“Human, you’ll pay the price for those words!”
Sang felt somewhat helpless. He hadn’t been able to hold back and had insulted the other’s mother. He’d probably get scolded by Aisha Hodhua again when he got home.
But for now, he needed to deal with the trouble at hand.
The next second, Sang drew his own knight’s sword—Dawn—and struck a strange stance. Compared to Adam York’s orthodox swordsmanship form, his looked downright bizarre.
“Heh~ What kind of circus swordsmanship is that? How could anyone use such third-rate swordplay?”
“Heh… How ridiculous. What backwater bumpkin family does this clown come from? It’s disgusting!”
Almost simultaneously, some of the nobles present recognized Adam York.
“Oh~ That’s the heir of the York Family… I heard the York Family this generation has four sons, and the previous family head set high standards for the successor. Not only did they need knowledge of lordship, but they also had to be an outstanding knight.”
“Exactly. I heard Adam York studied for several years in Knight Academy City. During his graduation exam, he was even rated as a Silver-level Knight.”
“Silver Rank—that’s better than 80% of the students. That human’s probably in for some pain.”
Adam York overheard the crowd murmuring about him and immediately swelled with vanity and satisfaction. He brimmed with confidence. If he hadn’t been rushed to graduate and inherit the family title, a few more decades of training might have made him a Golden-level Knight. A mere Silver-level Knight was nothing to him!
Glancing at the sloppy stance of the boy before him, Adam York’s confidence surged even higher. He taunted, “What Heroes of the North? You can’t even hold a sword right. What a disgrace!”
Sang, however, grinned mockingly. “Country bumpkin, you wouldn’t know. This is the most powerful swordsmanship in the world!”
Snow Style Swordsmanship—in Sang’s mind, it was the strongest swordsmanship there was.
“You bastard! I’ll shut that foul mouth of yours for good!”
The words had barely fallen when Adam York charged at Sang, knight’s sword in hand. He barreled forward with the oppressive force of a tiger descending the mountain. It was clear the man had genuine sword training.
At that moment, whether it was the surrounding nobles or Adam York himself, nearly everyone could foresee what came next—Sang struck down and crumpling to the ground.
However.
The blue-haired youth stood firm, his gaze calm as he watched the nobleman close in step by step. Just as the blade was about to touch him, his pupils contracted sharply.
A cold flash arced upward from below. In an instant, it seemed to slice through the thick scent of blood in the banquet hall.
By the time everyone snapped out of it, the hall had fallen deathly silent. Adam York’s knight’s sword lay on the ground, and Sang’s blade rested against the man’s throat.
The fight was over. Victory was decided.
The nobles stared in shock. Only a handful had caught the full exchange; most hadn’t even registered what happened.
How was that possible?
So strong. That sword speed was like lightning—probably Golden-level power.
They might have accepted it from a Blood Race member, but this was just a human.
Even a human reaching that strength in middle age would be barely plausible, but this was a youth—around fifteen years old.
After a moment, the Blood Race members turned hostile glares on Adam York, treating him like a stain on the nobility, an utter embarrassment.
The humans’ reactions were more mixed. They fell into thought—curious about Sang’s background on one hand, hesitant to approach on the other. Offending the Blood Race as a human meant winning a battle didn’t guarantee winning the war. Better to stay neutral.
And with that, amid the silence, the farce drew to a close.
No applause. Nothing.
…
However.
Nothing is absolute.
One old man who appeared to be a human viscount still stepped forward to speak with Sang. He wasn’t alone; he brought a young woman, likely his daughter. The old man’s clothes were plain, though his daughter’s were lavish.
Nobles had their hierarchies—not just in status, but in wealth too. This old fellow didn’t look prosperous; he clearly wasn’t faring well.
After all, high society was a game you had to play, and success depended on your skill at it.
“Sir, might I make your acquaintance? I’m the head of the Walker Family. This is my daughter, Olina Walker…”
Truth be told, Sang had more pressing business. He wasn’t here to socialize; he was on a mission for the organization. He had no interest in chatting with randos.
But before he could brush them off, Olina Walker cut in from the side. She showed no grace or manners, wouldn’t even glance at Sang, and sneered, “Father, I don’t want to marry a human—let alone one this short and scrawny. I want to marry Brother Morton Montgomery.”
Olina Walker stood about five-foot-seven, with a passable figure and flashy attire. She had good raw looks, but her makeup was a disaster—she’d caked thick white powder over her healthy complexion to mimic the pale skin of the Blood Race.
Now it was Sang’s turn to stare blankly. I just met you today—why are you rejecting me already?
Hold on, even if you want to marry me, I might not say yes. And didn’t I just beat a Blood Race guy? Are you blind? How am I scrawny?
The Walker Family Head rushed to placate her. “My precious daughter, don’t you admire powerful knights? This gentleman just proved his strength. Isn’t that enough for you?”
Sang nodded solemnly, a touch smug. “Mm-hmm.”
Olina shot back, “Useless. Humans have hard limits. He could never beat Brother Morton Montgomery. Plus, he’s not handsome or tall and imposing… I don’t care. I’ll marry no one but Brother in this lifetime! I’d even become his Blood Servant without hesitation!”
Sang couldn’t help but laugh in exasperation. He turned a sympathetic look on the Walker Family Head. “Old sir, how long has your daughter been like this?”
The Walker Family Head let out a long sigh. “Ah…”
Suddenly, an attendant emerged from the mansion and climbed to the high balcony. He shouted, “The Young Marquis—Morton Montgomery—has arrived!”
Morton Montgomery—the “brother” on the lips of a thousand swooning girls. His father, Manson Montgomery, had been a cadre in Red Gear, the Cape Knight Order, back in his youth. Now he was one of the kings of the Dark World. With only one son, Morton was destined to inherit the title. Young Marquis suited him to a tee.
The moment Morton Montgomery appeared at the top of the stairs, countless girls erupted in screams, like fans mobbing an idol at a meet-and-greet.
Olina Walker—who’d been right there beside Sang seconds ago—lost all reason and bolted toward him. She tripped in her haste, but Morton Montgomery caught her deftly, his gaze appraising yet warm. “This beautiful lady, are you alright?”
“Brother…” Tears streamed down her face as she sobbed with emotion.
