Dranner’s PoV

I stood in the circle I had been forced to peg out myself and steamed.

He wasn’t here yet. Was he planning to run away? Scared?

A small smile twitched at my lips at the thought.

Some tiny voice in the back of my mind pointed out that he lived in the Beast Forest and didn’t seem even remotely concerned at the thought of fighting me, a soon-to-be A-class adventurer, but I dismissed it.

Even if he was decently strong, or if I was supposed to be escorting him, as a noble I couldn’t let such an affront as the one I had suffered go unpunished. That was what my uncle had taught me and my uncle was always right. He was a Duke after all!

“We nobles are a superior breed,” he’d say, “commoners are beneath us, only worthy to serve us. True happiness is having other men bow to you in recognition of your superior bloodline!”

“Uncle, uncle, if that’s true happiness, why do the commoners seem so happy?” I’d asked the first time he’d told me that. He’d beaten me so hard I’d bled, then gathered me into his arms and said “Dranner, someday you will be Marquess, in charge of the northern border of Arivin! When that time comes, you will be above all but the Royal Family and the Dukes. None of that weak mindedness can be tolerated! You are my nephew, your parents left you to me while they subjugated the Goblin Army, you must not disgrace your family or me! You must be strong! Strong enough to make any man who will not bow to your superior blood bow to your superior arms!”

I was broken out of my memories as that giant false dragon thing shifted its coils, revealing that doorway of black mist that opened into my opponent’s tower.

My opponent stepped out, followed by the irritating wolfkin examiner who’s status as a Baron merited only the smallest respect, and that even more irritating scruffy-looking commoner catkin. Infested with fleas almost certainly.

“Yo,” Lyte called in that uncivilised manner of his.

“Hurry up!” I ordered sharply, “I've been waiting!”

“Still got five minutes,” he answered back, “but sure, we can start early if you want.”

I drew a deep breath and slowly released it. What was I expecting? A commoner understanding the significance of such a duel as this? He could very well die by accident if I were unable to stop myself.

“Do ye know tha rules for the Osmus School of Dueling?” Thora asked the almost certainly ignorant country bumpkin, and I was surprised by his nodded affirmation. Maybe he was deserving of more credit than I had expected, though if he had that sort of knowledge, his nonchalance was even more unacceptable.

“Good. In that case, Ready Weapons!” the dwarf called.

I drew my prized blade, its weight a comfort in my hand, then looked over to my opponent, noting he didn’t even have a weapon. Perhaps he was intending to surrender immediately?

“I wanted to ask earlier, but are you compensating for something?” he asked, his mask shifting as though he was making some kind of expression underneath. A huge weapon appeared in his hands from nowhere. I quickly judged it to be many times heavier than my own sword. Or rather, it would be if it were actually solid metal. From the way my opponent was holding it, it couldn’t weigh even remotely what it appeared to. Clearly it was fake, only used to appear strong to intimidate the opponent, no actual substance behind it. Such cheap tricks, but I wouldn’t let myself be put off, oh no, I would show him real strength!

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“...because I know I'm not.” Crude humour, as expected of inferior commoners, but still irritating.

“Actually, I don't think I'll fight you with this.” The massive weapon vanished, being replaced with a much smaller blue sword. What? Afraid your fake weapon might be shown to be phony? “You might die if I just dropped it on you, so I'll use this Muramasa instead.” The words were obviously bravado, but the tone was absolutely unacceptable. The only person who had spoken to me like that before was my uncle, and he was clearly of higher nobility than I, which made it acceptable. At least, according to my uncle. From a commoner, it was truly unacceptable.

“Don't insult me,” I ground out through clenched teeth.

“Why? Because you can't tolerate even a few small insults? Or is it because you've realised that I've been putting you off your concentration so you wouldn't be able to fight me properly, even though it wouldn't make a difference? Why don't you try it? It might improve your chances of winning!” His bravado-filled laugh tore my last nerve. I would beat him black and blue before I allowed him to surrender, otherwise I just wouldn’t be satisfied.

“Hurry up and start this Thora! I want to destroy this asshole!” I ordered.

“Ah, right,” the dwarf cleared his throat and raised his voice: “Let the duel begin!”

I caught the barest flicker of movement, I hurriedly raised my sword, and suddenly he was there in front of me, completely still.

I couldn’t move, my instincts were screaming at me to remain frozen, like that statue uncle has of himself. I couldn’t see the point of his blade under my chin, but as his hand shifted slightly I could feel a prick on my Adam’s apple.

A bead of blood ran into my vision down the edge of his ocean-blue blade. My eyes followed it down, until it rolled off his sword onto the metal of mine which his blade had slashed horizontally halfway through.

“You gonna call it?” Lyte asked the dwarven priest.

I was struggling not to swallow, each tremble of my throat sending another little trickle of blood down his weapon.

“Ah, er, yes. Lyte is the winner!” Thora declared haltingly.

The blue blade slid out of the gash it had made in my weapon as Lyte pulled it back. I sank to the ground, allowing my sword to fall out of my trembling hand.

“What?! No! Impossible! He must have cheated!” I shouted, angry with my own voice for sounding so shocked, then my eyes focused on his blue blade. “Yes, that sword! It must be a powerful artefact to pierce through my blade!”

“It is a pretty good sword,” he admitted. I knew it! “...but not good enough to pierce through steel that easily.”

“Then you must have done something! Some trick or… something!”

“Would you like to redo this with a different sword then? How about one that won't piece steel when I infuse it with my lifeforce? Which is allowed in the Osmus Rules by the way. Shall I start with the weakest sword I have?” he sounded like he was deliberately trying to sound helpful, which reignited a spark of anger inside me. No noble needed help from a commoner! My uncle would never forgive me if I did! But… he would never forgive me if I lost this duel either…

Even before I could answer, the deep blue sword vanished, being replaced with a short copper one. A moment later, he bent and slashed at my sword as it lay on the ground, leaving a shallow gash along the flat of the blade. My complaint died on my lips as I stared at the sword he was holding.

The amount of lifeforce coursing through the copper was so immense even I could feel it! Even as I watched, a red hot crack appeared on the blade, more forming every moment! Just how much lifeforce was required for that to happen?!

“Ah, bugger, now I’m going to have to reforge this,” Lyte muttered to himself, the lifeforce suddenly disappearing along with the copper shortsword, a new one appearing in its place.

How was he so strong?! No, no, it must be some kind of trick! There’s no way someone who isn’t a noble could have that kind of power!

“You- are you a noble from another country?” I croaked, slowly getting to my feet. It wouldn’t do to bow before foreign nobility.

“Nope, not even distantly related to one,” he replied cheerfully.

There’s no way! Then he must have cheated somehow! There’s no way a commoner could get so strong! Could nobles not actually be a breed above commoners? My uncle floated across my mind’s eye. No! He must have used some kind of dirty trick! That’s the only way he could have won!

“Sooo~ do you want to try another duel?”

There was a moment's shocked silence.

“Dammit!” I cried, and left the ring, leaving my sword where it lay on the ground at his feet. There was no way I could bend before him to pick it up. My uncle would kill me.