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

“...Eh?”

The spectators stared at Louis Berg with blank expressions, their minds struggling to process what they’d just witnessed.

The starting bell had rung only moments ago. In the span of a single heartbeat, the duel was over.

One second—that’s all it had taken to reduce the underground arena’s reinforced cage to twisted metal and debris.

Of all the brutal contests they’d witnessed in this blood-soaked pit, this was perhaps the most anticlimactic.

“A… a god of war!” someone in the stands shouted, pointing at the wreckage with a trembling finger.

The cry ignited the crowd like a spark to tinder.

“WOOOOOOOOOO!”

The spectators erupted in a deafening roar.

Lost bets were forgotten in an instant. They were witnessing the birth of a legend—a new champion who would bring fresh excitement and golden opportunities to their underground world.

Was this not exactly why they came to this forsaken place? The promise of witnessing something extraordinary, something that would make their blood sing with anticipation.

The rookie’s overwhelming display of power had crashed into their expectations like a thunderbolt.

Ling, however, could only stare at the devastation with mirthless laughter bubbling from her throat.

What in hell is this?

The was supposedly a First-Class Scribe. An information broker for the Duchy of Artezia, someone who could supposedly acquire any secret worth knowing.

She’d naturally assumed he possessed some combat training, but this...

Isn’t this beyond excessive?

No matter his rank as a First-Class Scribe, his expertise should have been intelligence gathering, not battlefield dominance.

She’d expected him to be skilled enough to pose a reasonable challenge—perhaps even close to her own level—but not this overwhelming display of raw power.

And more importantly—

“My money!”

Ling gnawed at her fingernails, her eyes boring into Louis Berg with frustrated intensity.

She’d genuinely believed he might win, given his credentials as a First-Class Scribe. After all, he’d claimed he was here to evaluate her abilities, which suggested considerable confidence in his own skills.

But she’d anticipated a closely matched fight.

Not a one-sided thrashing!

Her carefully planned scheme to strike it rich had crumbled because of this so-called First-Class Scribe.

What should have been an opportunity to multiply her investment dozens of times over had become a guaranteed victory with minimal returns.

She’d wagered 100,000 gold and earned barely 100 more. Profit, yes, but a pittance compared to the fortune she’d envisioned.

Worse still…

Now there won’t be any more underdog opportunities!

After such a spectacular showing, no one would dare bet against the masked fighter again. With a warrior of his caliber, why would they risk it?

Unless the masked First-Class Scribe somehow lost—which seemed impossible—her money-making opportunities had vanished like smoke.

Ling clicked her tongue and shot him a venomous glare.

Louis Berg merely shrugged, his voice carrying casual mockery. “So, who’s the winner?”

For a moment, rage surged through Ling’s chest, but she forced it down and answered through gritted teeth. “The winner is... the Masked Man.”

“Oh, that would be me.”

“Right… Go rest in the back. I’ll arrange your next opponent.”

“Please don’t take too long. My muscles were just warming up, and now they’re starting to cool.”

Ling’s face contorted with barely contained fury. “I get it! Just go rest!”

“Very well.” Louis Berg shrugged again, seemingly oblivious to her mounting anger.

Watching him walk away, Ling clenched her fists until her knuckles went white. 

Something was going seriously wrong with her plans.

* * *

I returned to the prison-esque waiting chamber to pass the time between matches. 

The other fighters in adjacent cells peppered me with questions, which I answered with measured responses.

Their inquiries could have been hostile—fighters sizing up a potential threat. But the fact that I’d chosen not to kill my opponent seemed to earn their grudging respect.

They’re essentially slaves here, I reflected. Of course they’d appreciate mercy.

How long I sat there, I couldn’t say, but eventually Ling’s voice cut through the dim corridor.

“Masked Man, you’re up.”

She personally escorted me to face my next opponent—a shaggy man who looked like he’d been sleeping in gutters, the same one who’d greeted me earlier with surprising friendliness.

“Let’s have a good match,” he said, managing a genuine smile despite the grim circumstances.

The starting bell chimed.

Unsurprisingly, I ended the fight in a single second.

My third, fourth, and fifth opponents fell just as quickly.

Finally, Ling arranged the match everyone had been waiting for—my bout with the reigning champion.

The crowd’s energy reached fever pitch as they placed their bets.

For the first time since my arrival, the odds were split evenly between both fighters.

“This is unprecedented,” Ling said, standing across from me in the rebuilt cage. “My betting odds have never been this modest.”

Her wounded pride was written across her features.

That wasn’t my concern.

“It’s a first for me too,” I replied. “To think someone of your caliber passes for a champion here. There’ll be discussions back at the family.”

“What?”

Ling’s expression shifted to one of pure incredulity, followed swiftly by rage.

“Just because I’ve been civil with you, you think you’re something special? You realize I could slaughter you, First-Class Scribe or not? Maybe I should just cripple you instead.”

“When were you ever civil?”

“Ha! What a pain in the fucking ass. Should I demonstrate exactly what I’m capable of?”

I couldn’t suppress a chuckle as I studied her.

If she truly possessed the ability to eliminate me, she would have attempted it long ago—poison in my food, sabotage during matches, any number of underhanded tactics that would allow her to manipulate the betting odds.

That this money-obsessed woman hadn’t tried such methods meant there were constraints preventing her.

“By all means, try.”

“What?”

I met her gaze directly. “I said, try to cripple me.”

The reason I’d maintained the First-Class Scribe charade until now was simple—I’d been concerned she might refuse to fight me otherwise.

Who would listen to some unknown fighter demanding a match with the arena’s champion?

While I’d been told five victories were required, that was merely the minimum qualification. Plenty of long-term survivors had surely achieved five wins.

In that sense, I’d accomplished my primary objective.

Her reaction should come any moment now.

I observed Ling from the corner of my eye. Sure enough, she was breathing heavily through her nose, excitement and fury warring in her expression.

“Don’t regret this,” she muttered quietly, then turned to shout at a nearby staff member. “Ring the bell now!”

“Y-yes ma’am!”

CLANG!

The starting bell echoed through the arena.

In that instant, Ling vanished from her position and materialized directly in front of me.

Her attack came like a wild beast’s strike—merciless claws aimed at my face.

Slash!

Ling’s razor-sharp nails tore through my clothing as they passed mere inches from my skin.

“Oh, very bear-like,” I observed, continuing to dodge her relentless assault. “You seem keen on becoming the animal itself.”

“Shut up!”

Slash!

She pressed her attack, hands moving in continuous, deadly arcs.

I responded with light, precise footwork, evading each strike with minimal effort.

As this one-sided exchange continued, jeers began raining down from the spectator stands.

“Fight!”

“Stop running and engage!”

Hearing their calls, Ling sneered. “Don’t you hear them? They’re demanding you fight.”

“I hear them perfectly well.”

Slash!

I continued dodging while answering, having gathered enough information about her combat style and capabilities.

Time to extract what I’d really come for.

“Let me ask you something. Where are the red gems?”

“You’re asking that here?” she panted, not breaking her attack rhythm.

“They won’t overhear. And if they do, I’ll simply eliminate them all.”

“…You really are from Artezia.”

“Where else would I be from?”

Ling’s expression grew thoughtful even as she maintained her offensive barrage. She seemed to be testing how much intelligence I already possessed.

I saw no harm in playing along.

“I know you commissioned Python to create the gems. That’s why you’ve been using expendables.”

“If you know that much, then you know everything.”

At Python’s mention, Ling sighed and nodded, her killing intent evaporating like morning mist.

What remained was only dutiful loyalty to Artezia.

“Lord Pepia says he’ll assault the prison soon. Something about having accumulated sufficient sin and sacrifices? Claims he’ll be able to achieve full resurrection?”

“I see.”

“That would only be possible with the red gems, of course.”

Ling threw a punch—this time without murderous intent—as she spoke.

I easily sidestepped such halfhearted attacks while processing this crucial information.

So the red gems are connected to Demonkin manifestation.

Pepia. One of the Twelve Nobles my master had taught me about—the Count of Madness.

And also—

The Demonkin responsible for the Ayla Village massacre…

He was the one who had murdered Roxen’s daughter.

I need to hurry.

I narrowed my eyes, cold calculation replacing casual interest as I revised my plans. 

While I’d originally come here to rescue the Grand Duke, a more pressing crisis had emerged.

The Grand Duke should be relatively safe with my master for now. The situation unfolding here demanded immediate attention.

“Do you require corpses to create the red gems?”

“Huh? You don’t know this?”

“I’m here to assist, so speak plainly. I need to verify the accuracy of my existing intelligence.”

“Hmm… Is that so? Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter. The red gem requires a specific creation process. The materials we need are humans on the verge of death and their despair.”

Is that so?

“That means you must have procured a considerable amount of materials here.”

“Right.  What about it?”

“Are there other support operatives besides myself?”

“There are five major gangs operating here... Wait, you don’t know this either? That’s rather strange.”

Ling suddenly regarded me with suspicious eyes.

My deception had apparently reached its limits.

“I appreciate the information.” I began channeling Aura throughout my body. “In return, let me show you something interesting.”

WHOOSH!

I gathered every strand of Aura in my body to a single focal point and regulated my breathing.

This was the technique Enoxia had warned me never to use carelessly—a method perhaps comparable to the legendary Divine Archer’s ultimate arts.

“W-what is that power?!”

Ling panicked and dropped into a defensive crouch, recognizing the overwhelming energy building around my fist.

Such elementary defense wouldn’t suffice against what was coming.

“Do try to endure.”

Even Enoxia had found this technique troublesome to counter.

I steadied my breathing and began throwing my punch with deliberate slowness.

In that moment, time seemed to crystallize around us.

Everything froze except for my fist, moving with inexorable purpose through the suspended air.

Then finally—my fist made contact with Ling’s chest.

CRASH!

Time resumed its normal flow with explosive force.

“Urrk!”

Ling vomited blood and collapsed, her chest completely pierced through by the devastating technique.