Chapter 26

Duel (2)

“Hahaha!”

In the frozen atmosphere, Besimer suddenly burst into laughter.

As if it were contagious, the other soldiers began laughing as well.

Even the soldiers from the supply convoy—who had just lost their captain—joined in.

“What’s so funny?”

Isaac asked.

“Ha… hahaha!”

But Besimer only laughed harder.

Now clutching his stomach, even slapping his knees as he roared.

“Did you hear that? He says we’re all going to be wiped out by hell wolves.”

The other soldiers repeated Isaac’s words, grinning from ear to ear.

“Besimer! Besimer!”

Unable to stand it, Schiller called out sharply.

“Brother, hahaha—you heard it too, didn’t you? Seems like the young master is terrified of those big mutts.”

“I won’t tolerate any more disrespect.”

“Disrespect? What disrespect? Why should I show respect to a brat who knows nothing about this land?”

Besimer shot back in a rough voice.

“Hell wolves? They’re nothing more than wild dogs. What we truly fear is big brother’s half-heartedness! Hiding inside the castle, worrying about appearances, unable to do anything properly—just barely clinging on!”

“Enough! Have you forgotten it was his lordship’s mercy that spared your life? Have you already forgotten your oath as a tribal warrior!?”

“Then go back. Whether you name that cursed cripple as lord of Vinfeltro or not—that’s big brother’s business. But whether I accept him as lord of this land—that’s mine.”

“Insulting the young master is the same as insulting his lordship. His lordship will not overlook this.”

“Oh? So what, you’ll kill me? Go ahead if you want. But do you have someone who can replace me?”

“……”

When Waller couldn’t answer, Besimer sneered.

“Next time, instead of bringing a cripple, bring some women. There’s nowhere to blow off steam in this backwater—so the men end up fighting each other. The losses are no joke.”

Having said his piece, Besimer turned his back and began walking toward the camp.

“The Wolf King will start moving.”

Isaac’s voice wasn’t loud.

But Besimer—who had been completely relaxed until then—stopped in his tracks and turned around.

Not just him.

Every soldier looked at Isaac.

Each with a different reaction—contempt, fear, suspicion, disgust.

“Seems the young master’s read too many fairy tales.”

Besimer approached Isaac, his face twisted menacingly.

“There’s no fairy tale about a Wolf King. If you don’t believe me, go ask your tribe’s prophet.”

Anyone would have been intimidated by the blood-soaked giant before him, but Isaac continued calmly.

“What’s the point of listening to a fraud who couldn’t even predict the destruction of his own tribe?”

“Then go ahead—experience annihilation again.”

“Heh. Sharp tongue. Wonder who you got that from.”

With a grim smile, Besimer grabbed the axe lodged in the ground.

The blade, crusted with dried blood, rose slowly into the air in his hand.

“Y-Young master!”

Sensing danger, Hans cried out.

With a whistle of slicing air, the axe came down toward Isaac’s head.

Silence fell.

But there was no sound of a skull splitting.

The axe stopped just at the line of Isaac’s hair.

“I crushed that so-called Wolf King with this axe long ago. Know your facts before you spout nonsense, you milk-smelling brat.”

Besimer’s eyes glinted wildly.

Isaac simply stared back without moving an inch.

“Carlson. Lower your sword.”

“Yes, sir.”

Besimer, still brimming with killing intent, suddenly froze and touched his neck.

“…When…?”

Where Carlson’s blade had been—

A thin line of blood appeared.

The stinging sensation told him it was his own.

“Believe it or not—it’s your choice, Besimer. But the Wolf King is alive. There are only two possibilities. Either a new one has been born… or you failed to kill it.”

At Isaac’s words, the soldiers began murmuring.

“I killed it for sure. I don’t know what nonsense you heard from my brother, but—”

“This has nothing to do with my father. I discovered this on my own, and I’m saying it by my own will. I came here to stop this land from falling into the hands of magical beasts.”

“Your land? I’d rather listen to a ghost gnawing on corpses.”

Besimer’s brow twitched.

“If you try to obstruct my rightful will to protect my land… then I’ll have no choice but to remove the obstacle myself.”

“Haha, bold words from the young master. So even a cripple can still be a proper child of big brother and his wife, huh?”

Besimer laughed loudly.

But the laughter didn’t last.

“As a descendant of Adele, daughter of the great tribal chief—I challenge you to a duel.”

“…What?”

“I’ll defeat you—and take command of this camp.”

“Big brother… has the young master’s curse affected not just his body, but his mind too?”

“You’re not scared and trying to run away, are you?”

For a moment, Besimer was at a loss for words.

Did this noble brat—who barely reached his waist—have any idea what he was saying?

“Looks like the young master wants to die.”

Besimer’s lips twisted.

“Why would you say such a thing? It’s not too late. Withdraw your words and return to the estate. His lordship will not punish you.”

“It’s already decided.”

“You’ve never even properly learned swordsmanship, have you?”

“I learned from Carlson.”

Despite Waller’s attempts to stop him, Isaac calmly oiled his sword.

“You think one month of training is enough? If you’re going to risk your life, do it for something worthwhile. This is madness. Hans, Carlson—say something!”

“There’s no need. My decision won’t change.”

Hans opened his mouth, then closed it again.

He was still shaken from nearly dying to the hell wolves.

Carlson simply leaned against a tent post, staring into the distance.

The duel between Isaac and Besimer was set for tomorrow at noon—

when the sun stood highest in the sky.

Besimer gave Isaac a tent and told him he could run away anytime he wanted.

But Isaac showed no sign of fleeing.

On the face of the twelve-year-old boy, there was neither anxiety nor fear.

Size, strength, experience—

By every measure, it was a fight he was bound to lose.

And yet, Isaac’s eyes remained cold and steady.

Waller felt like his insides were about to burst.

Ever since the mana explosion, Isaac had clearly changed.

To the point where he seemed like a completely different person.

In some ways, his thinking had matured beyond even Schiller’s expectations.

Uncovering the bishop’s secret and driving out the old church’s influence was proof of that.

This couldn’t just be childish recklessness.

And yet—

There were limits to common sense.

Besimer was a berserker who reveled in bloodshed.

Berserkers with extreme aggression often threw themselves into death, unable to control their battle frenzy.

That was why most of them didn’t live long.

But Besimer had survived here for over a decade.

Which meant two things—

He was strong enough to survive even dangerous choices…

And he possessed the judgment and patience to overcome deadly situations.

A warrior like that only became stronger with age.

Besimer, as he was now, was in his prime—body and experience perfectly balanced.

And Isaac had challenged such a man to a duel.

If that wasn’t suicide, what was?

“Young master…!”

“Don’t worry. Even if I lose, Besimer won’t kill me.”

“He’s not someone you can predict…”

“Don’t even think about asking Besimer for mercy. Not if you don’t want to stain the honor of Goethe.”

With that, Isaac extinguished both the lantern and the candle.

“You truly are stubborn.”

“Go. I need to rest if I’m going to fight tomorrow.”

Isaac lay down on bedding layered with beast hides.

It was clear he had no intention of discussing it further.

“Hans, you go back tomorrow with Waller. You’ll just get in the way.”

With Isaac already lying down, eyes closed, neither Waller nor Hans could say anything more.

He was too resolute—like there wasn’t even space for a needle to slip in.

“If you end up in danger, I won’t just stand by. No matter what you say then, I’ll force you back to the estate.”

“Do as you like.”

“….”

Waller left with an irritated expression.

Hans hesitated, then followed him out.

After some time—

Isaac opened his eyes halfway.

Carlson was still standing guard.

“Carlson.”

“You’re moving?”

“Yes.”

“There’s suspicious movement.”

“Leave it. Just find out what I told you. Do nothing else.”

“Understood.”

Carlson disappeared without a sound.

Isaac closed his eyes again.

He thought he wouldn’t be able to sleep, but perhaps the journey had exhausted him—he fell asleep quickly.

It wasn’t a deep sleep.

He had a nightmare.

It was a swamp of cold blood.

A bog made of blood and flesh—where the more you struggled, the deeper you sank.

The stench of rot and decay filled the air.

Floating above it were the severed heads of those Isaac loved.

His father, his mother, Jonas, Lucas, the nanny, Hans, the maids…

Isaac did not panic.

He knew it was a dream.

He only wondered where it came from.

Guilt from a past life?

Or fear that this life would repeat the same tragedy?

Just as he sank completely beneath the swamp—

Isaac awoke to a biting cold.

Pale light seeped through the tent entrance.

He was still lying as he had been, wrapped in layers of hide bedding.

But something felt wrong.

Something damp, soft, and foul-smelling surrounded him.

When the light fully filled the tent—

He saw what it was.

Blood and filth soaking his underclothes, along with minced flesh and bone fragments.

The entrails of the hell wolf from the previous day had been dumped all over his bedding.

“…Childish prank.”

Perhaps because he hadn’t slept well, his head throbbed and chills ran through his body.

He felt unwell.

“Y-Young master!”

Hans cried out in shock.

“Heh… looks like quite the feast. Did our noble young master sneak some wolf meat in the night?”

“Haha, cut it out. The kid might cry.”

The soldiers snickered as they passed by, mocking Isaac’s appearance.

“You call yourselves soldiers of Goethe!?”

“Oh my, someone’s quite angry. How scary.”

“You dare treat the young master like—!”

Hans looked ready to charge at them at any moment.

“Enough. Just bring me a change of clothes.”

There was no river here in this barren land to wash in.

Even if there were, it would be deep in the forest—teeming with magical beasts.

Isaac washed himself with water drawn from a well and changed his clothes.

“Those bastards… I’ll tear them apart.”

Furious, Schiller went to confront Besimer—but Besimer had already gone out hunting at dawn.

“Don’t waste your energy, Waller. He’ll just play dumb anyway.”

“Where is Carlson? What was he doing!?”

“No need to blame him. He’s carrying out what I ordered.”

“…Young master. What are you planning?”

“You’ll find out soon.”

Waller asked several more times, but Isaac only gave vague answers.

Waller grew uneasy.

He knew he shouldn’t—but troubling thoughts kept surfacing.

The catacombs of the cult Isaac had infiltrated as bait.

The horrific cannibalism and nightmare rituals that had taken place there.

Waller, who had gone to investigate afterward, couldn’t understand Isaac’s composure.

Any normal child would have been traumatized—skipping meals, showing signs of mental distress for days, even weeks.

But Isaac seemed unaffected.

At times, his eyes looked empty.

Waller had seen such eyes before—on battlefields in his youth.

People with those eyes seemed cold, sunken into silence.

As if trapped in emptiness and futility.

As if they felt nothing.

But their emptiness wasn’t because there was nothing inside—

It was because they were filled to the brim.

With vengeance. Ambition. Love.

So full that everything else became meaningless.

They were the ones who burned.

People who would burn everything they had to fulfill the desires overflowing within them.

Even death was just a trivial obstacle.

They were the kind who would consume even their own lives.

Very few of them survived the battlefield.

Because they burned too quickly.

Waller hoped—truly—that he was wrong.

Isaac was still too young to burn everything away.

Noon drew closer.

Hans prepared a meal as close as possible to what Isaac ate at the estate—but Isaac refused.

He only chewed on a few pieces of jerky.

Too much food would only hinder him in battle.

Before noon, Carlson returned.

“Are you ready?”

“More or less.”

“I heard there was some trouble.”

“Just a childish prank.”

Their conversation was dry.

It didn’t sound like a child speaking to an adult—but like two soldiers who had fought together for years.

As noon approached, while Hans and Waller grew more anxious, the two remained calm.

“Where did you go? While you were gone, the young master was drenched in blood and filth.”

“That’s fortunate.”

“What!?”

Waller’s voice rose.

“It could have been much worse. Vinfeltro isn’t land gained through diplomacy—it was taken by force after driving out the tribes. They may bow their heads, but they don’t think kindly of Goethe. You know that as well.”

“….”

“If his lordship weren’t still alive, this would’ve been far more than a prank. You would’ve seen what true savagery looks like.”

At Carlson’s cold response, Waller’s eyes trembled.

He couldn’t refute it—because it was true.

But as someone who had served Goethe his entire life, it still stung.

“What about what I asked?”

“As you predicted. The hell wolves didn’t attack the camp just for food.”

“Then?”

“For revenge.”

Carlson answered Isaac’s question.

Boom. Boom.

The drums announcing noon echoed.

The time for the duel had come.

From the distance came the sound of hooves—

It seemed Besimer had returned from his hunt.