Konrad was in heaven and hell at the same time.
A dozen-or-so stunning redhead women surrounded him with spears, but not wearing much. Tribal bikinis must've been the rage—and he very much approved.
Lily kicked his ankle with a jealous glare.
Right. He might've had a weakness for gingers and firm bodies, but he already had the prettiest of them all. He wouldn't say it out loud—she could read his mind anyway.
Once he made an effort not to stare, he noticed twice as many men, too.
Copies of Welf—big, muscular—not something he desired, but still impressive.
There was only one face that didn't look like the others. One he didn't expect to see here.
His mirror image, covered in wolf pelts—another family reunion hell.
Twenty paces separated them, nowhere near enough.
The silence stretched thin, growing heavy like the adamantite he brought. And as fragile, too.
"Dare to show up after betraying me in Halaima?!" Nimrod sneered. "Or your Inquisitor friend sent you to bring down the Blood Moon tribe, too, Cursed One?"
For being identical twins, Nimrod seemed to have gotten all the zeal and hatred to himself.
And all the stupidity, too. His blind rage didn't boost his intelligence.
"You must mean, I let your followers escape before it became a massacre." Konrad hated speaking to large crowds, focusing only on Nimrod. "Not a strategic mastermind, Blessed Nut."
"Take your lies elsewhere, Prodigy," his twin spat. "You attacked us—unprovoked."
His pronunciation of the word made it sound synonymous with 'pathetic'.
"Go back and lick some Church boots, traitorous scum," Nimrod added for good measure.
So much bullshit—but Konrad schooled his expression.
"Fuck the Church. I protected what's mine." He kept his voice level. "The Black River chieftess whom you tried to kill, and our father's town, you'd razed to the ground."
With the silence broken, the tribal warriors exchanged low, uneasy murmurs.
Nimrod's face contorted.
"I'd rather destroy it than leave it for the Inquisitor," he scoffed. "Wherever you were all these years, you did nothing to stop the Church."
It was easy for him to say—Konrad had no idea about his heritage until now.
Growing up in Haiten, all he heard was how dangerous and bloodthirsty the tribes were. When he met the Black River tribe, he almost sacrificed his life to save them.
He wanted to put all that into words, but the tribesmen's stares didn't help.
He could understand Nimrod's hostility—he was delusional, but all the redheads?
"Father," Welf spoke up instead. "This is no time for infighting, even if the Council exiled us."
Hold the hell on—exiled?! Konrad glanced at the freckled catgirl by his side.
Lily grew fluffy ears, trying to act all cute while whistling—the one thing she still couldn't do.
Konrad had so many questions, but—
"A band of outcasts, trying to bring ruin," Nimrod seized the opportunity. "You want this?"
"That's rich, coming from a moron who led a frontal assault on a fortified position," Konrad fumed. "You have the tactical genius of a turd and the brain of a snail, Blessed Nut."
He could insult him, but when he attacked his friends, he lost his cool.
"How dare you?!" Nimrod screamed. "A bastard raised by the Church has no right to talk here. The prophecy was clear—the spirits have blessed me, and the Council—"
"Fuck that vague fate bullshit," Konrad shouted before catching himself.
No, he had to stay calm, trying to remember what Eyna pointed out about the prophecy.
Right, the wording—he had to turn that against him.
"Didn't it say the spirits blessed one of us and the other got cursed?" He reached for his heavy pouch, full of adamantite. "And one brings ruin, the other brings riches?"
He poured out the fragile ore—dull and unassuming, unless people knew what it was.
"Notice the order of those words? You sure being a Blessed Nut is such a good thing?"
The tribesmen's eyes widened, and the man Welf addressed as his father even fell on his knees.
"Is that—" he didn't finish, racing for the ore with desire and greed.
"Pure adamantite," Konrad nodded, a smug grin spreading on his face. "Expensive stuff, as far as I can tell. You could say—I brought you riches. What did that idiot ever do?"
He aimed that last part at his twin, Nimrod's mouth gaping.
"I-It's the Church's—You, they," he couldn't get a coherent sentence out.
"You're right," Konrad smirked. "I made that with a banned transmutation artifact the Inquisitor snapped on my wrist. He tried to torture me, but I overpowered that thing with my sheer will."
The murmurs grew louder, the mood finally shifting in his favor.
"Lies," his twin shouted. "You couldn't have done that—you've only admitted that the Church bankrolls you. You are weak. A fake—you are nothing."
If anything, that made him sound desperate.
"Yeah, says the idiot who's oh-so-powerful, he had to send innocent people to die," Konrad scoffed. "Sounds exactly like you were the one bringing ruin—like the prophecy had foretold."
Nimrod pointed the scepter at him, its tip glowing with a faint, earthen light.
"I'll prove my words. Here. Now. With a duel—let the spirits decide who's right or wrong."
Konrad's blood ran cold. If he could do that, that was another miscalculation on his part.
His mind raced through his arsenal.
Fireballs, light illusions; a syphon needing minutes to prepare. All offense and utility.
Nothing to stop a shaman's attack.
He crossed his arms, hoping the gesture looked more confident than he felt.
"A duel on your terms?" he laughed. "When I'm unarmed? The Church stole my sword—"
"Sorcerers fight with magic, not mere tools," Nimrod claimed.
"What about your flashy scepter, then?" Konrad shot back. "Wait, did you get its crystal from a dungeon? I happened to clear a greater one by myself, while saving the Black River tribe."
He was exaggerating by a healthy amount, but not enough for his twin to back down.
"If that wasn't enough to secure yourself a staff, you're not worthy of one," he said. "It goes on to show that even with the backing of the Church and the Green Mage, you're still weak."
Not like either of those would have ever backed him—
"I've been learning magic for less than two months," Konrad sighed, pointing at the lumps of ore at his feet. "Doesn't this prove that I'm strong—and only getting stronger?"
The old blacksmith picked up a lump, examining it with glistening eyes.
Yeah, he was definitely his son's father. Welf had the same reaction before.
"I can help you out with a weapon," he interjected, his voice booming. "If it's a sword you desire, I'll forge you one for the duel—but it'll take me a day, so you'll have to wait."
A day. Thank whatever gods ruled over this world—
"What?! Are you siding with the Cursed One now?" Nimrod fumed, but to no avail.
"I'll give him a chance to prove himself," the blacksmith brushed the offense aside. "A true leader should have the patience—I've waited decades to forge adamantite again."
Konrad was already liking the old man. Lily's family was awesome.
"I accept." He bowed, shooting a smirk at his twin. "We duel at dawn tomorrow."