Lucas darted to the side.

The movement was sudden.

Aldric was caught off guard—genuinely startled—as Lucas cut the angle.

"—?!"

Lucas was already at Aldric's right side.

In a single breath, he twisted the end of the hoe's handle to the right—yet his posture was strange.

Not a downward strike.

Not a horizontal swing either.

His body lowered.

His hips rotated.

His shoulder dropped with the motion.

The stance—like someone about to swing a golf club.

Silvara's eyes widened.

Lucas grinned.

And—

SWOOSH!

An upward swing, from low to high.

Aldric reacted on instinct.

He stepped back—then another—moving away from the arc of the strike.

The hoe hit nothing.

Dust split apart.

The air was cleaved.

The arena froze.

"…Huh?"

Some spectators laughed in confusion.

Others fell silent, unsure of what they had just witnessed.

Silvara—

smiled. Finally, she thought.

---

At the seat of honor—

Matruska stared, dumbfounded.

Her eyes were fixed on Lucas's posture from moments ago.

Not on the result—

but on the mechanics of the movement.

"That wasn't a swing," she murmured.

That was a joint breaker.

---

In the arena—

Lucas straightened up again.

He raised the hoe high, one hand on the handle, the other loose.

A wide, shameless grin.

As if to say:

I missed on purpose.

Aldric narrowed his eyes.

Lucas slowly rotated the hoe's handle again, testing its new balance.

Then he turned his head slightly.

His gaze swept across the stands.

---

Matruska felt her chest tighten.

What is this…?

Does that body—

She stared at Lucas more sharply.

Does his body… carry Isabelle's talent?

The thought sent a chill down her spine.

---

Lucas chuckled.

"Relax," he said lightly.

"That was just a warm-up."

Aldric clenched his fingers around his sword hilt.

The people who had been noisy earlier—those standing tightly packed like shadows behind Aldric—lowered their heads one by one. No cheers. No jeers.

Boran, standing among them, narrowed his eyes.

It's pointless, Young Master.

You're fighting the most cunning man I've ever met.

He stepped out of the group, standing slightly apart. His thoughts drifted to Aldric's plans—especially the bandit attack scheduled for later that night.

Boran let out a short breath.

---

In the arena—

Aldric lifting his sword slightly.

"That was quite surprising," he said casually. "I could at least—"

Lucas didn't wait.

Gripping the hoe with both hands, he spun and hurled it, heavy mode activated, like a javelin throw.

The blade shot straight ahead, passing Aldric and heading toward the spectators.

The crowd jolted.

"What—?!"

"THIS WAY—?!"

Some people backed away in panic. Others stumbled, crashing into something invisible.

Thud.

A transparent wall.

The arena's sigil.

The hoe slammed into the unseen barrier with a heavy impact—

DUMM!

A shockwave of air swept across the front rows. Dust flew. Screams cut off abruptly.

Lucas stood upright again, staring at Aldric.

His gaze was calm—he had already known.

When his body had been staggering earlier, amid the audience's laughter, he had seen it clearly—someone falling, their body colliding with empty air, stopped by an invisible wall.

The hoe spun briefly in midair, then dropped and embedded itself into the arena floor.

Aldric leapt to the side.

His smile stiffened.

Lucas set his stance.

Aldric frowned.

"Why did you throw away your weapon, Young Master?" he asked mockingly.

His tone was calm—too calm.

Lucas clicked his tongue softly.

This motherfucker really loves yapping in battle.

Annoying.

Aldric opened his mouth again.

"Or perhaps," he continued with a grin, "you've finally realized that your magnificent weapon is nothing more than filthy old scrap iron?"

Lucas smiled.

His hand extended forward, palm open, fingers slightly curled.

"Are you sure you want to talk like that?" he said lightly.

Aldric let out a small laugh.

Unbeknownst to him—

Behind him, the Great Hoe trembled.

The heavy metal spun in the air, emitting a low resonance, as if answering a call.

Aldric sensed something.

He glanced back.

His eyes widened.

Instinct kicked in.

He ducked sharply.

A heavy gust swept over his head.

"Hmph—!"

Aldric was already preparing to laugh at Lucas.

He turned his gaze forward—

And froze.

Lucas was not standing.

He had already dropped to the side, his body lying sideways, one arm stretched upward—pointing straight at Aldric.

"What—?"

WHAM!!

The Great Hoe spun violently and smashed into Aldric's ass.

"AGGHH—!!"

Aldric slipped.

His footing gave out.

BRUGHH!

He crashed hard—his upper back slamming into the ground, hips lifted, ass pointing toward the sky.

The arena erupted into stunned silence.

The Great Hoe shot back.

Lucas caught it—though the momentum forced his body backward until he staggered upright.

"Bugh."

His back pressed against the transparent wall of the arena.

Hair disheveled.

Breathing heavy.

Adrenaline pounding.

His grin widened.

"…This is fun."

Lucas burst out laughing.

"AHAHAHAHAHA!"

He truly felt happy.

For one simple reason.

He had just injured a knight's ass

with a Hoe.

Aldric stood rigid.

His eyes were slightly watery—holding back the sudden surge of humiliation pressing against his chest. His jaw tightened. He drew a sharp breath, then straightened up again as if nothing had happened.

At the seat of honor—

Matruska was still staring at the arena.

Her expression was flat, though her brow twitched faintly.

"…It's not wrong but... that young men, why?" she muttered softly.

---

On the other side—

Sir Valeric wore a thin smile.

There was no anger on his face, even though a Blade of Rosevelt had just had his ass brutally kissed by the edge of a hoe.

There's no wrongdoing there, he thought calmly. What a clever move.

He gave a small nod, his sharp eyes never leaving Lucas.

The duel was not over.

But one thing was already clear—

the rhythm of the fight

had just changed because of a hoe kissing a knight's ass.

Aldric's expression changed.

His smile vanished completely.

"DAMN IT!!!!!" he roared.

The shout burst out harshly, echoing through the arena.

"This time—I'll chop you to pieces, Young Master."

His eyes hardened. Sharp. Fully focused.

No more mockery. No more games.

Aldric lowered his stance.

"Watch closely," he said coldly.

"I'll show you the sharpness of a Rosevelt blade."

His sword trembled.

Mana began to flow.

A pale glow crept along the silver blade as fine runic lines lit up one by one. The air around it tightened, as if being pressed from all directions.

Several spectators instinctively held their breath.

Lucas stood unsteadily.

In the next instant, Aldric vanished from Lucas's sight.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.