Noon on a clear, sunny day in early spring.
It was time for everyone to wrap up their morning chores.
The farmers sweating in the fields.
The woodcutters toiling at the foot of the mountains.
The shepherds piping away in the meadows.
The brewers tending their vats in the distilleries.
Even the housewives battling laundry down at the riverbank.
It was the hour when all the barony's folk could set down their tools for a short lunch and rest.
But today was a little different.
At the training ground attached to Baron Frontera's manor.
A special and rare event was about to unfold on that vast open lot.
"Hey, how do you think today's duel will go?"
"Duels? It's obvious, isn't it?"
"You think so too?"
"Of course."
"Yeah, right. There's no way Lord Lloyd beats Sir Neumann."
"Thanks to that, we're in for a treat. When else do we get a show like this?"
"Heh, exactly. When else do we get to see that young master—who throws tantrums every damn day—eating dirt?"
Farmers who had skipped their fieldwork gathered at the edge of the training ground, murmuring among themselves.
Nearby, clusters of housewives who had delayed their lunches chattered in groups.
"Still, I'm a bit worried."
"Worried? About what?"
"Young Master Lloyd. What if he actually beats Sir Neumann? Won't he get even more full of himself?"
"Oh, come on. Why worry about that?"
"Why not? I heard even Sir Ulrich got thrashed by Young Master Lloyd."
"But this time it's Sir Neumann."
"Hmm, so you think Lord Lloyd has no chance?"
"That's right. Sir Neumann's the strongest guy in the barony. Lucky for us—we're in for a good show."
...went the chatter.
Countless barony folk had gathered at the training ground to watch the duel.
Most of them expected Lloyd to lose.
They were rooting for Sir Neumann's victory.
The Lloyd they knew was no swordsman.
Sure, he'd quieted down lately, but just one or two months ago, Lloyd Frontera had been drowning in booze every day.
And that wasn't all.
He was always at the forefront of every bad incident(?).
You could count on one hand the residents who hadn't suffered from his antics and rampages.
'Please, let me see that punk Lloyd get his ass kicked today.'
Maybe then he'd finally behave.
No, he damn well better.
That was the honest wish of most of the crowd.
But it wasn't like there were zero residents rooting for Lloyd.
"Still, Young Master Lloyd hasn't caused any trouble lately."
A shepherd boy spoke up cautiously.
The woodcutters around him immediately shot him down.
"Hey, kid. People's true nature doesn't change that easily."
"But it's true."
"Sure, it's true. But so what? You think a couple months of good behavior fixes everything? Nah. He has to keep it up before anyone believes it."
"But he installed ondol in our house."
"Tch. Wasn't free."
"But it was super warm and nice."
"Pah, no way, no way. Typical shepherd boy."
"It's not a lie. It's real."
"Fine, fine. I signed up for that distribution contract or whatever too, so I'll see for myself when it's done. Let's just watch the show."
"Yes, sir..."
Of course, among the quiet minority rooting for Lloyd were the baron and his wife.
Baron Frontera had even pulled Sir Neumann aside for a special request.
"Listen, Sir Neumann."
"Yes, my liege?"
"Take good care of my boy today."
"Understood. No need to worry."
"Good, thank you. He was rude to you, I know, but he's the one you'll serve someday. So go easy—don't hurt him too bad."
"I'll keep that in mind."
...went the exchange.
In short, not a single soul gathered at the training ground that day expected Lloyd to win. And the moment Lloyd appeared, their expectations hardened into certainty.
"Young Master Lloyd has arrived!"
A manor servant shouted.
All eyes turned to the training ground entrance.
Lloyd strolled in casually.
A shovel in one hand.
"...Huh?"
Everyone's eyes went wide.
A shovel.
This was the training ground.
Lord Lloyd was supposed to duel here today.
So why a shovel instead of a sword, axe, or spear?
"Hey? Did he schedule construction here today?"
"What're you talking about?"
"You know, that ondol project Lord Lloyd's been pushing."
"They're doing it here? No way."
"Right?"
"Yeah, right."
Soldiers freed from the day's construction work whispered among themselves.
It made no sense.
Meanwhile, Lloyd calmly took position at the center of the training ground.
Under the bright sunlight, the shovel in his hand came into clear view at last.
The shovel was solid steel from blade to handle.
Only one meaning there.
That shovel wasn't a tool—it was a weapon.
As if confirming everyone's guess, Lloyd declared toward the baron in the seats of honor.
"I, Lloyd Frontera, son of Arkos Frontera, am prepared for my duel with Sir Neumann."
A clear, resounding declaration of readiness.
The baron furrowed his brow.
"Prepared for the duel?"
"Yes."
"Your weapon? Did you bring it?"
"This is it, as you see."
Lloyd grinned and held up the steel shovel.
"...."
He'd hoped otherwise, but no.
He'd thought the boy was finally getting his act together.
Back on the straight and narrow at last.
But no—his eldest son was still out of his mind.
'To approach even a duel with such a flippant attitude.'
The baron ground his teeth in secret.
His disappointment ran deep.
He shot Sir Neumann a harder look.
Nodded subtly toward him.
'You can go hard. Help him get his head on straight this time.'
'Understood. Gladly, if you command it.'
Sir Neumann nodded back, grasping the intent.
Just what he'd hoped for.
No, desperately wanted.
To rough up the cheeky young punk who dared disrespect him.
That wish turned into a burning desire the moment he saw Lloyd's stance.
Murmurs rippled through the crowd.
Lloyd had assumed a bizarre, unfamiliar pose.
He gripped the shovel handle wide with both hands.
Left hand just below the blade.
Right hand near the top of the handle.
He calmly bent his arms naturally.
It looked like he was half-hugging the shovel, aiming the blade tip their way.
To Sir Neumann, it was just an awkward, unheard-of stance!
Unable to stand it, Sir Neumann twitched his nose.
"Lord Lloyd, have you forgotten? This is a duel."
"Yeah, I know."
"Then what's that stance?"
"Yeah. Getting ready to fight."
"Are you mocking me like some child playing games?"
"Yeah. Not mocking."
"Then what are you doing?"
"What, you don't get it? Taking this stance to bash your head in with it."
"...You'll regret that answer."
"Yeah, suit yourself."
"...."
Grind!
His teeth ground on their own.
Sir Neumann turned away, swallowing his rage at the insult.
He addressed Baron Frontera.
"I am also prepared for the duel."
A chilling declaration in a frosty voice.
The crowd gulped, fists clenching unconsciously.
Somehow, they sensed this duel would deliver exactly what they wanted(?).
And at last, the baron's proclamation rang out.
"I, Baron Arkos Frontera, hereby declare this just duel begun."
The duel officially started.
Sir Neumann bared his fangs at once.
He kicked off the ground like he'd been waiting.
'Arrogant little shit! Time to teach you a lesson!'
Whoosh!
His feet moved lightly, powerfully.
Pushing off the earth.
His body surged forward.
It was swift, concise footwork beyond any commoner's level.
Before the duel, the gap between Sir Neumann and Lloyd was about four meters.
Sir Neumann closed it in one explosive step!
"...Whoa!"
Gasps erupted from the onlookers.
Before they faded, Sir Neumann's sword moved.
Still sheathed.
He swung the whole scabbard fiercely.
'First, I'll break a bone or two good and proper!'
A rabid dog needs a good beating with a stick.
Besides, he'd long lost patience with this backwater dump of a barony.
Time to crush the clueless scoundrel playing lord of the manor.
'Vent this pent-up stress! The baron won't even blame me! Then I'm out of this hole—like we planned! Kuhaha!'
A rosy future unfolded in his mind.
He recalled his inside man.
Others called the man a real estate scammer.
But not in his eyes.
'It's a legit business!'
The businessman had gotten Frontera barony intel through him.
Used it to seize Baron Frontera's assets.
In return?
He'd pocketed a fat payoff from the 'businessman.'
And that wasn't all.
The man had promised: ditch this podunk barony, come work for me.
He'd get treatment befitting his talents.
'Of course! I'm no talent to rot in a dump like this!'
Ambition writhed in his chest.
Dreams of riches with just his sword.
That dream was close now.
But first, squash the cocky brat in front of him.
'Like this!'
Whooosh!
The sheathed longsword cleaved the air with murderous force.
From upper right to lower left.
A diagonal slash.
Lloyd's left collarbone at the end of its path.
'Collarbone first!'
Cruelty gleamed in Sir Neumann's eyes.
He was certain.
A greenhorn like Lloyd couldn't block this strike. Not with that awkward shovel grip.
Everyone thought the same.
Baron Frontera, face stern.
The baroness, hands clenched tight.
Every spectator shared the certainty.
Everyone but one: Haviel.
'Lord Lloyd's stance... doesn't look like a joke.'
Haviel watched Lloyd with narrowed eyes.
The pose looked awkward, alien, bizarre.
Yet oddly stable.
Comfortable.
No amateur stance.
Not one tried once or twice.
'But he's never used it in our training sessions.'
Had he practiced in secret?
One thing was clear.
'No doubt. That's a stance designed purely for real combat.'
Realization sent chills down his spine.
This duel might end the opposite of everyone's expectations.
And the next moment, Haviel's hunch proved spot on.
Swish!
The steel shovel, still till now, suddenly moved.
Traced a clean arc upward.
Intercepted the descending sheathed sword.
Clang!
A simple, efficient motion—deceptively easy-looking.
But even blocked, Sir Neumann felt no worry.
'Such a feeble defense!'
Pure luck, he thought. A flailing beginner's swing.
Him?
A low Sword Expert.
Wielding mana no young master like Lloyd could dream of.
'I'll shatter that defense with raw power!'
Fwoosh!
Sir Neumann's eyes turned feral.
His sheathed sword glowed faintly.
Mana infused it.
A wisp of sword aura formed.
But the next instant.
The faint aura vanished.
No—absorbed into the steel shovel touching the sword. Transferred.
Even from his own body, his mana heart, mana drained away!
'...Huh?'
Sir Neumann's eyes bulged in shock.
At the same instant, the steel shovel moved.
Clang!
"....!"
It slid his sword aside effortlessly.
Like swatting a pesky fly.
He tried to resist.
Couldn't.
Power ebbed from his body like a receding tide.
Then the shovel head lunged at an odd angle.
Thwack!
"...Pffft!"
A brutal facial impact.
Blood sprayed from his mouth.
Sir Neumann's head snapped violently to the side.
(End of Chapter 15)
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