just throw caution to the wind and strike?

“…”

Felicia watched Aserad, who remained frozen in his combat stance.

She stood in a neutral position, appearing to give the challenger the first move.

However, when Aserad failed to initiate an attack even after a long silence, a soft sigh escaped her.

“That is enough. Please depart.”

“What?”

“The duel is concluded.”

“Listen here! What kind of mockery is this?! I haven’t even swung my blade a single time!”

“I have.”

“…?”

“Check your throat.”

Aserad scowled, reaching up to touch his neck.

He recoiled as his skin met something warm and wet.

Pulling his hand back, he stared at the smear of crimson blood on his fingertips.

When did she—!

Aserad’s pupils dilated in pure shock.

The neck was the most vulnerable of vitals.

Even a minor slip of the blade could sever an artery; it was a part of the body where ‘restraint’ was almost a myth.

And yet, from a distance, while executing a strike he couldn’t even perceive, she had merely parted the surface of his skin.

It was a feat more illogical than hitting a finger with a sledgehammer and only chipping the edge of a fingernail.

“Step down. Your test is over.”

At Felicia’s cold, indisputable command, Aserad’s head slumped in defeat.

Seeing the hollow end of the first bout, the remaining knights gripped their hilts, their palms slick with sweat.

What they witnessed varied based on their individual prowess, but their conclusion was identical.

There is no opening.

If there was even a shadow of a mistake, they could attempt a strategy, but there was nothing.

At this rate, they would all be humiliated and driven from the field.

But the event, now in motion, offered them no luxury of time.

“Next.”

As Felicia’s voice rang out with calm authority, the candidates squeezed their eyes shut.

—

“Step down.”

The seventh man walked off the stage, his shoulders hunched in shame.

The challenger had rotated seven times now, yet the script remained unchanged.

Just like Aserad, they had all hesitated, shuffled their feet, and were dismissed after receiving a shallow graze on their necks.

For the watching aristocrats, it was an infuriating display.

If they were going to draw their swords, they should at least swing them; what was wrong with these men?

Specifically, the leaders of the houses representing these knights felt more than just irritation—they felt deep, burning embarrassment.

“What a pathetic showing! To behave like cowards with the whole world watching…!”

“They shouldn’t have bothered. What a laughable performance after such big talk.”

“I was a fool to pin my hopes on them. Just wait until we return to the manor.”

The patriarchs fumed at the perceived cowardice, but the knights had their own defense.

One can only attack when a path exists; what were they supposed to do when every path led to death?

Charging blindly would have resulted in an even more pathetic defeat than losing while standing still.

It was precisely because they possessed enough skill to recognize the chasm between them that they chose the only logical option: immobility.

Of course, the family heads, who weren’t the ones facing Felicia’s killing intent, couldn’t possibly grasp the terror.

It was then that the eighth man stepped into the light.

“Biserk Elster of the Elster family requests a duel with Sir Felicia.”

“…Oh.”

Upon seeing this opponent, Felicia let out a soft sound of interest and adjusted her stance.

The crowd erupted in whispers at the sight of Felicia’s first physical adjustment.

“The King’s Great Warrior actually moved…!”

“She didn’t change her posture once against the others!”

“Is this knight finally going to show us a real fight?”

Every eye in the stadium locked onto the challenger.

However, despite the hype, Biserk also hesitated, failing to launch a proper offensive.

Felicia, too, struck as soon as the allotted time passed, just as she had with the others.

Clang—!

“Ugh!”

A pained grunt escaped Biserk.

As he stumbled back from the numbing vibration in his arm, he saw his shattered blade spinning through the air.

While the method had shifted, the outcome was largely the same.

“Step down.”

“…Before I go, I must ask one thing.”

“Speak.”

“Why did you only target my weapon?”

Biserk was lost.

A sword was a knight’s soul.

To intentionally target and break the blade could be seen as the ultimate sign of disrespect.

“Was that blade precious to you?”

“It was not. I am simply searching for the logic behind the choice.”

“There is no deep meaning. I simply didn’t think I could safely target your neck, so I went for the sword instead.”

“What?”

“If I had aimed for your throat and you attempted an awkward evasion, wouldn’t it have ended in a tragedy?”

“…!”

The precision required to only graze the skin of the neck carried the risk of accidental homicide if the target moved unpredictably.

In other words, it was a move reserved for when the difference in skill was so massive it was impossible for the opponent to react.

Conversely, it was a dangerous move to attempt against someone who actually had some talent.

Unless they saw the strike perfectly, they might move into the path of the blade and die.

Felicia had just signaled that she viewed Biserk as a ‘capable warrior.’

So she is saying I am on a different level than those who came before me.

It was a judgment some might find patronizing, but Biserk felt a surge of pride.

It was an attack the others couldn’t even perceive.

Yet, she had altered her technique because she believed Biserk had the potential to actually respond.

As a knight, how could he not be moved by the fact that the Sword Saint of the era had validated his ability?

Biserk fought back a grin and bowed deeply to Felicia.

“I am grateful for the explanation.”

As he left the arena, Biserk felt the weight of hundreds of eyes.

Turning back, he saw the glares of the other challengers—eyes burning with envy and resentment.

Those who had already lost were jealous of his superior evaluation, and those yet to fight were terrified of whether they could even match his standard.

In an instant, Biserk had become the yardstick to separate the commoners from the true elites.

Walking with a new sense of dignity, Biserk suddenly realized something.

…Wait, the Sword Saint’s validation? Did I just accept her as the Sword Saint in my own mind?

Reflecting on it, the shift was startling.

This entire gathering was meant to decide who would become the next Sword Saint.

Only minutes ago, he had been consumed by the desire to topple her and take the title for himself.

Yet, before even ten men had fought, the challengers, Biserk included, were already treating her as the undisputed master of the blade.

Biserk, noticing how his entire perspective had been reshaped without him realizing, gave a wry, pained smile.

I think I finally grasp what the mantle of Sword Saint truly signifies.

One does not need the permission or acknowledgment of the masses to hold the title.

One simply needs to exist in such a way that no one can find the breath to deny it.

Understanding the true weight of that name, Biserk looked back at Felicia and whispered.

“It is a summit far beyond my reach.”

—

“Hmph, I expected them to finally put on a decent show.”

“I have no idea what these boys are doing out there.”

When even Biserk failed to produce a spectacular clash, the patriarchs sighed in unison.

At this rate, forget the honor of the Sword Saint; the reputation of the entire North was going to be dragged through the mud.

Could not a single one of them show the courage to charge with their life on the line?

“I fear the visitors from abroad will mock the North for this.”

“Sometimes, a man must strike even when he knows he will fall.”

“Truly, the youth of this generation…!”

Lucian let out a soft laugh at the sound of the family heads grumbling.

They wouldn’t fare any better if they stood in front of Felicia, yet they were quick to judge.

Still, it’s not ideal for everyone to keep losing in a single breath. We need one or two masters who can actually trade blows with her.

No matter how profound the skill shown, it was wasted if the audience lacked the eyes to see it.

It was better to have at least one fight that provided some theatrical flair.

It was just as Lucian was scanning the remaining knights for such a candidate.

“Y-Your Highness. We have an emergency. You must come immediately.”

Raymon, who had approached stealthily, grabbed Lucian’s sleeve, his face drenched in a cold sweat.

He was so shaken that his hands felt as if they had been submerged in a bucket of water.

“What is the matter? Is there an incursion?”

“It is far worse. His Highness the First Prince is currently inside the White Castle’s dungeon.”

“…What?”

Faced with news that defied all his calculations, Lucian could only stare back, completely stunned.