"Make it life and death."
The words had barely left my mouth when I grabbed the front of his collar and hurled him like a sack of potatoes toward the dining table.
Before gravity could catch up, I followed it up with a swift kick to his chest mid-air. The impact was crisp, satisfying. He flew like a ragdoll straight across the table—cutlery clattering, porcelain shattering—before crashing down on the far side in an undignified heap.
The room collectively winced.
He groaned, face twisted in pain as he slowly pushed himself up. A nasty bruise was blooming on his cheek, and a thin trickle of blood ran down from the corner of his mouth.
'Good. He needed a wake-up call.'
From the sidelines, both Lucian and Isolde were smirking. I could almost hear their thoughts. Their son was finally acting like them.
'So this is what they've been waiting for,' I thought.
The groom's parents turned their gaze to me—shock, horror, confusion all swirling in their wide eyes. Their pupils were practically trembling.
They hadn't expected that.
They thought I'd stay docile. Meek. The same Cassius Lancaster known for avoiding confrontation. The boy with the pretty face and zero spine.
What a clever little plan they had cooked up. Use a minor provocation to bait me into a duel. Beat the "weak" Lancaster son, and bask in the glory of defeating a Lancaster. A clean fame boost. Maybe they could get some future backing from higher nobility. They thought they were playing 4D chess.
Too bad they didn't realize the pawn they tried to exploit had been replaced with a rabid dog.
'You wanted a duel?' I sneered inwardly. 'Fine. But this loss will cost you more than just your pride.'
Petty? Vindictive? Maybe. Was I enjoying this?
Absolutely.
Brent, the brat, dusted himself off as if trying to reclaim whatever dignity he had left. His fancy noble clothes were wrinkled and stained, but his pride hadn't caught up yet. His eyes burned with unfiltered rage as he locked onto me.
"You'll regret this, Cassius Lancaster," he growled, spitting blood onto the marble floor for emphasis.
At that exact moment, the system prompted me once more, this time with a slight but significant update.
—— CHALLENGE UPDATE ——
Rank: ★★
Challenger: Brent Curlts
Terms: Life and Death Duel
Reward: Victory annuls the engagement and grants ownership of Brent Curlts as a slave.
Penalty for Loss: Mia Lancaster will be wed to Brent Curlts, and you will become his personal slave for life.
Duration: N/A
—— ACCEPT / DECLINE ——
He had the gall to try and raise the stakes. He wanted me as his slave?
I almost laughed. Not just at the absurdity, but at the confidence it must take to try and flex while still nursing a bootprint on your chest.
But then again, I wasn't any better.
'I'm pettier than you could ever dream to be.'
I let a slow, dark grin stretch across my face, eyes never leaving his. "Accept."
> Challenge Accepted Successfully<
The system confirmed the contract.
Brent smirked too, but it was nervous—his smile wavered. He'd noticed it too, hadn't he? The shift in my attitude. The calm confidence. The lack of fear. The way I'd manhandled him just seconds ago. His instincts were catching up to his arrogance.
Was this guy hiding his strength the whole time?
Were the rumors wrong?
The Lancasters were famous for their treachery after all, those malicious brutes.
His unease was almost tangible.
Just then, Mia came stomping over and yanked at my arm. "Are you insane?!" she hissed, pulling me down slightly so she could whisper in my ear. "Do you even know how to fight? Stop this idiocy and let the Lancasters handle it!"
I raised an eyebrow. "What do you think I do all day, sitting alone in my room?"
She deadpanned. "Watch porn."
I choked on my breath. 'What the hell is that even supposed to mean… and why was that her first guess?!....Even if she wasn't wrong…'
"I train #self_improvement," I said flatly. "Why do you think I was jacked?"
She clicked her tongue with a 'tsk.' "That's gym muscle, dumbass. Real fights are different. You're not some street brawler—"
I gently shoved her aside, annoyed by her constant nagging.
Mia pouted, already gearing up to storm at me again.
But before she could throw another tantrum, Isolde appeared at her side like a ghost. A gentle hand touched Mia's shoulder, and the girl bobbed like a startled squirrel. Her hair practically stood on end.
She turned slowly, cautiously looking up at the serene smile on Isolde's face.
"Don't be scared, child," Isolde said, voice as soft as snowfall. Then she turned her gaze to me. "Your brother has something to take care of. Why don't you leave him to it and come have a chat with me?"
Mia blinked, then quickly shifted into princess mode. She straightened her posture and curtsied gracefully. "As you wish, Mother."
I stared in disbelief, hand hovering near my open mouth. 'So your brother's life is on the line and you're just... walking away? Wow.'
Isolde smiled approvingly. "Good girl. Now come along."
She turned and began walking deeper into the castle, and Mia followed like a chick trailing its hen. No protest. No hesitation.
Lucian strolled up next to me, clapping a hand on my shoulder. "Great job, Cassius!" he said, wiping fake tears from his eyes. "Your father is so proud of you right now!"
Then he burst into loud, dramatic sobs. Real stage actor behavior.
'Gods above, this man's a walking soap opera.'
Meanwhile, Brent was speaking in hushed tones with his parents. Maybe he wasn't completely brain-dead after all. Just reckless. Still, whatever they were whispering about didn't interest me. My focus was already shifting forward.
I would've waited patiently for them to wrap it up. Would've.
But Lucian had other plans.
He turned on his heel and barked, "Time is running out! Let's go visit the arena!"
His voice echoed across the hall, snapping everyone's attention to him.
I couldn't help but laugh under my breath. 'Well, that works too.'
Brent and his family nodded hesitantly and began following.
Lucian strode ahead with that carefree confidence only someone absurdly powerful could wield. The Curlts followed behind, and I brought up the rear.
Step by step, we marched toward the battleground.
Toward the duel.