The referee raised his hand once more.

"In accordance with the rules of an honorable duel," he declared loudly, "both participants are requested to summon their respective Soulbound Weapons."

The cheers subsided, turning into a silence thick with anticipation.

The referee turned toward the left side of the arena.

"Sir Aldric Rosevelt. Please proceed."

Aldric stepped forward.

He closed his eyes for a brief moment.

Mana pulsed.

A silver light flared in the air — sharp, clean, nearly blinding. From within the swirling glow, a long, gleaming silver blade took shape, its slender edge etched with delicate engravings that reflected the light of the setting sun.

The sword appeared directly in Aldric's grasp.

A cold aura spread outward.

Whispers immediately broke out.

"That's… the Silverbound Blade—"

"The signature sword of Rosevelt…"

"Just like the rumors said…"

Aldric opened his eyes, his expression calm.

The referee nodded, then turned away.

"Young Master, Lucian Voss."

Lucas stepped forward.

Several people in the crowd held their breath.

Lucas let out a short exhale— then raised one hand.

There was no dazzling light.

No surge of mana.

Only a brief vibration.

And from the empty air before him—

Thunk.

The Great Hoe appeared in his grasp.

Its blade was wide and dull, clearly worn from labor. The handle was long, thick, and completely unadorned. There was no intimidating aura. No heroic gleam.

Silence.

A fraction of a second passed—

Then the arena erupted.

"What is that—?"

"A hoe…?"

"He brought a farming hoe!?"

"You've got to be kidding!"

Laughter burst out from several corners. Some gaped in disbelief. Others rubbed their eyes, thinking they had seen it wrong.

Matruska Grimhelt narrowed her eyes.

"…There's no hope," she muttered coldly.

"He doesn't even intend to preserve the dignity of the duel."

Several observing nobles nodded in agreement.

But not everyone reacted the same way.

The Baron did not move an inch.

The Baroness sat upright, her gaze sharp— utterly devoid of surprise.

And Aldric—

Aldric stared at the Great Hoe… then smiled thinly, mockingly.

"What a magnificent weapon you have, O Young Master," he said softly, loud enough to be heard across the arena.

Lucas spun the hoe once and lightly planted it into the ground. He chose not to respond.

I need to be careful not to swallow the potion in my mouth yet, he thought.

At the Rosevelt seats of honor—

Sir Valeric, Highblade of Rosevelt, finally moved.

His one uncovered eye fixed on Lucas. Long. Deep.

"…Hmph."

He leaned forward slightly.

"There is no courage," he said low, yet clear,

"that deserves to be scorned merely because of its form."

Several heads turned.

Valeric continued, his voice firm.

"Show your power," he said,

"with your tool."

The referee swallowed.

His gaze flicked between the two weapons—the elegant silver sword… and the rough hoe embedded in the ground.

Then he raised his hand high.

"Both participants have summoned their Soulbound Weapons."

Silence fell once more.

"The duel—"

His hand dropped.

"Begins!"

The moment the signal fell—

Aldric burst forward.

The ground beneath his feet compressed as his body shot low and fast. There was no wasted motion — just a single, clean, directed slash.

Clang!

The silver blade struck the edge of the Great Hoe with precise accuracy.

The vibration traveled harshly up Lucas's arms.

"—!"

Lucas reflexively stepped back. At that exact moment, a countdown appeared.

[Hoemanship – 00:09:59]

He barely had time to breathe—

Trank.

Aldric was already in again.

This time from a different angle. Light footwork, almost floating. A crosswise slash—once more aimed at the blade, not the body.

Clang!

Lucas held it, his shoulder shoved backward. His foot scraped across the ground, leaving a short gouge in the dirt.

Lucas retreated another half step, maintaining distance. He clenched his jaw, making sure not to bite down on the object in his mouth.

Not yet.

His eyes locked onto Aldric.

He's deliberately targeting the Hoe's blade, Lucas thought quickly.

Damn it.

Aldric pivoted lightly, his sword gleaming beneath the evening light. The corner of his lips lifted slightly.

"Interesting," he said casually. "You're unusually quiet today, Young Master."

*lTrank.

The third strike.

Faster.

Shallower.

The silver blade once again tapped the hoe's edge, right along its outer rim— as if probing for a weak point.

---

The Baroness narrowed her eyes from the very first strike.

Aldric's sword slammed into the hoe's blade— once.

She sat upright in her seat, her fingers slowly tightening around the armrest. He's deliberately targeting the weapon… he's looking down on my son.

The Baroness drew a slow breath.

Her gaze followed Lucas's movements— his measured retreat, the way he maintained distance, his jaw tightening slightly as if holding something back.

Still holding on… but under pressure.

She knew the Rosevelt fighting style.

Fast. Clean. Ruthless in the details.

And against a weapon like that—

A hoe was not a fair choice.

For a brief moment, a thought crossed her mind.

If only I had passed down my lance sooner...

---

Aldric stepped in again, his shoulders rotating — clearly preparing to slash at the hoe's blade once more.

But this time—

Lucas pushed the hoe forward.

Not retreating.

Not bracing.

He met the strike head-on, deliberately.

Clang—!

The collision was heavier than before.

At the same time, Lucas twisted the hoe's shaft to the right.

Its weight shifted.

The weapon's mass seemed to drop forward, the pull of inertia knocking Aldric's sword half an inch off line, just enough to disrupt the trajectory of his slash.

Aldric was momentarily surprised — then he smiled.

"Hahaha…" he laughed. "Young Master, I'll allow you one free attack," he mocked, settling into a defensive stance—feet spread, center of gravity low. Perfect form. As if issuing a challenge.

Lucas twisted the end of the shaft to the left.

The hoe swung down from above.

Lucas used the momentum.

As the swing descended—

He twisted the end of the shaft to the right again.

The hoe's weight spiked sharply.

The force dropped straight downward.

Trankkk—!

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