"You hear the rumors?"
"What rumors?"
"East of the city. In the Kayas region. Word is, a real class-holder's been spotted near the Cerberus dens."
"No way! Tell me everything!"
"My brother's a caravan guard. Says one of the outer caves near the Cerberus spawn was completely wiped."
"You serious!? That's huge news!"
"If that guy keeps clearing them out, we might see trade routes reopen. New roads. Prosperity again."
The tavern buzzed with excitement-until silence dropped like a blade.
One of the men, mid-sentence, froze mid-drink. His eyes had locked on a lone rider entering the city gates.
Bloodstained armor. A heavy, silent presence.
The scent of death trailed behind him like a cloak.
Even the city guards at the gate instinctively reached for their weapons.
Citizens stepped aside. Instinctive fear etched on their faces.
None of them realized the man they were watching-Lister Merrick-was the very hunter they'd been whispering about. And not just one cave-he'd cleared the entire outer region.
Back at the estate, Lister chewed slowly as Anco delivered his latest report.
The butler stood near the window, voice steady as he recited names and details from memory.
"Since the duel was announced, Quent has not visited Lady Anna. Word is, she's taken to painting. Her father, Viscount Anbert, even hired a tutor for her."
Lister raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
He didn't care about Anna. Not anymore.
She was a chess piece in someone else's game.
And he had no intention of playing the lovesick fool.
He wasn't the previous Lister Merrick.
He wasn't a "loyal dog" barking after a noble girl.
If anything, he owed her a scar for dragging him into this duel.
What mattered now was Quent.
"I'm not asking about court gossip," Lister said. "What about his strength? His combat record? His standing within the Duke's family?"
Anco hesitated.
"My lord… information on the ducal family is difficult to obtain. Our house no longer has the reach to-"
"It's fine. Just keep your ears open."
Lister sighed. He wasn't about to fault Anco for not infiltrating a ruling house. They were barely holding their own estate together.
But the butler still hadn't finished.
"There is… one more thing, my lord."
Anco's tone lowered. Even the nearby maid, Lillian, seemed to stiffen.
"It's not exactly secret-most noble houses in the city have heard it, one way or another. But perhaps you haven't."
Lister leaned back in his chair, finishing the last bite of beef.
"I'm listening."
"Quent is said to be the Duke's least favored son. The bottom of the inheritance line."
"…What?"
Lister's mind spun. That didn't line up. Not even remotely.
In every version of the game lore, Quent Will was the future Duke-the third of his line. Powerful. Respected. Feared.
But now?
He was… what? A disrespected bastard?
"Why?" Lister asked.
Anco glanced briefly toward Lillian, who fumbled and nearly dropped a tray.
"His mother," Anco said quietly, "wasn't the Duchess. She was… a maid."
A long silence stretched. The air thickened.
The implications were obvious.
And yet, Anco continued:
"None of this has ever been formally confirmed. But during royal functions, Quent is the only heir the Duke never brings to court."
"He's barely been seen at all-until your duel, that is. The moment the Duke agreed to witness it personally, Quent's name resurfaced."
Lister sat still. His thoughts were churning now.
This doesn't add up.
In the game's timeline, Quent Will becomes Duke Will III-ruler of the eastern provinces. He's ruthless, ambitious, calculating.
But this Quent? A bastard. Unfavored. Forgotten.
So why challenge Lister to a public duel over a viscount's daughter?
Why risk embarrassment?
Unless… that's the point.
The duel wasn't about Anna.
It was never about Anna.
It was a setup.
And the Duke-Will II-agreed to be the official witness. He allowed the fight to be announced citywide. Let the entire region watch.
"It's too deliberate," Lister muttered. "Too theatrical."
There was a plan behind this.
And he wasn't seeing the whole board.
The only party he could rule out-maybe-was Viscount Anbert.
At the very least, the man had gifted him a rare potion.
Something that permanently boosted all his attributes.
No noble would casually give that away unless they truly saw Lister as a potential match for their daughter.
Maybe Anbert assumed Quent was a dead-end.
An unloved heir with no future.
The kind of man who, even married to his daughter, would be exiled from the capital and lose all political standing.
And Lister?
A fallen noble, yes-but with an ancestral blade style, a family name older than most in the kingdom, and roots deep in the local court.
Even in decline, the Merricks had one thing Anbert valued: legacy.
He didn't want glory.
He wanted security.
And if Lister won the duel?
He'd have a son-in-law, a blade heir, and an alliance that gave his house roots in the capital's noble soil.
But still…
Something about Quent, and the Duke's silence, gnawed at him.
This duel…
This whole charade…
"There's more at play here," Lister whispered. "And I'm the only one who doesn't know the rules."