Kael's lips parted, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Y-yes… you're right."
He exhaled slowly, the weight of the silence collapsing around him.
"That was my reason for allowing the slave trade company to exist in this city."
"You won the first part."
But inside, his thoughts stormed like a battlefield.
What the hell is this kid? I let the slave market flourish because it was profitable… simple politics. But him—he speaks of it like it's some brutal lesson in power. Like pain is a tool. Like cruelty is necessary.
He's not lying. That's the scary part.
He believes it.
What has he gone through… to think like that? I pity him. And at the same time—fear him.
Kael's jaw clenched.
I've fought tyrants. Killed them. But this one? He's young, unreadable, and already thinks like a ruler who's outgrown morality.
He tightened his grip on his hand.
If he marries her… she'll suffer in ways I can't predict. Love? Maybe not. But power?
His thoughts darkened.
If she becomes his wife, her authority will become untouchable. No one would dare harm her—not when she's the only thing standing between his wrath and the world.
Because men like him… they don't love.They possess.And they burn everything that tries to take what's theirs.
A flicker of something—maybe guilt, maybe resignation—passed through Kael's eyes.
In front of someone like him, even I feel like a saint.
While Ren stood quietly, he was far from calm.
Damn it, he thought, jaw clenched. I lost the first part. I need to win the second and make it a tie… if not, I lose everything.
Kael's voice broke the tension.
"Good. Now—the second and final part of the test."
His gaze swept across both of them.
"This one will be a sword match. No aura. No demonic Qi. No magic. Just skill."
A beat.
"Win with steel alone."
Both nodded in silence.
But inside, Ren was already grinning.
This is perfect.He has no presence. No power I can sense. That's why Clan Leader made this rule. It's obvious—Amon's never fought before. He's a messenger, not a warrior.This is mine to win.
Kael led them through the manor's halls until they stepped into a vast open courtyard—a private sparring arena nestled behind the estate.
The ground was stone, flat and well-maintained. Three sparring zones, each large enough to host full duels, were marked with faded chalk rings.
Steel racks lined the sides, offering practice weapons, though most were sharp enough to kill.
Kael stood at the edge of the central ring, arms behind his back.
He didn't speak at first.
He simply watched Amon.
Measured him again.
Ordinarily, Kael thought, I wouldn't limit a duel like this. A test of hearts and blades should allow full power, full control. But not this time.I did it for Ren.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
Because I can't sense anything from Amon. Nothing. No aura. No pressure. Just silence.If he's hiding his cultivation, he's beyond Dominion Seeker.
Either way, Kael was uneasy.
I just hope… I haven't made a mistake bringing a storm into my own house.
He turned to the two standing across from each other.
"No killing strikes. The first to drop their sword, yield, or be disarmed—loses."
Then Kael's tone darkened, his authority cracking through.
"But if either of you cheats—"
He looked at Ren first.
"—I'll know."
And then at Amon.
"—and I'll intervene."
The cold wind passed through the arena.
Amon stepped forward, eyes calm. Silent.
Ren gripped his sword tighter.
He's a ghost, Ren thought, trying to shake the dread creeping in. No presence. No history. Just a shadow.
But shadows can't hold steel.
And then one old instructor came and stood near the edge of the ring. His beard was short, trimmed, his armor plain but well-worn. This was Orin—the Ironborn Clan's weapons master. A man who had seen thousands of matches.
He squinted at the two figures taking their places.
Ren stood firm—back straight, blade level, feet spaced perfectly.
Orin nodded slightly. "Classic Northern stance. Good posture. Firm root. The lad's trained well."
Then his eyes slid to Amon.
Amon stood with one hand at his side, the other lazily gripping a training blade. His feet were angled wrong. His stance… if you could call it that… looked almost like he'd wandered into the ring by accident.
Orin frowned.
"Amateur," he muttered.
Kael said nothing.
A gust of wind blew across the ring.
Then—
Ren moved.
He lunged forward, fast and clean, blade slicing through the air in a perfect arc aimed for Amon's shoulder.
Amon leaned. Just slightly.
The blade passed a hair's breadth from his coat.
Ren's feet skidded slightly as he overcommitted.
He spun with practiced grace, slashing upward toward Amon's ribs.
Again—Amon stepped back. No flourish. No wasted movement. Just a sidestep, like moving away from a puddle.
Ren growled, teeth grit. He pressed forward, striking again and again—each swing stronger, faster.
A sweeping cut.A sharp thrust.A spinning feint aimed at the leg.
Amon weaved.
Tilted his head.
Shifted his foot.
Let Ren pass by again… and again… and again.
His expression didn't change.
He didn't even raise his blade.
Orin blinked.
"…What the hell am I watching?"
He stepped closer, eyes narrowing.
"Those dodges… they're not lucky. They're calculated."
In the ring, Ren was panting now. Sweat formed at his temple. His movements were still fast—sharp—but the frustration was setting in.
"You running from me?" Ren snapped.
Amon finally moved his sword.
Not to attack.
But to tap Ren's incoming blade—lightly. A deflection. So soft it looked insulting.
Then he yawned.
"Yes," Amon said casually, "I figured I'd let you tire yourself out. It's working."
Ren roared.
He struck again, desperate now, aiming to break Amon's smug defense.
Amon ducked.
The blade whooshed past his head.
Then—
Tap.
Amon's sword touched Ren's wrist.
Clack.
Ren's blade hit the ground.
Silence.
Amon stood still, arm extended in a casual flick. The movement had taken less than a second.
Ren stared at the ground, eyes wide, chest heaving.
"I… I lost?"
Orin stared at Amon now.
He muttered under his breath like a man watching history bend.
"His stance was a lie…"
He turned to Kael.
"He stood like he didn't know where his feet belonged—because he didn't need to. He watched every angle Ren used and dodged with perfect minimal motion. That's not amateur. That's mastery."
Kael said nothing.
He was already thinking what Orin hadn't dared to say aloud:
He was playing.He's still playing.
In the ring, Amon turned to Ren and offered a mock bow.
"Thanks for the warm-up."
Ren stared, stunned.
Then slowly… shame flooded his face.
But Amon was already walking away, blade resting casually against his shoulder.