From a Broken Engagement to the Northern Grand Duke's Son-in-Law

“You’re... t-testing my loyalty?” Ling stammered.

Her voice caught not on fear, but on the sheer audacity of the concept.

“Indeed I am.”

“Th-then this money...?”

…Perhaps she was simply concerned about losing the gold.

Regardless, Ling clutched the coin purse against her chest like a protective talisman, wariness flickering across her features.

I suppressed a sigh and shook my head. “Keep it. All I require is an opportunity to challenge the champion.”

“Thank the gods.” Ling’s relief was palpable as she nodded. “That much I can arrange. Though we’ll need proper justification.”

“Which would be?”

“You might not understand, coming from noble circles, but I’m still a champion—for whatever that’s worth. I can’t simply fight anyone who wanders in off the street.”

“Then what do you propose?”

“Enter as an underdog and defeat five opponents. Top-tier fighters, naturally.”

Ling tucked the purse inside her coat as she spoke, the gesture practiced and smooth.

“That’s excessive.”

“Absolutely not. Without this minimum requirement, I’d have nothing to tell my people. We could arrange a private bout where no one witnesses it, but that’s not what you’re after, is it?”

She had me there. What I truly sought wasn’t an oath of loyalty, but intelligence about Hasilan’s whereabouts.

I drummed my fingers against my thigh, weighing alternatives. Several options presented themselves, but none seemed particularly viable.

“Very well. I accept.”

“Wise decision.”

Ling’s grin carried the predatory satisfaction of someone who’d just closed a profitable deal.

She was undoubtedly planning to capitalize on this arrangement—with no one backing an unknown fighter, she’d likely wager on me herself and pocket the windfall.

Unfortunately for her, things won’t unfold as expected.

I smiled behind my mask.

Champion Ling believed she held me in the palm of her hand, never suspecting she was the one dancing to my tune.

* * *

Following Ling’s directions into the arena’s depths, I discovered what could charitably be described as a prison masquerading as fighters’ quarters.

Clang.

Creeeeak—

“Fresh meat, boys.”

Ling shoved me into a cell wrapped in iron bars, then strutted away with casual indifference.

Left alone, I was immediately greeted by voices from the surrounding cells.

“New arrival?”

“Where ya from?”

“Another masked fighter? Must possess some skill, eh? They don’t grant that kind of mystique to just anyone.”

“Probably just her latest scheme. How long do you think he’ll last? A day? Two?”

The holding area erupted in conversation. Each fighter was imprisoned in their own cramped iron cage, yet somehow they maintained their sense of camaraderie.

Not what I anticipated.

I surveyed my fellow prisoners with growing curiosity.

I’d expected an underground fighting pit to house madmen and killers, but the reality seemed far more complex.

“So what fabrication did she use to lure you here?”

The man in the adjacent cell asked with a knowing chuckle.

Stubble covered his unwashed face, and his appearance suggested he hadn’t seen proper hygiene in weeks.

Filth accumulating everywhere.

I shook my head slightly while studying his features. Something nagged at me.

“Fabrication? What do you mean?”

“Hmm? Still don’t understand? That woman promised you wealth, didn’t she?”

Wealth?

An uncomfortable realization began forming.

According to intelligence I’d gathered during my time with Artezia, these fighters were here voluntarily—seeking fortune, drugs, or thrills. People who’d lost control and been drawn to this place by their own vices.

But the expressions surrounding me told a different story entirely.

“You were all deceived as well?” I asked carefully, concealing my own circumstances.

The man who’d questioned me laughed bitterly. “Deceived...? I was simply foolish.”

“Ten years trapped here after they promised to find my mother.”

“They abducted me, holding my child hostage.”

“Me? They claimed they’d help me earn money, then drugged me every single day.”

The testimonies continued, each more damning than the last.

I huffed in shock while processing their revelations.

If these accounts were accurate, it meant the Artezia operatives had deceived even their own intelligence networks about the arena’s true nature.

But why employ such elaborate misdirection?

The question troubled me deeply. Al Fortia’s intelligence network should have accessed most information without difficulty—they were often the ones gathering it initially.

Yet here was intelligence that had somehow eluded even Al Fortia’s reach.

This suggested something far more sinister than simple criminal enterprise.

“They promised me wealth as well,” I answered quietly, observing the reactions around me.

The men nodded with grim recognition, chuckling as if they’d expected nothing less.

“Same routine, never varies.”

“That miser sharing profits? Even if you win, she won’t honor the payment.”

“At least defeating the champion grants freedom.”

“Only because there’ll be no one left to stop you leaving at that point.”

The holding area grew animated once more. Heavy footsteps approached from the corridor, and soon a man in light armor appeared, scanning between me and my neighbor.

“Numbers thirty and forty-five, you’re up.”

Forty-five—my designation.

“Whew. Never seen one fight right after arrival,” my neighbor remarked with amusement as he stood.

He glanced at me with something approaching sympathy. “Try not to die. The crowd here can be particularly vicious.”

I couldn’t suppress a laugh. “Likewise. Take care.”

“Hah. Spirited newcomer, I’ll give you that.” The man burst into laughter.

With that exchange, my first match commenced.

* * *

The contest itself proved unremarkable—simply a life-or-death struggle within an enclosure constructed from magic stone wire mesh.

The only permitted weapons were our bodies. No additional armaments allowed.

“Do you understand the rules?” Ling herself climbed into the cage to inquire. 

Apparently, she also served as referee—an interesting conflict of interests.

“Fascinating arrangement.”

“Hmm? Right, this is your first experience here.” Ling nodded as if remembering. “Would you like a brief explanation?”

“Proceed.”

“Prickly rookie, eh? Alright then.” Ling began pacing around the cage with her hands clasped behind her back. “Three rules govern this place. First, accept the referee’s judgment without question. Second, no weapons whatsoever. And finally—”

Ling approached until she stood directly beside me, whispering in my ear with a smile.

“No holding back.”

The curve of her lips held a cold edge. She probably expected me to fight with the usual restraint of Al Fortia’s noble style.

And sure, I’d planned on clean, efficient kills—at first. But after hearing the prisoners’ stories, I changed my mind.

Besides, Ling was giving me full permission.

So I made a small adjustment to my approach.

I despise being manipulated.

I smiled behind my mask with anticipation. “Very well.”

“Good. Shall we commence?”

Swoosh.

Ling looked up at the packed spectator stands and projected her voice. “Can everyone see clearly?”

“We can see fine—start already!”

“Everyone seems eager indeed. But you must endure the fighter introductions.”

Boooooo—!

Jeers erupted from the stands like a physical force.

“Patience, patience. I’ll keep this brief, so bear with me momentarily.”

Ling gestured toward my opponent with theatrical flair.

“This is Karl, a battle-worn hero, as you all know. A member of the Mamami tribal people, called the Southern Barbarians by some. And on the other side—”

Now she indicated me with a flourish.

“Our newest rising star, the Masked Man. A warrior whose skill and identity remain shrouded in mystery.”

Boooooo—!

More jeers erupted, but these were different—directed specifically at me rather than Ling.

“Kill him! What kind of warrior hides behind a mask!”

“Show us a boring fight and we’ll kill you all!”

Ling offered an awkward smile while observing the roaring crowd.

“Come on... how much did you all wager to be acting like this?”

Ling consulted the betting board, then snorted in amusement.

“Ah, I understand now. Betting on the Masked Man would represent a complete reversal of fortune, wouldn’t it?”

“Yeaaaaah—!”

“Can’t be helped then. I’ll have to make this interesting myself. I’m wagering one hundred thousand gold on the Masked Man.”

Ling’s declaration struck the crowd into stunned silence.

Then greed filled their eyes before they erupted in renewed cheers.

“Waaaaaaah—!”

“But you must all enjoy yourselves properly. You hear?”

Ling turned away with a sinister smile, clearly planning to profit handsomely from this arrangement.

Not if I can prevent it.

I called out to Ling as she prepared to signal the match’s beginning.

“Am I permitted to participate in the betting as well?”

“What?” Ling stared at me as if I’d spoken nonsense.

I ignored her bewilderment and addressed the crowd directly. They would certainly accept my participation—from their perspective, free money was falling from the heavens.

“I’m wagering one million gold on myself.”

“WAAAAAAAAAAH—!”

The cheers intensified exponentially.

My opponent regarded me as if I’d lost my sanity.

Only one person was disturbed by this development—Ling.

“What in the hells are you doing?”

“What do you mean?”

Her scheme to profit from my potential victory had just been thoroughly demolished. The favorable odds were now working against her, not in her favor.

One million gold carried that kind of weight.

I smiled behind my mask at Ling’s bewildered expression. “I suggest you begin already. The crowd grows restless.”

Ling bit her lip with visible frustration. She wanted to declare that fighters couldn’t participate in betting, but such a ruling would incite the crowd’s wrath.

She had no choice but to allow my wager.

Sure enough.

“Begin,” Ling spoke quietly to the staff member holding the bell.

Ding—!

The bell chimed, and my opponent released a long sigh while raising his fists defensively.

“…I hope that’s not your entire fortune. I’ll spare your life, so you’d best work hard to repay it.”

These men truly were good-natured souls. In their position, I would have simply eliminated them all without hesitation.

Well… perhaps I’ve changed as well.

I shrugged and assumed my fighting stance.

Drawing up my Aura, I focused the energy into my fists with practiced precision.

Then I exhaled slowly and recalled the technique I’d recently mastered—the combat arts Grand Master Enoxia had imparted to me.

BOOM—!

My fist launched toward the man’s ribs with devastating force.

Simultaneously, he collapsed unconscious and flew out of the cage as half the enclosure itself was obliterated.

“Well… That’s over.”

In the still silence that followed, I quietly sheathed my Aura with a sense of satisfaction.

A flawless victory—achieved using merely ten percent of my available power.