The Northern Mad Dog Wags It’s Tail

Sig, gripping Marcus by the collar, looked around, taking in the relatively spacious terrace with many people, tables, and chairs.

“This isn’t an appropriate place for brandishing swords,” he murmured, catching Lady Robley’s attention, who seemed pleased by his words.

“Duke Turas, I won’t be against the duel, let’s set another date,” she suggested, knowing that Sig wouldn’t easily change his mind, at least on the surface.

“Don’t you think it’s too chaotic to suddenly arrange this duel?” she continued, acknowledging that they couldn’t completely avoid the duel but hoping to buy some time to find a substitute fighter instead of her nephew.

“Are you proposing to postpone the duel?” Sig asked.

“I mean, let’s choose a better day,” Lady Robley clarified, trying to smile despite her nervousness.

“Don’t worry; I’ll ensure things won’t get out of hand,” she assured, swallowing her pride to convince Sig.

Observing Lady Robley’s suspicious gaze, Sig felt an uncomfortable aura around her. He couldn’t pinpoint the exact reason, but he had a strong feeling that accepting her proposal would be a mistake.

“There’s no need to delay what we can do now,” Sig declared, turning away from Lady Robley and pulling Marcus towards the railing. As Marcus’s legs weakened, he seemed to be reluctantly dragged along.

“Duke Turas!” Lady Robley called out with a touch of sorrow, but Sig ignored her and instead looked at Britia.

“I’ll finish this quickly,” he said to her, without waiting for a response, gripping Marcus’s collar and leaping from the second floor. Gasps echoed throughout the café as onlookers watched the intense scene.

“My lord!” Every exclaimed, complaining as they followed him in pursuit.

“My lord, there’s one problem,” Evry said, holding his sword at his waist.

“That man doesn’t have a weapon.”

Before Sig could retort, Evry narrowed eyes and warned him to be careful.

“While it’s true that in the North, people always carry something that can be used as a weapon, look around. How many of the people walking on the streets right now actually have one?”

Evry spread his arms, exaggerating for effect.

“It’s not like they don’t exist.”

“Some group of knights coming out of that shop does have weapons,” Sig countered.

“Nevertheless, that man doesn’t,” Sig continued.

“Let’s follow Lady Robley’s suggestion and set another date.”

Evry sensed that Lady Robley would likely find a substitute for her nephew. However, he thought it better to go along with her and make Marcus indebted to them rather than humiliating him in front of Lady Robley.

“Are you on her side too?” Sig replied with annoyance, making Evry shrug his shoulders. Though he appeared to be siding with Lady Robley, Evry didn’t want to let Marcus get away with his actions towards Britia. Moreover, insulting Sig as if he were some vile creature reeking of demon blood was unforgivable.

They might call him the Emperor’s dog, but the smell of demon blood? How fragrant were they themselves?

Evry felt like spitting in their faces. Honestly, he didn’t feel like restraining Sig at all. But there were too many onlookers surrounding them at the moment.

“We can’t fight an unarmed man,” Evry stated firmly, although he hoped the spectators would side with Sig. However, from years of experience, he knew that was unlikely. Rumors would spread that a cruel madman attacked a defenseless man without a weapon.

“Then when the day is set, that man will come with a proper sword,” Evry reasoned.

Whether that man wielded a sword or not, the outcome would likely be the same. But it bothered Sig to imagine that scene where the man held Britia by her hair. Marcus’s mocking smile and his sinister laughter haunted Sig with a sense of being insulted alongside Britia.

“Evry, give me your sword,” Sig commanded.

“What?”

“Your sword.”

Sig pointed at Marcus, and Evry sighed in resignation. It seemed pointless to argue. He had made up his mind to do so reluctantly. Defeated, Evry untied the belt holding his sword and tossed it to Marcus.

“…So you’ll use your familiar sword, and you’re giving me this inferior one?”

Marcus twisted his face into a scornful grin.

He lent it to me, what’s the problem? Inferior?

Though he followed Sig’s command, Evry felt displeased about having to lend his sword to a man who probably had no idea how good it was.

“If you don’t believe you can win with that, then find a substitute,” Evry retorted, laughing.

Upon hearing Evry’s mocking remark, Marcus quickly regained his composure, standing up and raising his voice towards the onlookers.

“I am Marcus Beaumex, the third son of Count Beaumex. If anyone is willing to fight for my honor, our family name guarantees proper compensation!”

He shouted with all his might, but no one stepped forward. The cafe’s guests, passersby, all of them merely stared blankly at Marcus.

“I will find someone to fight for Beaumex!”

Marcus called out to several knights who had been observing with interest, their arms crossed. He recognized their familiar emblems—they were from the Valendurg Knights.

“My brother is a knight from your order too!”

Despite mentioning Beaumex’s name and being a fellow knight’s brother, Marcus couldn’t understand why they didn’t even flinch or react.

“Fight for me already!” Marcus exclaimed in frustration.

“Fight! Fight!”

Marcus scowled at those who were quick to dismiss the idea of fighting him. He cursed under his breath at their insolence.

“Finding a substitute will be difficult,” he grumbled, realizing that even though he had armed himself and offered to find a substitute, it would only be a temporary solution. Evry, who seemed to think he had made a generous concession, smirked at Marcus.

“Evry.”

Suddenly, Sig handed his sword to Evry.

“…My lord?”

Why would someone about to engage in a duel give their weapon to the opponent? Does he expect me to fight him?

Egry’s eyes widened, but Sig didn’t seem bothered by his confusion and released his wrist.

“My lord, surely you don’t intend to fight an opponent armed with a sword using just your bare hands?”

Suddenly worried, Evry questioned Sig, who briefly glanced at him before removing even his cloak and tossed it to him.

“My lord, this isn’t right! It’s dangerous!”

Evry tried to dissuade him while quickly attempting to hand the sword back, but Sig pushed him away with a single hand.

“Are you out of your mind?”

Seeing Sig standing confidently before him with nothing but his bare hands made Marcus burst into laughter.

Since childhood, Marcus had respected his older brother, who was a knight, and learned swordsmanship with admiration. The sword instructors had praised him, saying he seemed like a prodigy, and even his esteemed brother had acknowledged his talent.

If he had become a knight, Marcus was convinced he would have become the best. However, he hadn’t followed his brother’s path purely because he despised taking orders. Furthermore, the mere thought that someone, for whatever reason, might challenge him just because he knew how to wield a sword frightened him.

So, despite not becoming a knight, he was quite skilled and confident in his abilities. However, to face someone with such skills unarmed was unimaginable.

“Sig Turas, you truly are a man as arrogant as the heavens.”

“My lord, this is not acceptable,” Evry tried to force the sword into Sig’s hand.

“Just take the sword even in its sheath and try,” Evry pleaded.

“That’s enough, step back,” Marcus ordered.

“My lord!”

Sig lightly pushed him away, turning his head slowly to release Evry’s grip on his neck.

“I don’t care what happens to me!”

Frustrated by Evry’s stubbornness, Sig faced Marcus head-on.

It was not a bluff. Marcus seemed to be more skilled than expected. As Marcus took a step forward, Sig feigned a retreat. Suddenly, he realized that Marcus had more than just an intimidating appearance.

When Sig first saw him, he had underestimated him like a mosquito buzzing around. Now he regretted his hasty judgment.

“I learned not to judge people by appearances after meeting Britia, but here I am making the same mistake again,” Sig thought to himself.

As Marcus saw Sig continuously evading and not coming forward, he grew more confident. His surprise at Sig’s unexpected skill fueled his self-assurance.

What if he could easily defeat the fierce beast known in the North?

His overbearing aunt, who had always treated him like a problem child, would finally realize she had been mistaken and find a suitable bride for him. The arrogant Lord Harty, who dared to challenge him, would kneel in fear, seeking forgiveness.

A pretty face could smooth over almost anything. Even if the woman was scary, he could tolerate it if she was merely a plaything.

“All those who used to call you a mad dog, running away like a tail between their legs,” Marcus mused.

In his mind, he had already pictured Sig Turas kneeling before him, begging to end the duel, and he swung a powerful blow to finish it. But just as he thought the attack had hit its mark, Sig slipped the sword between his arm and side, breaking it effortlessly with a punch.

“Uh…!”

“Ah…!”

Marcus couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Startled, he tried to step back, but it was too late. Sig’s fist, which had shattered the sword, followed a parabolic path and was about to hit Marcus’s right cheek. However, at the last moment, Sig turned his fist and struck with the back of his hand.

Unsatisfied with the impact, Sig intended to launch another attack, but when he saw Marcus, he hesitated. Marcus had collapsed to the ground, motionless, immediately after the blow to his cheek.

“….”

Sig remained cautious, waiting for Marcus to get up. He called out to him, but there was no response. Only then did Sig realize that Marcus had lost consciousness completely.

Beyond the disappointment of the duel’s swift end, there was a bigger problem at hand.

“Before you faint, apologize to Britia!” Sig shook Marcus by the collar, but he only slumped weakly.

“I told you to take the sword, didn’t I? Where’s the person who could withstand a punch from My lord?”

Evry sighed, saying, “I knew it would end up like this.”