Shall We Give Them a Chance? (2)
Tyrann couldn't immediately respond to Ghislain's proposal.
'When was the last time I fought without using mana…?'
It must have been at least twenty years. A person who can use mana would never willingly choose not to.
For those capable of wielding mana, not using it brings an overwhelming sense of unease.
It was only natural. It was like stripping away a layer of armor meant to protect oneself.
And yet, his opponent wanted to fight that way.
In truth, what mattered most in this duel wasn't just superior skill.
Courage. A courage that did not fear death was essential.
The mercenaries all watched Tyrann, curious to see if he would accept the challenge.
"Khh…"
Tyrann felt as though he'd been caught in another trap.
If he refused here? It would make him look like a coward. His authority would plummet.
For a man as proud as Tyrann, it was an offer he couldn't refuse, even if he didn't like it.
"You bastard…"
His insides churned with anger. Every time he exchanged words with that insufferable mage, he found himself getting drawn into his schemes.
He wanted to reject the proposal a hundred times over, but in the end, he had no choice but to nod.
"Fine. We'll do it your way."
Gritting his teeth, he steeled his mind. Still, he was confident he had the upper hand.
Compared to Yulian, his physique was far larger, his muscles much firmer. He couldn't imagine that the leaner man would be stronger than him.
The only real factor was how skilled and fearless his opponent was.
'That bastard won't be completely comfortable either.'
Though Yulian had suggested this method, at least half of it must have been bravado. His expression showed hints of nervousness.
As Tyrann accepted, Yulian also nodded. He then took out a dagger and bandages, starting to wrap his hand.
Deneb rushed over to help him, whispering urgently.
"Are you really okay with this?"
"Yeah. I'm fine."
"Why are you even fighting this way?"
Her face was filled with concern. Though Ghislain had warned her in advance, she still couldn't understand why this fight had to happen under such conditions.
Yulian chuckled and answered.
"Who knows? I don't really get it myself. But if Ghislain is behind this, there must be a reason."
After spending two years together, Yulian had grown to trust Ghislain more. The harsh training had made him undeniably stronger.
And he was beginning to grasp why this battle had to be fought this way.
'To handle these rough mercenaries, you need to show something beyond mere skill.'
If he fought as he normally would, someone would surely claim it was unfair—arguing about who had trained longer, who had the stronger mana cultivation technique.
But by fighting under Ghislain's proposed method, only two things would be displayed—his honed technique and his courage.
And for the majority of mercenaries who couldn't wield mana, that alone would be deeply impressive.
Deneb squeezed Yulian's hand, repeating herself several times.
"Be careful. If it gets too dangerous, just surrender. I don't care which mercenary group we end up in."
"Got it. Don't worry too much."
Yulian answered calmly. The two of them exchanged warm gazes.
Ghislain, watching them, narrowed his eyes and muttered.
"What's this? Suspicious… Don't tell me those two…"
He sensed an odd atmosphere between them.
While Ghislain was lost in his thoughts, Yulian and Tyrann finished their preparations and faced each other.
Everyone present held their breath, watching intently.
But to the two combatants, none of those gazes mattered anymore.
Now, their world contained only each other.
Tyrann raised his dagger and asked,
"Are you ready?"
"Yeah."
Swish!
The moment the words left Yulian's lips, Tyrann moved. His dagger shot toward Yulian's face like a lightning bolt.
Yulian twisted his head to evade. But Tyrann didn't stop—he continued his relentless assault.
'I need to end this as quickly as possible.'
In such a dangerous duel, prolonging the fight was not in his favor. Tyrann launched an all-out offensive, more aggressive than ever before.
His attacks were bold and fearless, and the watching mercenaries murmured in admiration.
"As expected of Tyrann."
"He doesn't seem fazed at all, even in such a risky fight."
"That's because he was never afraid to begin with. That's why he became this strong."
But unlike what they thought, Tyrann was actually growing increasingly anxious.
The only sound was the slicing wind. Even with his hands bound, Yulian was evading his attacks.
Tyrann realized that Yulian was far more skilled than he had anticipated.
Frustrated, he growled and taunted,
"Are you just going to keep dodging? If you're scared, you shouldn't have suggested this fight!"
Rather than answering, Yulian counterattacked.
Swish!
Tyrann shivered at the wind brushing past his ear. He hadn't sensed the attack until the dagger was right in front of him.
The strike was so swift and precise that for a moment, he thought Yulian had used mana.
"You bastard!"
Tyrann slashed his dagger toward Yulian's shoulder. But as Yulian twisted to dodge, Tyrann yanked the binding rope hard.
Off-balance, Yulian exposed his side—Tyrann's dagger thrust toward it.
Splat!
Blood spurted from Yulian's side. Tyrann instinctively grinned.
'I knew it—I have the advantage in strength!'
With a height difference of nearly a head and far greater muscle mass, Tyrann was confident in his superior strength.
Growing bolder, he pressed his assault. His plan was to overwhelm Yulian with sheer power and size.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Yulian's body accumulated more and more wounds.
Deneb turned pale as she watched.
Tyrann exuded nothing but confidence, and even the spectators thought Yulian wouldn't last much longer.
But Ghislain thought otherwise.
"He's getting impatient."
Tyrann's attacks, compared to his usual precise technique, were growing increasingly reckless.
Yulian, though appearing to struggle, had yet to suffer a truly critical wound.
And just as Ghislain predicted, Tyrann was growing even more uneasy.
'Why? Why can't I land a decisive hit?!'
Tyrann had fought countless battles. He was a seasoned warrior with strong instincts.
Which is why he found it strange—why couldn't he land a finishing blow?
Clang!
Their daggers clashed, sending sparks flying.
And in that moment, Tyrann saw it.
Unlike himself, Yulian's eyes were steady, unwavering.
"You…"
He hesitated briefly at that sight.
And in that instant, Yulian's dagger flashed toward his throat.
Splat!
"Ugh!"
Tyrann barely dodged, but a shallow cut formed on his neck.
For the first time in a long while, he felt a strange sensation.
'Cold.'
The wound was shallow, yet the pain was sharper than anything he had felt before.
Tyrann was bewildered.
He had suffered far worse injuries in his mercenary days—he had even escaped death multiple times.
So why did this minor wound feel so chilling?
'No… Am I…?'
When he fought using mana, even severe pain was bearable.
No, he had never feared pain to begin with.
With his muscles reinforced by mana, he had believed that no matter the situation, his body would always protect him.
But now?
No matter how much he had trained his muscles, without mana, even a peasant's spear could be deadly.
Let alone a skilled swordsman's dagger.
'I… I'm afraid?'
As the reality of the situation dawned on him, Tyrann was thrown into confusion.
A man who had lived his life with absolute pride and confidence—was he really feeling fear in such a duel?
Swish!
Yulian's dagger grazed his body again, slicing through his clothes and skin.
Tyrann clenched his teeth.
In a battle like this, losing morale meant certain death.
Swish!
Yulian, too, bled.
But his eyes remained unwavering.
Their duel only grew fiercer.
With their hands bound together, dodging and blocking had their limits.
As time passed, both men became increasingly drenched in blood.
The onlookers barely dared to breathe. Just watching the two warriors, covered in wounds, sent chills down their spines. Every time a blade cut flesh, they felt as if their own bodies were being slashed.
"W-What the hell…?"
"How can they fight like that…?"
"Just watching it makes me feel like I'm in pain."
In this battle, strength, physique, and technique no longer mattered.
All that was left was the desperate struggle to carve into each other's flesh, avoiding only the vital points that would lead to instant death.
Their movements grew faster and more ferocious, making it nearly impossible to predict their next strikes.
Swish! Swish! Swish!
Each attack aimed for a weakness, an opening—an intense and deadly exchange. A suffocating silence fell over the audience.
In that eerie stillness, only the sound of flesh being torn echoed again and again.
'Ugh… How is this brat…?'
The more wounds he sustained, the dizzier Tyrann felt.
It hurt. Despite his countless battles, he had never felt pain quite like this.
He had to endure. This was a fight where whoever gave in first, whoever flinched first, would lose.
His opponent must also be suffering. He must also be pretending to be unfazed, just putting on a brave front.
So Tyrann had to endure, no matter what…
But just as he reassured himself, he locked eyes with Yulian and froze.
'Those eyes…'
Yulian's gaze was exactly the same as when the fight had begun.
In contrast, Tyrann's mind was now filled with hesitation and doubt.
It was clear now—he was the one pretending to be unaffected.
And that brief moment of hesitation sealed his fate.
Swish!
"Huh?"
Yulian suddenly yanked on Tyrann's arm. Caught off guard, Tyrann instinctively bent forward, and at that very moment, Yulian's dagger slashed through the air.
Slash!
"Ghhk!"
The razor-sharp tip of the dagger grazed Tyrann's cheek. If he had turned his head just a fraction slower, his throat would have been sliced open.
He should have retaliated immediately, but only one thought filled Tyrann's mind.
'I'm going to die.'
At last, the fear of death consumed him.
His opponent was in the same situation, yet Yulian showed no signs of panic. Those cold, unshaken eyes continued to track his every move, searching for the next opening.
'Why? How?'
Tyrann had the superior physique, the greater strength—there was no doubt about that.
So why did his opponent seem so much larger now?
Those eyes terrified him.
It felt as though he was being looked down upon by a massive, emotionless being.
Desperate to shake off the fear, Tyrann roared.
"AAAAHHHH!"
He swung his dagger wildly, thrashing in sheer desperation to escape the looming specter of death.
But such reckless strikes had no chance against Yulian.
Just as he had from the beginning, Yulian remained composed.
Thunk!
Yulian's dagger pierced Tyrann's side.
Tyrann flailed his blade in response, but Yulian had already stepped back.
Then Yulian's dagger sliced into his shoulder.
Next, it stabbed into his abdomen.
Then, it cut across his thigh.
Every time there was even the slightest opening, Yulian's blade found its mark—stabbing, slashing, carving into Tyrann's flesh without hesitation.
"AAAAHHH!"
Tyrann screamed in agony, struggling desperately to land a strike.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
For a moment, the exchange of blows resumed. But now, Yulian was blocking every single one of Tyrann's attacks with ease.
Tyrann's body was covered in wounds.
With his will to fight shattered, his renowned combat skills, his large frame, and his raw strength meant nothing.
Slash!
His final, desperate swing only managed to graze Yulian's shoulder.
In the same instant, Yulian hooked his foot around Tyrann's knee and yanked.
"Huh?"
Exhausted, Tyrann couldn't maintain his balance and staggered backward, collapsing onto the ground.
His massive body crashing down caused Yulian, who was still bound to him, to be pulled forward as well.
Yulian used that momentum.
With all his strength, he drove his dagger forward.
Swiiish!
As the dagger raced toward him, Tyrann's entire body froze.
'I'm going to die…'
But more terrifying than the approaching blade—
Was the chilling gaze behind it.
With his spirit completely crushed, Tyrann even forgot to use mana.
He simply accepted his fate and closed his eyes.
That dagger was going to pierce straight through his forehead.
Tap.
A faint sting on his forehead.
Puzzled, Tyrann slowly opened his eyes.
The dagger was pressed against his skin, but it had not gone any further.
Yulian had stopped.
"Why…?"
Tyrann muttered in disbelief. If it were him, he wouldn't have hesitated for a second—he would have plunged the dagger straight in.
Yulian looked at him for a moment, then spoke in a quiet, steady voice.
"Join me."
"…What?"
"Join me, and let's save the world together."
Tyrann stared blankly.
Not wealth.
Not power.
Save the world?
It wasn't a meaningless statement—he understood what Yulian meant.
The world was, without a doubt, a complete mess.
But why would a mere mercenary corps take on such a task?
Could it even be done?
Even a man as ambitious as Tyrann had only ever dreamed of leading the strongest mercenary group in the kingdom.
Even reaching the peak of the kingdom was a lifelong challenge.
Yet Yulian spoke of saving the entire world.
A dream so vast that Tyrann's own aspirations felt minuscule in comparison.
And yet, Yulian's eyes held nothing but sincerity.
Forgetting his pain, Tyrann muttered in disbelief.
"…Do you actually think that's possible?"
"Yes."
"We're just mercenaries. We fight for whoever pays us. Even if we band together, we're still just a few hundred men."
Tyrann wasn't wrong. To anyone, this would sound utterly ridiculous.
But Yulian didn't think so.
He finally understood Ghislain's vision.
Ghislain was destined to leave one day—he had made that clear from the beginning.
In the end, everything needed to revolve around Yulian himself.
So he had set his own goal.
"It's possible. Because…"
His voice was unwavering, his eyes resolute.
"I will become the King of Mercenaries."
That was the path Yulian had chosen.
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