“I didn’t tell her anything if that’s what you mean,” Hadjar was ashamed for lying to his friend.
“It doesn’t matter,” Nero sighed. “Elaine isn’t stupid. Did you hear her say she wants a word with father? She’s definitely going to bring up the mine.”
Hadjar looked at his troubled friend. They’d lived through hundreds of battles together. They’d stood back to back, protecting each other. Nevertheless, Hadjar had never seen Nero so scared before.
“Why did you never tell her about it?” Hadjar asked finally.
He had to know the answer.
“You mean I should’ve told her that, somewhere in the Kingdom, hundreds of thousands of people are suffering so that millions can live a little better?” Nero smiled bitterly and filled his pipe with tobacco. “You know, in her childhood, when cats and dogs would wander into our garden, she’d take them to the Palace. She considered it her duty to feed, shelter, and save those animals. The maids got tired of sending them back out into the street.”
Hadjar looked at the Princess. She was talking to... a common soldier. The chefs and maids were also taking part in the conversation. Elaine was pointedly ignoring the aristocrats.
Hadjar could believe that his sister had taken stray animals home. She’d done so practically from the moment she could walk. Maybe that’s why she would make a worthy queen... or why she’d not rule for long.
“She also said that she’s never been let out of the Palace.”
“King’s orders,” Nero nodded, lighting Hadjar’s pipe. “I don’t remember it, as I wasn’t in the capital at the time, but she was attacked by assassins in her childhood. She still has the scars... So our father ordered that the Princess be placed under round-the-clock surveillance.”
Assassins... That accursed Primus had fed the people lies like they were honey. A spoonful each morning and evening to prevent free thinking.
“Who sent the assassins?”
Nero shrugged.
“At first, it was thought that Balium had done it, but the investigation of the Generals didn’t find any evidence. The King put a few heads on stakes and replaced almost half of the officials at headquarters.”
Using the pretense of punishing incompetence, Primus had put his own people in charge... A reasonable king maybe even had to do such things, but… Hadjar had long since grown tired of being objective. He wanted to become stronger in order to no longer have to try and justify what couldn’t be justified. There was no honor in what Primus had done. To the swordsman, this was enough reason to bare his blade without feeling any remorse.
The friends’ talk was interrupted by one of Oneg’s friends. He was a frail boy of about twenty. Hadjar wasn’t much older than this young man, but he looked at him like he was a snot-nosed teenager.
“Hadjar Traves,” the boy said, “for the insult you inflicted upon my friend, to preserve his posthumous honor, I challenge you to a duel.”
Usually, in these kinds of situations, the challenger then threw something at their would-be opponent. The worthier the foe, the more expensive the object they threw at them would be. For example, precious jewelry.
The young man kicked the ground. The muck that had gathered on the road after the rain flew into Hadjar’s face. The clearing at which the group had stopped to rest plunged into silence. Everyone, including the Princess, turned toward the former General and the noble who had challenged him.
“His father is a confidant of the King,” Nero whispered. “He’s a very influential figure. Please, for your own sake, don’t be rash.”
After he was done talking, Nero looked into his friend’s eyes and realized that his efforts had been for naught. His blue eyes resembled a beast’s once again. In their depths, a dragon roiled with fury. When Hadjar was in such a state, it was useless to try and talk to him or convince him of anything.
“Why are you so suicidal?” Nero sighed, looking at the aristocrats who didn’t even hear him.
Even if the Princess had wanted to stop what was happening, she could do nothing to oppose an official challenge to a duel. It was an ancient tradition.
Hadjar rose to his feet.
As the person who had been challenged, he could choose the weapons they’d use. He just patted the sheath of his sword, which meant everyone was free to use whatever they liked.
The boy took up a small but heavy hammer. It was a Spirit Artifact weapon, of course. Maybe its level was even higher. Without his neural network’s help, it was difficult to determine.
In challenges made for the sake of someone’s honor, neither a judge nor a second were necessary. Honor knew no convention, and only blood could wash the stain on its surface away. That’s why these kinds of fights often ended in the death of one of the duelists.
The boy was shifting his hammer from hand to hand. He clearly had experience with fighting. His movements were smooth and calm. He circled Hadjar, looking for weak spots.
However, he needn’t have bothered. Hadjar stood there, calm and relaxed. He picked up a simple stick, which confused the soldiers and aristocrats. Only Nero and Elaine possessed sufficient knowledge about the Way of the Sword to involuntarily take a step back. For them, that wasn’t a stick at all, but a real sword.
Green energy began to spin around the aristocrat’s hammer, but before he even managed
