The Master of Uradan

This Mileim's faint burst of voice began to attract the attention of people nearby. Those who heard what he said shook their heads while others chuckled coldly. Some secretly agreed, but no one would say it out loud.

A family of peasants who became noble by merit of war. To the noblemens coming from a family of noblemens for generations and generations, these opportunists were just false nobles.

Having said that, to say it out loud, especially in the person's own castle, was sheer madness. Insulting a nobleman's title was no easy feat, especially when the person doing it was just a nobleman's son, as he didn't have a title yet to back him.

Rohan tilted his head to the side. Who was this moron? It was then that he saw a badge hanging on his chest, a warrior's badge, with the number 1 written on it.

He guessed immediately what was going on. This thing in front of him probably wanted to be commended for his good job and so he came looking for a brawl to show everyone that he had become a rank 1 Beginner Warrior.

As Rohan nodded to himself to congratulate himself on his reasoning, Mileim started to get annoyed.

"Hee! You are going to answer me yes? You are too scared, is that it? Did you see that I was a warrior of rank 1 like you and you feel threatened? Ha, you poltron! I declare you, Rohan, supposedly a genius, in a duel !"

He removed his glove from his left hand, and then threw it in the face of Rohan, who dodged it impeccably with a single step.

The nobles around were totally blown away by what was going on, and in a few moments everyone in the hall was drawn to this scene.

Throwing down your glove to declare someone in a duel meant that the duel that would take place was going to be a fight for honor. The fact that Mileim threw the left at him, and not the right, was also a sign that he didn't respect Rohan even a little bit.

Honestly, Rohan really didn't care about his so-called honor, plus he found the practice of throwing his glove ridiculous.

He would have stepped on this glove before leaving while spitting on the face of this guy if he was alone, but the problem was that there was an audience. He didn't really have a choice here, otherwise the honor of his family would be at stake.

"Sure, why not, let's have a duel now."

So, he agreed and with those words, he activated his charge skill. Kicking his foot to the ground, he found himself in front of his opponent in a breath of time. Then he used Strengthened Blow.

Now imagine. An explosive speed of acceleration coupled with an overpowering blow.

He tightened his fist and sent it directly into the stomach of his victim. This one didn't even have time to make a sound, or even to react, as a shock echoed throughout the hall. His face, livid, showed the horror he felt. His mouth, rounded in shock, spat blood. His body, propelled back, crashed a few meters away.

The mouths of all the nobles of the duchy, the most powerful men and women, virtually controlling millions of lives, were now wide open.

Suddenly, a cry resounded.

"MILEIM !!!"

A woman pushed people in her path as she rushed over to her son wriggling in pain.

She looked in the direction of Rohan, who stood impassively with his hands behind his back, in hatred.

A man appeared beside him and staring at Rohan, pointed at him with a finger trembling with anger and declared in a loud voice.

"You attacked and seriously injured my son, the son of a count, you better explain yourself !

Roland hurried to the stage to defend his son, but before he could arrive, Rohan answered him in a monotonous voice.

"What are you talking about? Nothing happened at all, are you too drunk ?"

The man, probably Mileim's father, exploded in anger at the words.

"How dare you lie in front of all these witnesses !? Did you only ..."

But before he could finish his sentence, Rohan had already cut him off.

"If you assume what happened, then this individual declared me a duel. Which I accepted and ended up wounding him in a fierce duel. But if you admit that, it also means taking full responsibility for what your son was saying earlier. Between an injury during a duel, and an insult from an untitled person toward a whole noble family. Which do you think is the most serious ? "

Seeing that the man did not answer, he continued.

"So? Did something happen or did nothing happen?"

Mileim's father, his mouth open in shock, stood there staring at the young man in front of him, a thin smile floating on his lips. What a demon!

Nearby, as the scene was resolving itself, three people were watching curiously. These three people were the Duke, his brother Edwin, and the wizard Mardrick.

Mardrick spoke to the other two with a smile.

"So this is him, a bit too violent for my taste. But definitely clever!"

"I didn't think he would reach Rank 2 in such a short time, how is this possible ? maybe he used all the potions I gave him ? Maybe I should provide him with more resources ?"

Edwin, who realized he had underestimated this boy's potential, couldn't help but think to himself. It must have taken him two or three years to become a rank 2 Beginner Warrior, whereas Rohan had done in less than a year!

"Edwin, Mardrick. How do you feel about leaving him out of the war? If he has time to grow up, he can definitely become a pillar of the kingdom, and represent our duchy."

Before Edwin could answer the duke, Mardrick shook his head.

"It will not be possible, if we fail, we will all die anyway, whether he participates or not. The only solution would be to send him to another kingdom, but we would lose interest. And above all, we are already outnumbered, we will need every available warrior, we can't leave him out of this war. "

Edwin sighed at the remark, the sight of such a genius made him want to see how far he would be able to go, but Mardrick was right, they weren't able to choose their soldiers. And being the son of a nobleman who participated in a rebellion, whether he participated himself or not, his death was already decided if they ever failed!

The duke, seeing his brother's gloomy face, spoke out.

"We have no choice, the kingdom is determined to let one of its duchies die. Food will run out. I have received a report telling us that only a third of our plantations can be harvested this year. We have millions of people to feed, and the kingdom doesn't even want to sell us anything anymore. If we don't do anything, our duchy will be in fire and blood, and you can bet the kingdom will step in at the end to reap the glory. "

The more his dialogue continued, the more his voice was tinged with anger. He clenched his fist so much that his joints turned white. He felt a deep anger, a rage towards this kingdom, which, for the control of a poor duchy, did not hesitate to put the lives of hundreds of thousands of individuals at stake.

That is why a few years ago, when the production of food had started to decline, and the kingdom had withdrawn all trade, all the nobles of the duchy had gathered. Some disagreed, and others were undecided. But an overwhelming majority knew they had no choice.

It was a famine crisis with deaths littering the streets followed by direct surrender to the kingdom, or it was war for their lands.

During these years they had all prepared. Blacksmiths created swords, armor and shields day and night with the small quantity and quality of materials they had. Mediocre at best, but vital.

Stocks of arrows were created every day. Rations had been set aside for the war. And soldiers were being trained. And all this in the greatest secrecy.

All the nobles present this evening were involved. Barons, viscounts, counts, it was no longer a matter of title. In each territory, everyone was preparing for war, their only call for survival.

The kingdom as well as two others were the vassals of an empire. They were technically different countries, but everyone considered this bloc as one country, the one of the Empire of Elyria. A territory controlled directly by the emperor and three others ruled by kings.

The empire did not care about the internal affairs of the kingdoms, so this war would only be against the kingdom: there was little chance that the empire would intervene.

The night was over, the various guests were starting to go out and return to their horse-drawn carriages. Some would go straight home, but most would just sleep in a hotel in town.

Rohan stared at the pile of items in front of him. On the front was a black leather armor, reinforced with metal at the level of the torso and the spine thus protecting the vital parts. Black leggings and a helmet were placed next to it, also in leather.

It was the gift given to him by the Duke and General Chrisfold, while Mardrick had given him various potions, thus increasing his stock.

His father, meanwhile, had offered him a steel sword, one of the best qualities possible, especially at this time with the enormous demand for iron. The blade was 80 cm long to end on a sharp point, and the handle allowed it to be used with one or two hands, with a steel guard to protect them.

Along with the sword, his father had also given him a ribbon. A long purple band, allowing him to tie his hair in the warriors' method, the purple symbolizing the color of his family.

His father had looked moved as he handed him that sword and the band. It was something that Roland wanted to give to his son when he had become a warrior, but he had preferred to wait for his fourteenth birthday.

His gaze resting on the strip in his hand, Rohan asked Jonas who was standing behind him, with a monotonous but deep voice.

"Tell me Jonas, should I be happy about these presents?"

"Of course, young master, they were brought to you by people who care about you. Why wouldn't you be happy with them?"

"Why ?"

A mirthless laugh erupted from his throat.

"War, Jonas.. War is approaching, and its share of horror with it."