Chapter 119: Final [5]

"This ends here," Alice declared, her voice sharp. "Either your strength gives out, or my sword reaches your exposed chest first!"

"I have no plans to lose," I answered coolly.

And besides—wasn’t it better I win? If Alice, a knight of the Draken Ducal Family, came out on top, the whispers of nepotism would spread like wildfire. A fair win from me would save her the criticism.

But...

"I can see it in your eyes," she hissed, "that pride. That greedy little spark."

Ah. I sighed inwardly.

She had completely misread my intentions. I wasn’t trying to humiliate her. But I suppose risking your life against someone is a fast way to get on their bad side.

Clang!

Her longsword clashed against my short sword, ringing out loud and clear.

We locked blades, a test of strength. She narrowed her eyes, pushing with all her might. I gritted my teeth, giving just enough resistance to keep up the illusion.

While our swords clashed, I moved my free hand toward her side.

I was never aiming for a noble duel.



Not against Alice, who lived and breathed proper swordsmanship. If I played her game, I’d lose.

"Trying to use magic again?" she said, suspiciously eyeing my left hand.

Exactly what I wanted.

"Flash!"

A bright light burst from my palm, a spell exploding into brilliance like a flash grenade.

The magic—Velra’s creation—flared violently, forcing her to shut her eyes and recoil slightly.

I didn’t expect to use it here, honestly.

It wasn’t some high-tier spell, and Velra herself had once called it ’a parlor trick for thieves.’ But that didn’t make it useless.

When I first asked Velra to teach me basic magic, I hadn’t thought she’d agree. Especially not after already gifting me the most dangerous weapon in her arsenal—blood magic. I thought she’d sneer at the idea.

But she had said yes. Maybe she was just in a good mood.

Maybe it was because she had just finished draining Bjron’s blood and was practically glowing with satisfaction.

Who knows?

Whatever the reason—I was grateful. Because now, at the climax of the final match, surrounded by a roaring crowd and staring down one of the most terrifying opponents I’d ever faced, that simple flash spell had just turned the tide.

And I wasn’t about to waste that chance.

Alice staggered, just half a step—but it was all I needed.

In that instant of blindness, I twisted my body low and to the side, ducking under her guard. My blade darted out like a viper.

Clink!

She deflected it—barely. Even blind, her instincts were razor-sharp.

But it didn’t matter.

Her footing was off. Her posture broken.

And I had momentum.

I kicked forward, slamming into her with my shoulder. Not a clean hit—she turned with it—but enough to throw her balance. She stumbled back, sword scraping across the floor.

I pressed in.

One strike. Two. Each blow was measured, not wild—testing, probing.

....But that wasn’t end of it.

I brought my hands together in a deliberate clap—fingers interlocked—before shifting them into a shape that resembled a gun, my index finger pointing straight at the Alice.

"Blood Manipulation: Blood Needle."

[You have used Blood Magic.]

[A penalty is applied. A certain amount of blood is consumed.]

The dizziness intensified as a consequence, but it was a worthy trade-off for its effectiveness.

The circuits inside me, created by Velra, flared to life. I could feel them activate, humming beneath my skin like coiled lightning.

A faint glow traced along my arms as blood surged to my fingertips, sharp and pressurized. Then in instant blood began form at the tip of my fingers tips, it spun and change it shaped to ...a long, needle-like spike—thin, gleaming crimson, and deadly.

With a subtle twitch of my finger, it shot forward.

Shlick—!

Only to stop at Alice neck under my command.

"This is my win...."

Slowly, Alice opened her eyes only to meet with a blood-red needle just few inches away from...her throat.

Alice froze.

The crowd, once roaring with excitement, fell into a stunned silence as the gleam of the blood-forged needle hovered dangerously close to her skin.

One wrong move, one sudden twitch—and it would pierce right through.

Her lips trembled slightly, whether in frustration or awe, I couldn’t tell.

"This is my win," I repeated, my voice calm but firm.

She stared at me for a long moment. Her eyes, burning with pride and fury just moments ago, now reflected something different—reluctant acceptance, and perhaps... respect.

Then she sheathed her sword with a sharp clack and raised both hands, signaling surrender.

"I yield."

A collective gasp echoed across the arena. Even the announcer seemed momentarily stunned, fumbling with his enchanted microphone.

"Th-the winner is...!"

But I didn’t hear the rest.

My legs buckled the moment the tension snapped.

I knelt, steadying myself with one hand as the blood circuits in my body slowly cooled down, the searing heat along my arms receding like the tide. My vision blurred at the edges—dizziness from blood loss crashing in hard.

Alice stepped forward and, to my surprise, offered her hand.

"Take it," she said softly. "Before you collapse in front of everyone and make my loss even more humiliating."

I let out a weak chuckle and grabbed her hand.

Her grip was firm as she hauled me to my feet.



"Did I use too much blood? Or was my stamina just completely drained from all those battles in a row?" I muttered to myself, shaking my head at the absurdity of it all.

The image stuck in my mind—the loser somehow still standing on their feet, while the winner is supported by loser to stand on their feets, utterly spent. It was so ridiculous it actually made me chuckle.

"The winner... Julies Evans!"

But in the end, what did it really matter?

I got what I came for. Both the victory and the artifact from the Ducal Family’s vault were finally mine.

---

At first, there was silence.

A silence heavy with disbelief.

Then, it started.

A single voice—shrill and indignant—cut through the still air.

"This duel wasn’t fair!"

Another voice followed, then another, and soon the entire Colosseum erupted into a sea of booing and angry shouts.

"An outsider!"

"He used trickery!"

"He cheated!"

My breath hitched.

I had won. Fair and clean—by the rules. The referee hadn’t interfered. Alice had yielded. But now, the crowd that moments ago had watched with held breath was turning into a roaring storm of contempt.

I looked around, dazed. The cheers that should’ve met my name had been drowned beneath venomous jeers.

"To neutralize her armor like that—he must’ve used some despicable trick!"

"He’s just a servant! How can a servant defeat his own master? What happened to honor?"

"Duke Draken! Please punish the outsider’s disgraceful methods!"

My vision was still hazy, but I could see them now—noblemen in high collars, merchants with embroidered sashes. Their faces were red with anger, voices rising like a fever.

I staggered slightly, trying to keep my footing. My blood circuits had yet to fully cool. My hands trembled—fatigue, yes, but more than that...

Disbelief.

This was their reaction?

Wasn’t this what they wanted? An honest fight? A clear winner? No favoritism?

Apparently not.

Apparently, they would rather see Alice win by birthright than lose with dignity.

Alice stood beside me, her arms crossed, her gaze scanning the crowd. She didn’t look surprised—disappointed, maybe, but not surprised.

She knew this would happen.

"Julies Evans," she said suddenly, loud enough to cut through the noise.

I turned, barely managing to stand straight.

She stepped forward, her boots clicking sharply against the stone floor of the arena.

"I yielded," she said, her voice firm and proud. "I lost. And I lost fairly."

The crowd paused—just a moment. Just long enough to hear her words.

"I may be the pride of the North, but I will not hide behind it. If you boo him, then you boo me, and my judgment as a knight."

Gasps. Murmurs. Some silence returned.

And yet—

"That doesn’t change the fact that he’s not one of us!" someone shouted.

"He used magic in a sword duel!"

"Flash spells, blood tricks—this isn’t how we fight in the North!"

What the hell is wrong with these people’s? Everyone knows anything was allowed in this tournament, even artifacts and relics too.

Did they loose their common sense too?

Alice’s defense only slowed the storm, but it didn’t stop it.

I clenched my fists. My body ached, but my pride ached more.

What had I expected? Applause? Gratitude? A damn parade?

Foolish.

I wasn’t one of them.

I wasn’t noble. I wasn’t Northern.

I was her servant.

No matter how well I fought, no matter how clean the win—my place was always going to be beneath them in their eyes.

I heard someone spit onto the ground.

Then a rock landed near my foot.

My eyes went cold.



Alice noticed too. She stepped closer, almost shoulder to shoulder with me.

"You’re all cowards," she muttered under her breath, her jaw clenched. "He stood against me without fear, fought better than half of you ever could."

"Stop," I said quietly.

She blinked. "What?"

I gave her a tired smile.

"This isn’t your fight anymore. You already acknowledged me."

I turned toward the crowd, standing straight even though my legs screamed to collapse.

....I was going to bullshit them all but at that moment, the one who overseas all North and orginazer of this tournament opened his mouth.

"Julies Evans."

All eyes turned to Duke Draken, who was observing everything from the top of the arena.

...The audiance was waiting for him to continue.

Wating for punish the outsider.