Read Novel Full Chapter 1032: Teamwork
Chapter 1032: Teamwork
His upper body was bare, bulging muscles visible to all. Many noble ladies liked what they were seeing based on their drooling expressions and insecurely glaring husbands.
Outrage erupted as if he’d just struck a hornet’s nest.
"What kind of mockery is this?!" Veyne snarled, his knuckles tightening around his glaive.
"How dare you?!" Daron shouted.
Teral didn’t yell this time around, but veins throbbed along his neck. His grip around the weighted chain of his mace shook with anger.
Their mother, the Countess of Vexmore, stood at the edge of the balcony. Her face was pale with humiliation. She snapped her fan open with a loud snap, but this time it wasn’t for theatrics. Her eyes burned as she stared at the half-naked man below.
"How dare he show up like this..." she hissed, more to herself than anyone else. "This... this masked coward thinks he can ridicule us in front of the entire court!"
But Count Vexmore said nothing.
He remained seated, hands folded, lips pressed into a thoughtful line.
He’d been watching Lord Black closely. Not just now, but earlier, at the banquet. The way he moved. The way he struck. The way he spoke. All of it hinted at something deeper than mere brute strength earned from leveling up.
Still...
No armor. No shirt. No enchanted gear.
He’s either insane... or terrifyingly sure of himself.
The count’s eyes narrowed.
’Or maybe... he wants to provoke them. Humiliate us in return for what happened at the banquet. Make a show of beating my sons bare-handed. Something so outrageous, it would convey his message stronger than ever.
If that’s the case, we can turn this.’
He glanced toward his sons, who were already seething, already furious.
He gave them a secret signal.
’Let him show off. Unfounded confidence makes people reckless. But my boys... they’re trained. They’ve fought monsters, rebels, even duelists twice their age.
Three-on-one. No matter how strong he is... he bleeds like anyone else.’
The count exhaled, logic allowing him to calm his nerves.
Let the fool put on his show.
They’ll bury him in the dirt before the crowd can finish gasping.
And with that, the arena marshal stepped forward, raising a hand toward the platform.
His voice boomed out:
"This is a sanctioned noble duel. Life and death are permitted. May the Goddess bear witness."
The crowd’s excitement levels rose significantly as cheers erupted, mostly from the vassals of the Vexmore family who supported their lord.
High above the common nobles, the royal podium stood out in its opulence.
Wrought of marble, laced with runes of protection and subtle privacy wards, it was a platform where only the ruling bloodline and highest-ranked nobility could sit. Each of the duchy families was positioned subserviently below and to the sides of the Royal House. RἈＮо𝐁ĘS̈
King Alexios’ eyes never left the arena.
"What do you make of this man?" he asked his wife with a curious tone.
The Queen did not turn to him.
Morgana Ravenshade sat upright with a neutral expression.
She lived in the tower labs more than in the palace. She had missed banquets, birthdays, coronations, everything except her children’s important moments during their upbringing.
Even now, her mind worked through theories as she answered.
"He’s an interesting subject I’d love to study. His Class is strange. It seems to be a hybrid between that rookie criminal my informants flagged last month... Ignis the Ashmancer. And..."
A soft rustle of silk clothes came from beside her.
"Then the other must be that old crook, Maelstrom, right, Mother?" said a man.
It was Elias, the First Prince of the Vraven kingdom.
He was visibly eager. Not just to speak, but to earn something that had always been rare from Morgana: approval.
"They’re from the same syndicate... aren’t they?"
For a moment, silence.
Then Morgana responded, only with a single cold word. "Yes."
The tone itself struck the man hard.
Elias drew back like he’d been slapped, trying not to let it show. His eyes dropped to the floor.
He had done nothing wrong.
But still... it wasn’t enough.
Beside him, Caelinne, the eldest sibling and First Princess, reached over and patted his back once, then again. It was a small gesture, wordless, but comforting.
Because she understood.
They all did.
The royal children had it tough.
Their father was a king with the soul of a war-beast who was amicable all the time, until someone earned his ire.
Their mother?
A genius whose love burned bright, but only for children. Once grown, her nature shifted.
Like many animals driven by mere instinct, she fiercely protected her young until the moment they could survive alone. Then... nothing. She was abandoned, detached, and unfeeling.
To her, raising children was a duty.
And once completed, she moved on.
And so, while the crowd buzzed and steel rang in the arena below...
Up above, the royal heirs sat in silence.
All except one.
Felicity was not seated like the rest.
She stood at the very edge of the podium, clutching the gilded railing with both hands, knuckles white from how tightly she gripped it.
The formal princess dress she wore had bunched up around her knees from all the leaning, but she didn’t care.
Her small frame pressed forward, eyes wide and locked onto a single figure far below.
Lord Black.
She couldn’t even see his face, only his broad, muscled back.
Her heart was pounding wildly because she really, really wanted him to win.
"Don’t lose..." she whispered under her breath.
Despite the royal pedigree, the strange parents, the formality of the court... Felicity was still a child.
Unshaped by expectation. Unafraid to care.
She knew she wasn’t supposed to root for a shirtless, masked man who not only remained very secretive but was currently fighting an old house of her kingdom. Even if it was she who allowed this fight to take place in the first place, or rather, that shouldn’t have happened in the first place, considering the circumstances.
But something in her said this man was different. Felicity felt like that ever since their first meeting in the slave auction house.
"Combatants, ready your arms."
The three Vexmore sons stepped forward in sync, letting the sound of metal scraping against stone reverberate across the arena.
Across from them, Lord Black rolled his shoulders once.
The marshal’s hand dropped.
"Begin."
No horn. No fanfare.
Just a single word.
The word had barely left the marshal’s mouth before Veyne rushed forward. He was fast, extremely so for someone wielding a heavy glaive. He twisted his weapon overhead, activating the spell with a harsh bark:
"[Crescent Guillotine]!"
A flash of white steel slashed through the air.
Quinlan barely stepped aside in time, but before his feet could even settle, Daron was on him. The eldest Vexmore son came from the left with his spear low and spinning, using it more like a staff than a thrusting weapon, sweeping for his legs.
"[Ground Splitter!]"
The stone beneath Quinlan’s boots fractured from the force of the blow as he leapt upward, only to find Teral waiting.
"[Snaring Fang]."
The spiked chain of Teral’s mace lashed around his ankle and yanked, slamming him back down. A fist-sized rock cracked beneath his spine as he hit the ground hard.
They weren’t wasting time.
They weren’t holding back.
And they weren’t fighting like snobby rich kids. These three were good.
Quinlan grunted as he twisted his body in the air and kicked Teral away before the chained mace could slam down on his ribs. A low growl left his lips.
"[Wind Step]." He didn’t need to speak the spells out loud due to his extreme mastery over the elements. However, Quinlan decided he’d keep that information hidden.
Air coiled around him.