Episode 25: Proof (3)
Damian’s training session finally wrapped up after an hour.
“Ugh, ugh…”
“Help… someone, help…”
“My arm… my arm…”
The knights lay sprawled across the floor, groaning in pain.
Damian clicked his tongue as he surveyed the scene.
“Pathetic bunch.”
He hadn’t expected the knights, who were supposed to be duel participants, to collapse after just an hour of training.
“I was hoping for a bit more action.”
Damian set down his sword and removed the magical gear he had been wearing. Instantly, his body felt lighter, a thrilling sense of liberation washing over him.
He used his magic to assess his physical condition. His muscle mass had noticeably increased since before the training.
‘The rumors were true—this elixir is incredible.’
The elixir, which promoted physical growth just by consuming it, had its effects maximized when combined with training. Thanks to this, Damian achieved results he was genuinely satisfied with.
He was tempted to take the second dose of the elixir right away.
“Ugh… ugh…”
“Mom… mom…”
But continuing the training was out of the question. Damian clicked his tongue again.
“Hey, you.”
He pointed to a smaller knight, the one who had first spoken to him.
“Ugh… ugh…”
The knight was too busy groaning to respond. Damian frowned and spoke again.
“If you don’t answer, I’ll break both your legs.”
“Ah! Why, why did you call me?”
Startled by Damian’s threat, the knight quickly straightened up.
“What’s your name again?”
“Pavel Vermont, sir!”
“Right, Pavel Vermont. How do you feel after experiencing my training?”
Pavel grimaced as if he’d bitten into something sour. Though he kept his mouth shut, his displeasure was evident.
“Not going to answer?”
“I think it’s a very practical and beneficial training, sir!”
“Good. You’ve got a keen eye.”
Damian nodded in satisfaction, while Pavel’s expression twisted further.
“Who usually trains you guys?”
“We’re trained by Sir Sebastian Vincenzo!”
Pavel added quickly, watching Damian’s reaction.
”…For your information, Sir Vincenzo is a middle-class knight. He’s been specially guiding us in preparation for the duel. If we return injured from such a rigorous session, he’ll be furious.”
Pavel’s words came out in a rush, as if he was trying to issue a warning.
“And what do I care if he’s middle-class?”
Damian was unfazed.
‘A middle-class knight training them like this?’
Though he’d never met the man, Damian assumed he must be a mediocre knight.
He was tempted to tell them to quit that training altogether.
‘But that would just make another middle-class knight my enemy.’
While high-class knights were strategic weapons, middle-class knights were the backbone, often deployed to handle disputes both within and outside the family. This was why the duchy currently had only one middle-class knight, Ernst Horwitz.
“Once Sir Vincenzo’s training is over, come here. We’ll spar.”
“What? But if Sir Vincenzo finds out we’ve been beaten, he won’t stand for it!”
“Check your body. See if you have any injuries.”
At Damian’s words, Pavel looked down at himself.
“Huh?”
He had expected to find bruises or cuts from Damian’s blows. But his body was unscathed.
“How…?”
“I learned a long time ago how to hit people without leaving a mark.”
Damian had once trained under a master known as the Corrector, who had reached mastery for a rather peculiar reason.
The Corrector traveled the continent, reforming criminals as his life’s work. His method was simple: he beat them for an hour. If they weren’t reformed, he doubled the time—one hour, two hours, four hours, eight hours. Rumor had it he once beat someone for 512 hours straight.
In the process, the Corrector developed empathy for the criminals, who were often left bloodied. He pondered how to beat them without causing lasting harm, eventually reaching mastery.
The Corrector’s mastery was called “Feign,” allowing him to inflict pain without breaking a single capillary.
“Just a heads-up: if you tell Sir Vincenzo about today, or if you don’t show up tomorrow, or if anything disrupts the training…”
Damian’s voice turned menacing.
Pavel and the other knights couldn’t withstand Damian’s killing intent. The weakest among them foamed at the mouth, trembling.
“Then you’ll be dragged here and beaten all day.”
From that day on, Damian’s training with the duel knights began.
Every day, Damian called the knights for what he called training, but it was more like a beating.
“Sir Damian! No, Lord Damian!”
Pavel Vermont, unable to endure any longer, clung to Damian’s pant leg, pleading.
“We were wrong! I apologize for the rudeness when we first met! Please, forgive us!”
Damian shook off Pavel’s hand.
“Hey, why does it sound like I’m bullying you? That’s not what I meant.”
“N-no, that’s not what I meant…”
“I told you, I’m training you.”
Pavel looked like he had a lot to say but held back.
‘They can’t see the gold right in front of them.’
Damian clicked his tongue inwardly.
Though they didn’t realize it, Damian was using a specific sword technique during their sparring sessions—the Lion’s Guard Sword, used by the knights of the Marquis of Lionbloom.
Raising the knights’ skills in just a month was a tall order. So Damian decided to acclimate them to the Lion’s Guard Sword.
‘I thought at least one of them would recognize it.’
Not a single knight did. It was proof of their inexperience.
“Enough chatter. You’ve rested enough. Get up.”
Damian Haxen tapped the ground with his training sword.
Five days passed like this.
During that time, Damian successfully absorbed all the elixirs.
The transformation was dramatic.
Damian’s body, once lean and wiry, now appeared robust and muscular, thanks to the elixirs.
‘It’s not just the appearance that’s changed.’
Damian swung his training sword. It sliced through the air with a clean sound, digging deep into the training ground.
‘The quality of my muscles has improved. I’m faster, stronger.’
There’s no need to debate whether a tiger’s muscles are superior to a dog’s.
The elixirs had elevated Damian’s muscles to a higher level.
‘As expected of Azoth Arkel’s elixir.’
While Damian was reveling in his transformation, the knights lay groaning on the ground.
He glanced down at them.
‘They’ve grown a lot too.’
Initially, they couldn’t even put up a fight against Damian. But now, after ten days, they could somewhat hold their own. They were slowly adapting to the Lion’s Guard Sword.
It was possible because Damian held back, but it was also a testament to their talent.
‘They weren’t chosen as duel knights for nothing.’
If they continued like this for a month, they could realistically hope for victory in the duel.
“What are you doing, you worms! Get up! Training’s not over yet!”
Damian shouted, but the knights continued to crawl on the ground.
“If you don’t get up, I’ll beat each of you!”
Only then did the knights scramble to their feet.
At that moment, a steward from the duke’s household came running into the training ground.
“Sir Damian! There you are.”
“The Duke is looking for you.”
“What’s it about?”
“Well…”
The steward’s face turned serious.
“Lady Chelsea is returning soon.”
Damian headed straight to the meeting room.
The duke and his retainers were already gathered there. There were fewer people than when Damian had attacked the duchy.
Back then, it had been a grand assembly with retainers from other regions, incomparable to now.
Damian glanced around.
There were no women present, indicating that Lady Chelsea had not yet arrived.
“Oh, Damian.”
The duke waved him over. Damian went to stand beside him.
“I heard Lady Chelsea is returning soon.”
“Yes, she sent word ahead. She’s on her way back now.”
The duke smiled warmly, but his eyes were cold.
“I wish she’d stayed abroad.”
It was a chilling remark, especially coming from a father about his daughter.
“I have no idea what kind of knight Chelsea will bring back. But let me warn you, if the knight she brings is far superior to you, the position of representative might change.”
Despite the duke’s usual demeanor, his attitude was surprisingly cold.
“Your Grace, it seems you’ve already forgotten what I told you last time.”
“Hmm? What are you talking about?”
“No matter who you bring, they won’t surpass me.”
The duke looked momentarily bewildered, then burst into laughter.
“Hahaha! I like this side of you! Always brimming with confidence.”
He gave Damien a hearty pat on the back.
Just then, footsteps echoed from outside the door. Judging by the sound, at least a dozen people were approaching.
As the footsteps drew nearer, the guards at the conference room doors swung them wide open.
A young woman led the way, followed by more than ten men, all exuding a fierce, warrior-like aura.
“Father, it’s been a while.”
The young woman knelt on one knee, and the men with her followed suit.
“Chelsea Goldpixie. Reporting back.”
Her clear voice resonated throughout the room.
Damien Haxen, standing beside the duke, observed Chelsea Goldpixie. She was unlike any noblewoman he had encountered before.
Her attire was the first clue. She wore simple, practical travel clothes, worn and frayed from long use. Her hair was tied back plainly, revealing her neck.
‘But most of all, her eyes are different.’
They seemed to hold a spark, the kind only found in those filled with ambition.
‘Is this why the duke was wary of her?’
Power struggles between parents and children in noble families were not uncommon. Conflicts often arose between still-vigorous parents and children eager to inherit power.
“Chelsea, you’ve returned safely.”
Despite his inner thoughts, the duke spread his arms wide, welcoming Chelsea.
“So, have you brought the knight for the duel?”
Chelsea gestured, and one of the men stepped forward. He was a large, bear-like man, covered in hair, with small eyes and large pupils that left little white visible. He carried two hand axes on his back, meticulously maintained but reeking of blood.
“Your Grace! Greetings!”
The man’s booming voice filled the room.
“I am Guillaume Blackwing, the Wild Beast!”
The room erupted into chatter at the mention of his name.
Damien knew nothing about this Guillaume Blackwing. The knights he remembered were mostly of the master class; he had no reason to know of a low-class knight.
“Isn’t Guillaume Blackwing a famous free knight?”
“I heard he participated in the Eclerean Kingdom’s conflicts, almost massacring the low-class knights…”
“They say there’s no match for him among the low-class.”
But it wasn’t hard to gauge what kind of man Guillaume Blackwing was, just from the conversations around him.
“Oh.”
Even the duke showed interest in Guillaume Blackwing, scrutinizing him closely.
“I’ve heard much about you. They say you rampage like a beast on the battlefield, earning you the title of the Wild Beast.”
“It seems my reputation has reached the Apple Kingdom.”
Guillaume Blackwing laughed roughly, seemingly unconcerned with knightly decorum.
“Father, Sir Guillaume Blackwing has graciously pledged his loyalty to me and agreed to participate in the duel.”
Chelsea Goldpixie stepped forward.
“With Sir Guillaume Blackwing, we can certainly face Michael Lionbloom. If you support us, our chances will increase even more.”
The retainers nodded in agreement.
“With Guillaume Blackwing, it might really be possible.”
“Michael Lionbloom is called a genius, but in terms of current fame, isn’t Guillaume Blackwing superior?”
“If Michael Lionbloom is still developing, Guillaume Blackwing is already a finished product.”
The retainers were optimistic, but the duke was not.
“This is becoming troublesome.”
The duke murmured, stroking his chin. Chelsea nodded, puzzled.
“Excuse me? What do you mean by that…?”
“I haven’t introduced him yet.”
The duke gestured to Damien Haxen.
“This is Sir Damien Haxen. He’s been chosen as the representative for the duel.”
Chelsea’s eyebrows twitched.
“What do you mean? I asked you to wait.”
“You did say that. But I never agreed to wait, did I?”
Chelsea’s mouth fell open in disbelief.
”…Then you can change the representative now.”
“I’ll have to think about that.”
“Isn’t it obvious? I’ve never heard of Damien Haxen. Choosing Sir Guillaume Blackwing over some unknown knight is the logical choice, isn’t it?”
Chelsea glared at the duke, her words sharp.
“That’s true. Sir Damien Haxen is impressive, but… Guillaume Blackwing is more reliable.”
“Michael Lionbloom can face Sir Guillaume Blackwing, and Sir Damien Haxen can take on another knight.”
The retainers seemed to agree with Chelsea. To them, Guillaume Blackwing appeared far stronger than Damien Haxen.
But the duke had a different opinion.
“Sir Damien Haxen here single-handedly breached the duke’s defenses and withstood Sir Ernst Horwitz’s strike. While Sir Guillaume Blackwing is formidable, I believe Sir Damien Haxen is no less capable.”
Chelsea Goldpixie gritted her teeth at the duke’s words.
”…You spoke of ability when you cast aside my mother, yet now you act differently.”
The duke’s face hardened instantly, his grip tightening on the armrest of his chair.
“You’re speaking out of turn.”
“Forgive me. The fatigue from my travels has clouded my judgment.”
Chelsea retorted without backing down.
“I’ll decide on the representative after consulting with the retainers. For now, step back and refrain from further argument.”
The duke waved his hand dismissively.
At that moment, Guillaume Blackwing spoke up.
“Your Grace, what’s the point of all this indecision?”
Chelsea Goldpixie, startled, tried to stop him.
“What are you doing? I told you to stay quiet…”
“Isn’t the strongest one supposed to be the representative? Let’s just settle this with a fight and let the winner take the spot.”
Guillaume Blackwing pointed at Damien Haxen.
Damien chuckled dryly. He was tempted to knock the arrogant man down immediately.
But doing so would only put him on the same level as that brute.
So he decided to seek the duke’s permission first.
“Your Grace, may I damage the conference room a bit?”
“Hmm? Do as you please.”
Damien approached Guillaume Blackwing, close enough to see the hairs in his nose.
“Did you say you wanted to settle this like men?”
“Oh, so you agree with me?”
“Absolutely.”
Damien extended his hand to Guillaume Blackwing.
“There’s no need to fight. Let’s just test our strength right here.”
The retainers were taken aback by his suggestion.
Guillaume Blackwing was more than a head taller than Damien Haxen, with arms three times as thick. The difference wasn’t just in appearance; Guillaume Blackwing was known for his immense strength.
“Don’t blame me if your arm gets ripped off.”
“How brutal.”
Damien glanced at Guillaume Blackwing’s arm.
“I’ll just dislocate your shoulder and call it a day.”
“Ridiculous.”
Guillaume Blackwing grabbed Damien Haxen’s arm.
And in the next instant, Guillaume Blackwing found himself slammed headfirst into the ground.