Berthold clenched his teeth, his fingers tightening around the hilt of his sword. He felt a throbbing pain in his neck, hot blood trickling down his armor.
"That brat..."
Just a second ago, Berthold had been certain of his superiority. After all, mages don't fight in close combat. Mages have destructive power, but up close, they are weak. To cast a powerful spell, they need considerable time.
But he was wrong.
Reinhard was no ordinary mage.
He moved with the speed of a trained knight, but that wasn't the real issue—his sword was fast. Too fast. His strike was swift, precise, deadly. Had Berthold been even a fraction of a second slower, his head would already be rolling across the stone floor.
"Who is he, really?"
Berthold took a deep breath, trying to steady the trembling in his hands.
"No… Maybe he just inherited his family's magic and reinforced his body with it. But he's still a mage. If I drag this fight out, he'll run out of stamina and lose."
He was sure of it.
"You're not bad, kid," Berthold said, licking his dry lips. "But you won't last long."
Reinhard smirked.
"You think so?"
The next moment, he lunged forward.
Berthold barely managed to raise his sword in time to block.
And then he felt excruciating pain.
The strike was unbelievably powerful—so strong that his ears rang. Berthold staggered back, but Reinhard gave him no time to recover.
A sudden pivot.
Another strike.
Berthold instinctively raised his sword, but he wasn't fast enough—his opponent's blade carved a bloody line across his chest.
He leapt backward, trying to put some distance between them.
That damned brat!
"How is he moving so fast?! His speed is unreal!"
But Reinhard didn't give him time to think.
Another attack.
His sword sliced through the air.
Berthold almost lost his balance, barely managing to deflect the strike to the side.
"His speed… Damn it, is he… toying with me?"
Reinhard moved flawlessly—like a masterful dancer performing a deadly waltz.
His motions were precise, perfect, as if he already knew Berthold's every reaction in advance.
"How… are you..?" Berthold gasped, struggling to keep his grip on his sword.
Reinhard chuckled.
"You said it yourself, Berthold… mages can't defeat knights, right?"
Fear flashed in Berthold's eyes.
"This man… is not the one I knew."
But he still had a chance.
"If I land one powerful strike, he'll crumble. He's probably out of mana for defense. His body won't withstand the strain!"
Berthold suddenly retreated, gathering his strength and channeling mana into his sword.
In that instant, his blade was enveloped in a faint blue glow—the power the world recognized as a knight's ultimate force: Aura.
— DIE!! — He poured all his might into a single strike, cutting through the air, unleashing everything in this final charge.
But his sword struck nothing.
At the last moment, Reinhard sidestepped, narrowly avoiding the blow—though his shoulder was grazed.
Despite the injury, he immediately counterattacked.
The clash of metal.
A strike.
Blood.
Berthold gasped sharply, feeling cold steel pierce his chest.
Reinhard's blade had run him through—not a fatal wound, but one deep enough to end the fight.
For a moment, Berthold's entire body froze.
He slowly lowered his gaze, watching as blood trickled down the blade, feeling his strength drain from his limbs.
"N-no… I…"
He collapsed to his knees.
His fingers weakly gripped the hilt of his sword, but he could no longer move.
Reinhard slowly pulled his sword free, letting warm blood stain the ground.
Berthold knelt, his breathing ragged, his eyes filled with terror and despair.
"…D-damn it…"
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The Haruma Estate was one of the main estates of the duchy—for generations, it had been home to the heirs of House Deira.
It was also the second most important estate in the duchy, ranked fourth in overall significance after the main estate, the ducal center, and the ancestral estate.
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