I was going to die.
That was the only thought looping in my head as I was about to be thrown into a duel I had no chance of winning.
I cleared my throat. "Uh… quick question."
The heir, who had intervened to stop my execution, turned to me, raising an eyebrow, while your friendly neighborhood nobleman scowled. "What now?"
I exhaled slowly. "Wouldn't it be… unfair for me to duel right now?"
The nobleman scoffed. "Are you stalling?"
"Yup," I admitted. "But it's because, I'm injured."
I lifted my arms, bruises, scrapes, and the lingering soreness from being thrown into a dungeon still very much visible. "Wouldn't it be against dueling etiquette to fight me in this state?"
Murmurs spread through the nobles.
The silver-eyed nobleman looked annoyed. "He's a trespasser, not a guest. He should be grateful we're giving him a chance at all."
I opened my mouth to argue again, but the heir spoke first.
"No."
His voice was calm, but firm. "You know as well as I do that a duel must be fought under fair conditions. Even criminals are allowed proper preparation before trial combat."
The nobleman clenched his jaw but didn't argue. He turned away, clearly seething.
The heir, however, turned back to me.
"You have two hours," the heir said, turning to me. "Rest, eat, and prepare yourself. A servant will escort you to your chambers."
I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. "Great. Thanks."
I was still going to die, but at least I'd die with a full stomach. Lance would be proud.
****
The room I was taken to was the size of a tavern.
Golden chandeliers hung from the ceiling, illuminating walls lined with deep crimson drapery. A massive fireplace crackled at the far end, radiating warmth across the plush velvet furniture and polished oak floors. But the real luxury was the bed. It was big enough to fit three people, layered with soft silk sheets and embroidered pillows that looked like they had never been touched.
I could die here.
A knock on the door startled me. A servant entered, carrying a silver tray stacked with food.
I barely heard what they said, I was too busy staring at the warm bread, steaming roasted meat, and a small platter of fruit that I couldn't name.
I inhaled my meal like a man about to meet the executioner.
Which, well. I was.
Once I finished, I collapsed onto the bed. The moment I sat down, I sank into it like a man being swallowed by a cloud.
I could sleep forever.
Too bad I had a duel to lose.
I spent the next hour panicking.
I paced the room, wracking my brain for anything that could help.
My training back home had been rushed, brutal, and filled with disasters. I had barely learned to swing a sword properly. And I was about to face a noble, someone who probably thought of combat the way I thought of eating breakfast.
I groaned, dragging my hands down my face.
This is going to be a disaster.
The last hour crawled by.
Every tick of the clock was a countdown to my doom.
Then, at exactly the two-hour mark, a knock shattered the suffocating silence.
I jolted upright as the door creaked open. A servant stepped in, his expression unreadable. "It's time."
I swallowed hard. "Right. Yeah. Of course."
My legs felt like lead as I followed them through the halls.
Until, finally, we reached a massive set of doors, and the moment they swung open, I forgot how to breathe.
The dueling chamber was colossal.
The arena stretched wider than the village square, its vast stone floor polished to a mirror sheen. Elevated viewing platforms surrounded the space, lined with noble spectators, still dressed in their rich silks and embroidered finery. At the far end of the chamber, massive pillars of carved obsidian reached toward the ceiling, engraved with battle records of past duels. A thousand years of history etched into stone.
This was not some practice ground.
This was a sacred battleground, where only the strongest stood victorious.
And I was about to ruin its reputation.
I exhaled sharply.
Guards lined the edges.
The two duelists I had interrupted, the silver-eyed noble and the woman with the dark braid, stood off to the side, watching expectantly.
And in the very center the dueling platform was waiting for me. A vast, circular space lined with magical barriers to prevent spells from spilling into the audience. The floor was smooth stone, with deep, ancient engravings that shifted and rearranged themselves, ensuring the battlefield was never the same twice.
I forced my feet forward, stepping onto the dueling floor.
One of the noble officials turned to me. "Do you have any final questions before the duel begins?"
"Yeah." I straightened. "Who am I fighting?"
The official frowned, as if confused by the question.
Then, casually, he gestured to the other side of the arena.
My gaze followed his hand, and for a single, breath-stealing second, my heart stopped; because standing across from me was none other than the heir of House Aurellian.
Very slowly, I turned to the official.
"…You mean the guy who stopped my execution?"
"Yes."
I turned back to the heir.
He met my stare with an impassive gaze.
"You look terrified," he noted.
"I AM TERRIFIED."
A pause, followed by a quiet chuckle. "At least you're honest."
I just stared. "Why are you laughing? You're about to crush me."
He tilted his head slightly. "Who said anything about crushing you?"
"…Isn't that what duels are?"
The corner of his lips twitched. "Not always."
He stepped forward slightly.
"I'm aware you aren't properly trained," he said. "This duel is to satisfy honor, not to slaughter an unprepared opponent."
His voice was measured. Calm.
He was nothing like the silver-eyed noble, who radiated arrogance.
The heir continued. "I will limit my strength using a weakening spell. And I won't aim to maim you."
…That was almost reassuring.
Almost.
"You're still going to beat me, though," I muttered.
"Perhaps." He tilted his head. "But you might surprise me."
I highly doubted that.
But at least he wasn't trying to kill me.
That was… something.
The noble official stepped forward, raising a hand.
"As per tradition, both duelists shall introduce themselves before combat begins."
The heir took a step forward, his voice measured.
"Elias Aurellian," he said smoothly. "First son of House Aurellian."
Then the official turned to me.
I stared blankly for half a second before my brain finally rebooted.
"…Asher Ardent," I managed. "First son of, uh… my parents."
Somewhere in the audience, a noble coughed to cover a laugh.
Elias sighed. "Formalities aside, are you ready?"
"Absolutely not," I said.
His lips quirked. "Good."
The official raised his hand again.
"You may begin."