Chapter 109

The Royal Family’s Legacy.

At those words, Aizen froze on the spot.

Even in this age ruled by the Empire, royal families still existed—albeit rarely.
There remained nations that had not been fully annexed, left instead as vassal states.

But when the word “legacy” was added, it became a different matter entirely.

“Could it be… something left behind by the late Duke Grimaldi?”
“More precisely, items—plural.”

Not an item, but items.

Did the fallen House of Grimaldi still possess the means to leave behind multiple legacies?

Unable to suppress his curiosity despite his doubts, Aizen opened the box.

“Armor?”

A pure white suit of armor that evoked the image of platinum.
More precisely, it was only the breastplate portion of a full suit of armor that lay inside the box.

Fully lifting the cuirass out, Aizen’s eyes widened.

“In this day and age…!”

He could tell just from the sensation at his fingertips.

There was absolutely no craftsman alive who could make armor like this.
He didn’t know what kind of metal it was made from, but it was lighter and sturdier than any armor he had ever seen.

On top of that, the runes engraved between its plates seemed to disrupt the surrounding mana, as if blocking external interference.

It’s not just durable. It’s clearly prepared to withstand magical attacks as well…?

Unfortunately, Aizen couldn’t fully discern the effects engraved into the armor.
Swordsmanship aside, he was a complete novice when it came to magic.

As Aizen was absentmindedly examining the cuirass, Lucian’s voice snapped him back to reality.

“I would like to ask you, Sir Aizen, to test how sturdy it is.”
“A test? You don’t mean the durability test I’m thinking of, do you?”
“That is correct. Please strike it with all your strength.”
“Hahaha!”

Aizen barely managed to swallow the shock that threatened to burst out of him.

Even he had rarely seen armor crafted to such perfection.
And now he was being told to damage it with his own hands.

“Your Highness, with armor of this caliber, there’s no need for testing. Just wearing it is enough to tell—it belongs among the finest of all armor currently in existence.”
“That may be so, but wouldn’t it be wise to know the upper limit of the impact it can withstand?”
“If it were a mass-produced item, that would be reasonable. But for something as rare as this, it would be tantamount to destroying a treasure with one’s own hands.”
“Then please strike it, just as I asked.”

“…What?”

“This armor is mass-produced.”

For once, even Aizen failed to keep his composure.

Mass-produced? This treasure?

So absurd was the notion that Aizen sprang to his feet without realizing it and asked again,

“You’re saying this is truly a mass-produced item?”
“More precisely, an ancient mass-produced item. There are roughly a thousand still remaining.”
“Hah! Hahaha!”

A hollow laugh spilled from Aizen’s mouth.

Not a hundred of these—but over a thousand.
The thought of a thousand soldiers advancing while clad in this armor was enough to make his body tremble.

Even a unit made up entirely of raw recruits could easily take a fortress.

Once that thought crossed his mind, a chill ran down his spine.
It was equipment powerful enough to capture a fortress even in the hands of new soldiers.

But what if those thousand weren’t recruits, but elite veterans who had endured countless battles?
No—what if every single one of them were knights who had fully mastered sword forms?

“Sir Aizen.”

Snapped out of his thoughts by Lucian’s voice, Aizen looked back at the armor.
It was still a treasure beyond compare—but with over a thousand remaining.

In that case, cutting into just one here shouldn’t matter.

Having made up his mind, Aizen picked up the wooden practice sword beside him.

“You’re going to strike it with a wooden sword instead of a real blade?”
“If I use a real sword, it won’t be a test.”

It might have sounded arrogant, but it was an unvarnished truth.

No matter how sturdy it was, wasn’t it still an inanimate object that just stood there and took the blow along the optimal path?
The moment a proper sword was used, anything would be split in two, so a durability test had been meaningless from the start.

Uuuung—

When Aizen gripped the wooden sword with both hands, structured magic power rippled.
Compared to a real blade, it would be a far duller strike, but with this amount of magic power, it was no different from a battering ram in its own right.
Aizen steadied his breathing, and the instant he brought the wooden sword down like lightning onto the armor—

Kwarrrrung—

“Ghk!”

A thunderous roar, like a bolt of lightning crashing down, battered Lucian’s eardrums.
It was the sound of the countless runes engraved on the armor colliding with the Sword Saint’s blow and being torn to shreds.
The runes shattered nonstop, flashing repeatedly as they struggled to reduce the impact.
And when at last even the final rune lost its light, all protective effects gone—

“…Huh.”

A groan escaped the Sword Saint’s lips, somewhere between admiration and shock.
Through the swirling clouds of dust, Lucian stared at the wooden sword embedded in the armor.
The blade had bitten into the armor and torn through about a third of it, but it could go no further.
If someone had been wearing it, they would have died on the spot, yet the fact that it endured without being split in two even by the Sword Saint’s strike spoke volumes about its durability.

“Your Highness, just what did the former Duke leave behind?”

Only pure bewilderment remained in Aizen’s eyes.
How in the world had the fallen Grimaldi managed to keep more than a thousand such items?
Lucian met Aizen’s gaze and smiled faintly.

“I will inform you after I have exterminated the House of Calyx.”

Norbek muttered blankly at the completely unexpected report.

“They accepted my challenge to a duel?”
“Yes, my lord.”

“Why on earth?”

Palmyr, a knight of the House of Count Calyx, closed his mouth at his lord’s question.
How could he possibly know what those people were thinking?
Norbek knew that as well, but he couldn’t help asking.
After all, he had never imagined that they would accept the proposal.

Have they gone mad with overconfidence? They’re actually coming outside, leaving that wall behind?

The walls of Asagrim were impossible to breach unless an internal traitor provided help or some special means such as magic was employed.
With only a little exaggeration, you could say they didn’t even need to post a single guard on the walls.
Norbek’s challenge to a duel had been closer to a desperate gamble, made out of impatience because no way to cross the walls had been found.
Yet now they were abandoning such impregnable defenses and coming outside to duel.

“Do they really believe this will be just an honest duel?”
“That doesn’t seem to be the case.”

What trust could they possibly place in Norbek, who had already attempted assassination?
They clearly had their own scheme—so much so that they accepted the challenge fully aware it would be a trap.

“Perhaps they’ve decided to abandon any pretense as well. They might pretend to accept the duel, approach us, and then strike head-on.”
“If that were the case, they would have relied on the walls and waited until our provisions ran out. To abandon all justification and attack when the enemy is at their strongest—that’s nonsense.”
“It’s also possible that the Sword Saint we’ve only heard about in rumors has joined them. With the Sword Saint’s help, it wouldn’t be strange for them to try to draw us out first rather than engage in a battle of wits.”
“If he were to beg the Sword Saint—who isn’t even his vassal, but my father’s—for a hand-fed victory, who would ever acknowledge him? Unless he’s a fool, he’d insist on finishing things himself.”
“My apologies. That’s the limit of the stratagems I can come up with.”

Seeing Palmyr readily acknowledge his own inadequacy, Norbek let out a sigh.
In the past, the man would have wracked his brain for an answer no matter what, but ever since he had given up on his life, he had become overly honest.
Norbek understood that this was because there was no longer any need to overexert himself to curry favor, but the attitude still felt deeply awkward to him.

“True enough. If we could always see through the enemy’s intentions, we wouldn’t have ended up like this in the first place.”
“What will you do? If you’re worried about the enemy’s scheme, you could simply call it off as though it never happened.”
“No. We’ll accept it. The gains are too great to throw away just because it feels suspicious.”

He didn’t know what the enemy was thinking, but they were coming outside the walls of their own accord.
Whatever their ulterior motives, it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity worth taking even with the risk.

So the duel will be at Crow Hill. How laughable.

A midpoint between Asagrim and the other five territories.
Only the very top of the hill was a quagmire, making it resemble a crow’s head, which was why it was called Crow Hill.
There was no cover suitable for hiding troops, so any ambush would be quickly exposed—their intentions were plain enough.

So they’re confident they can beat me no matter how I come at them, as long as there’s no ambush?
Grit.

Overwhelmed by surging rage, Norbek ground his teeth without realizing it.
That the House of Calyx, which had reigned as a great northern family for hundreds of years, could be so blatantly looked down upon by some greenhorn.

“Go on, then—enjoy a victory you haven’t even won yet.”

It was humiliating, but in the end it was nothing more than a fleeting, mistaken sense of triumph.
When death loomed right before him, the man would regret everything he had done.
If only he could see that greenhorn’s face, stained with terror, when that moment came—then he could endure a humiliation this small as much as necessary.

Three days later, Lucian, having set out at the head of his army, came face to face with Norbek at Crow Hill.
Seeing Norbek’s forces approaching from afar, Lucian stroked his chin.

Just as reported. About twice our numbers.

Lucian had brought the Blue Rose Knight Order borrowed from the Imperial Family along with two thousand elite troops, while Norbek led Calyx’s White Bear Knight Order and four thousand soldiers.
In sheer numbers, Calyx’s side was overwhelming, but in terms of training and equipment, Lucian’s forces were clearly superior.
If they truly clashed, it was hard to predict how the battle would turn out.

“Lucian! You snot-nosed brat—if you’re not scared, take up your sword at once and stand before me! You’re the one who proposed the duel—are you planning to tuck your tail between your legs now?”

As both sides glared at each other across the hill, Norbek surged forward and shouted.
At the provocation, Lucian let out a snort of laughter and called back.

“As if! How could I turn my back on a decrepit old man like you? Since we’ve met again after so long, I’ll deal with you personally!”
“…!”

Not only Norbek, but even the soldiers on both sides were taken aback by Lucian’s reply.
Was he truly planning to step into a duel in person, as the supreme commander himself?
It wasn’t even a formal proposal—just a passing taunt—yet he accepted it without hesitation.

As murmurs of confusion spread through the crowd, Lucian shouted once more.

“But it wouldn’t do for the supreme commander to step out from the very start—it wouldn’t look right! If you want me to come out, then cut down my knight first!”
“What are you—!”
“If my knight falls, then I’ll face you personally! Well!? ”

Palmyr, standing beside Norbek, frowned.
The supreme commander would personally accept the duel if just a single knight was defeated?
The more this went on, the harder it was to discern what scheme lay behind it.

“My lord, something feels off—perhaps we should observe the situation—”
“Are you serious!?”

Before Palmyr could finish speaking, Norbek shouted.
Startled, Palmyr turned his head, only to see Lucian smiling as he raised a banner.

“On the names of Valdeck and Grimaldi, I swear to the Eight Gods of the Heavens! The moment my knight is struck down, I shall enter the duel alone!”

Not only Valdeck’s name, but Grimaldi’s as well.
Among the northerners, invoking Grimaldi carried no small weight.
Unless Calyx’s side was the first to break the formal structure of the duel, it would be impossible for Lucian to break his oath first.
Norbek clenched his fist without realizing it and spoke.

“Sir Palmyr.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“I don’t care how many are sacrificed—send them out one after another. Until we drag that wretched greenhorn out, make sure no one acts rashly.”

At Norbek’s command, Palmyr shuddered.
To seal away every plan they had prepared and step straight into a stage arranged by the enemy themselves—this was madness.

Palmyr wanted to stop him somehow, but Norbek, his eyes already bloodshot with fury, showed no sign of listening.

We’ve been played.

Only then did Palmyr grasp the enemy’s true intention, squeezing his eyes shut.