An instant later, a thunderous roar shook the training grounds.
Lucas let out a long breath he had not realized he was holding.
Varkas tore his halberd from the man’s chest and wheeled his horse around.
As the flickering torchlight illuminated his sharp features, the roar of the onlookers surged into a frenzy. Lucas swept his eyes over the warriors, their faces flushed red with bloodlust and awe, before turning his gaze back to Varkas.
In the midst of the madness, his brother was utterly calm.
With an impassive face that bordered on boredom, Varkas rode across the yard and swung down lightly from the saddle.
“Find out if there are any other capable men in the Gutban house.”
Passing his weapon to a servant who had rushed forward in a panic, Varkas turned to Daren.
“If there is no suitable heir, look among the retainers for someone fit to govern the southeast.”
“There… there is a fairly skilled warrior among his half-brothers,” Daren replied, his voice trembling slightly.
“He was meant to join the Wolfram Lancer Corps… and having studied at the capital’s academy, he should be more than capable of ruling a fief.”
Stripping off his steel gauntlets and handing them to the servant, Varkas lightly tapped his lips, lost in thought.
“Bring him before me without delay. If he proves capable, we will hold his investiture at once.”
Two squires unbuckled the heavy iron breastplate from his torso. Lightened of the weight, Varkas cut straight through the crowd toward Lucas.
Lucas took an involuntary step back. Then, as the woman he had been holding stumbled as if her legs had given out, he hastily caught her by the waist to steady her.
Heat rushed to his head in an instant.
Her waist was small enough to fit within his hands, hands that had not even fully grown into a man's. And her skin, luminous even in the shadows, gave off a sweet, intoxicating scent unlike anything he had ever known.
What in the world is this smell?
Without thinking, he leaned close to the nape of her neck and inhaled—only for a sharp slap to send fire across his cheek.
Lucas clutched his burning cheek, stunned.
The woman shoved him away, her eyes blazing with fury.
“What do you think you’re doing, you little pervert?!”
“P-Pervert?!”
He stared at her, entirely bewildered.
“I was only trying to stop you from falling…!”
“If you were catching me, why were you sniffing me?”
Lucas flushed crimson to the roots of his hair. Under her venomous glare, a wave of humiliation—sharp and unfamiliar—crashed over him.
He shouted back in sheer frustration,
“I only leaned in because you smelled strange…!”
A crack sounded as fire flared across his other cheek. Lucas staggered back.
What is wrong with this woman?
He was no stranger to bruises and blood from relentless drills, but no one had ever struck him across the face.
He glared at her, trembling with mortification. Just as he opened his mouth to shout back, Raina came tearing in and slammed into the woman.
“How dare you lay your hands on him! You witch!”
Against Raina’s arms, hardened from years in the saddle, the woman was thrown back like a scrap of parchment. Still seething with rage, Lucas reached out on reflex to catch her.
Before his hand could touch her, a long arm swept in and snatched her from the air. Lucas looked up, startled.
Varkas had arrived without a sound. Holding her against him, he looked down at his siblings with eyes like ice.
“…It seems you both need to be taught the house rules from the beginning.”
Varkas’s voice was frigid. He turned to the pale-faced Raina and added, “Neither of you will ride for the time being.”
“Brother, that—that’s not fair…!”
Deaf to Raina’s protest, Varkas turned his back and gave an order to Daren.
“Assign a strict tutor to the two of them. They do not take a single step beyond the castle walls until they have learned how to behave.”
Without waiting for Daren’s answer, he strode away toward the keep.
Behind him, the thunderous cheers of the warriors rolled on unabated. To the Easterners, who revered strength above all else, his display had been absolute.
The servants, however, were terrified by the ruthless butchery they had witnessed; many were crossing themselves and muttering prayers under their breath. Meanwhile, the gathered nobles were already in heated whispers over the young lord's reckless execution.
Paying none of it any mind, the man walked leisurely from the grounds.
Raina, who had stood frozen until his back disappeared, finally burst into tears.
“This isn’t fair!”
She looked around, desperate for someone to agree.
“That woman started all of this! Why are we the ones being punished?!”
Lucas ignored his sister’s near-hysterical wailing and walked out into the middle of the bloodied yard.
The soldiers clearing away Alec Gutban’s body parted respectfully before him. Kneeling beside the blackened corpse, Lucas closely inspected his brother’s handiwork.
The heart had been pierced in one stroke. Blackened blood welled endlessly from within the shattered breastplate, and grey matter seeped slowly from the skull, crushed when the body struck the earth.
When the soldiers finally pried off the dented helmet, it revealed rolled-back white eyes and thick lips caked in bloody froth.
The end of the man who, until this morning, was hailed as the greatest lancer in the East was grotesque.
“He was just large. His skills were nothing special.”
“Far from it.”
Tyrone, who had walked up beside him, gave a hollow laugh and shook his head.
“In his youth, he strangled trolls with his bare hands. He had finesse to match that terrifying bulk. No one could have predicted he would die so pathetically.”
Lucas looked up at him, an uneasy frown settling on his brow.
“Won’t this cause trouble?”
“It was a duel of honor, agreed upon by both sides. If they make a grievance of it, the Gutban family will be the laughingstock of the realm,” Tyrone said dismissively.
“Besides, while it was the Young Family Head who challenged him, it was this brute who insulted his authority first. No one can point a finger at the Shearkan family for what happened here.”
Tyrone spoke with certainty, then looked toward the pavilion where the nobles lingered, his eyes narrowing.
“Still, there will be ripples among the lords.”
Lucas followed his gaze toward the high seats. The regional lords appeared thoroughly unsettled by the realization that the master of the southeast had been replaced in a matter of heartbeats.
Watching the lords mutter among themselves, Tyrone let out a small sigh. “They may move up the succession ceremony. It will take an undisputed Grand Duke to put this chaos to rest.”
“Why are you the one who’s angry?”
Talia, who had been sitting curled up on the edge of the bed with a sullen glare, finally could not endure the silence any longer.
Varkas said nothing as he walked to the shelf, rummaging through the cabinet. His face was as composed as ever. Yet Talia could tell he was in a foul temper. All the way back to the bedchamber, he had not spoken a single word, nor had he even looked in her direction.
It was infuriating. She was the one who had the right to be angry. Had he not charged off to fight without listening to a single word she said?
Talia glared at him, her eyes burning.
Whenever she remembered that monstrous beast hurtling toward Varkas, a chill ran down her spine and her stomach violently twisted.
The carnage that followed had not shocked her at all. She had simply wanted to drop to her knees and thank God that he was alive.
Yet she wanted just as desperately to beat the man who had terrified her half to death. Had her knees not been shaking so badly she could barely stand, she would have marched over and struck him already.
END