Reinhardt was breathing heavily, gripping the hilt of his sword, which now served as his support. His chest rose and fell erratically, blood streamed from a deep gash in his side, soaking his clothes—but he remained standing. He had won.
A tense silence hung in the air, broken only by the heavy breaths of the onlookers. No one could believe what had just happened. A wave of shock rippled through the crowd, mingled with admiration and fear.
What kind of monster…
He defeated a Sixth Rank…
At his age… impossible…
Reinhardt slowly lifted his head, letting his gaze sweep over the crowd. He liked their expressions—a mix of horror and reverence. He saw the way they looked at him, how they were finally beginning to recognize his strength. A weary smirk tugged at his lips. Now they had to acknowledge him.
But his eyes lingered on one man in particular.
Liam von Deira, commander of the knights—his uncle—was watching him with a furrowed brow. There was no longer contempt or irritation in his gaze as before. Only a cold, calculating look of a man analyzing the situation.
Reinhardt's smirk widened, knowing exactly what the man was thinking.
Liam clenched his fists. That speed, those flawless sword movements, the sheer tension radiating from every muscle… This boy—no, not a boy, a warrior. He hadn't used magic, nor aura, only his sword. His movements, his instincts… Everything about him screamed that he was born for battle.
He's more than just a monster, Liam thought grimly. His talent… Perhaps it rivals that of the founder himself.
The founder of House Deira. A Second-Rank Knight, the man who had built their family from nothing. A genius whose name still echoed through history.
And now this boy… this mage… was displaying potential that could match his own.
Renni stared at his brother, unable to believe his eyes.
Brother… won?
He clenched his fists.
But… he's a mage… How can he be this strong?
He didn't know what to feel—admiration or fear of his brother's power. Reinhardt had just defeated a Sixth-Rank Knight. He hadn't used magic, yet he had fought on equal footing with someone who surpassed him. It was as if he had been born with a sword in hand.
Reinhardt, exhaling heavily, reached for the system window. He needed to check the quest.
[System Window]
[Quest Progress: Knight-Killer Sylivan – Defeated 0/1]
Reinhardt froze.
— What?
His eyes narrowed. A mistake? No… I killed him.
And then…
Squelch.
A warm wave struck his back.
The sound of flesh being pierced rang out in the heavy silence.
His body jerked, his hands instinctively clenched—but something was wrong.
Slowly, he lowered his gaze.
A sword blade was protruding from his stomach.
At first, he felt no pain—only a dull, burning cold spreading through his body. Then blood gushed from his mouth.
— How… how did I not sense his presence…?
His fingers trembled, his grip on the sword's hilt weakening.
Everything… stopped.