Lord of Caldera - Chapter 190

Chapter 190: Chapter 190

“When should we start the third trial…?”

His words trailed off, left unfinished. At that moment, a single thought loomed large in everyone’s mind: “Is there any need for a third trial?”

They knew the third trial was the final one. But the gulf between the candidates after the first and second trials was too vast.

“Only one person can obtain the Dragon’s Heart, so that makes sense… but if even the dragon-hunting trial, meant to assess personal abilities, ended like this…”

Sylas Corleone. This Easterner who claimed northern blood had yielded such overwhelmingly superior results that it had now become the main issue.

What if Sylas were to fail the third trial? What if he suffered a mortal wound or died, leaving another as king? Such a scenario would ignite chaos, with people dismissing any fortunate successor as a “king by luck.”

“This isn’t a gap that a single trial could erase.”

“Honestly, even I wouldn’t accept it.”

It wouldn’t just be the nobles; the entire northern populace would react the same way. Not to mention the imperial subjects in their territories and the barbarians beyond the snowy plains. Was there any point in a third trial under these circumstances? Not unless they planned to scrap the entire selection process and abandon the idea of electing a king.

“But we can’t simply abandon it all now.”

Marquess Serge sighed inwardly. Even if a king seemed all but decided, ending the trials prematurely would cause more harm than good. Without a properly conducted selection, there would undoubtedly be future complaints about the lack of legitimacy. The trials had to proceed in a way that would leave no room for doubt.

“Explain the third trial to us, Chieftain.”

After much effort, the marquess managed to speak, and Ragnar responded without even opening his eyes.

“A true warrior’s final trial is only one thing.”

“A duel?”

“Yes.”

The nobles nodded in understanding. Dueling had been a universally recognized trial since ancient times, and it made perfect sense in the war-revering North. If the final trial hadn’t been a duel, it would have seemed odd. However, the marquess and his faction wore expressions of dread.

“Damn it, a duel is dangerous.”

Other than the disqualified Dorian, Karl was by far the weakest fighter among the candidates. Sylas and Ragnar were in a league of their own, with their abilities nearly inhuman.

Loghain was the lieutenant of a barbarian tribe where everything revolved around warriors, while Bjorn was a lord from the borderlands who had repelled the barbarians on numerous occasions. The marquess cleared his throat, gathering flimsy excuses to counter the duel idea.

“Ahem, it seems the numbers don’t quite match up for a duel.”

“Have your successor take a bye, as he’s the weakest among them anyway.”

“Moreover, the other candidates’ injuries haven’t healed yet.”

“A week’s rest with a few potions should be more than enough, shouldn’t it?”

“And, besides, a duel is an outdated method…”

Ragnar blinked at the marquess, his expression clearly reading, What nonsense is this idiot spouting now? The other nobles looked at him with similar gazes.

With each excuse countered, the marquess’s resistance collapsed. Ragnar clicked his tongue before turning to the nobles.

“As I said, we’ll proceed with the third trial after a week’s rest. Any objections?”

Silence answered him. With that, the meeting adjourned, and the nobles scattered. With the current situation, everyone was keenly aware that their positioning in the coming days was crucial, and their minds were filled with calculations.

Is this the end of my ambitions?

After the meeting, Ragnar looked up at the sky, his thoughts darkening. No one understood the reality of the situation better than he did.

I’ve lost the chance to gain the recognition of the northerners now under the Empire’s rule.

He could perhaps be respected as a formidable warrior, an enemy deserving of admiration. But there would be no one who wished to follow him, let alone serve him as their king. He hadn’t shown enough prowess to deserve that. Becoming king in this situation would only lead to immense backlash from the northern people under the Empire.

Right now, the closest to the throne is him.

The figure he had considered his natural rival from the start—a man he had thought had a strong spirit but little fighting skill—had somehow transformed into a nearly unbeatable opponent. If things continued as they were, that man would ascend as king, and that couldn’t happen. Northerners had the right to choose their own king. After contemplating for a moment, Ragnar spoke.

“Loghain.”

“Yes, Chieftain.”

“What would you do if you became chieftain?”

“…!”

Loghain looked at the chieftain, shocked, but Ragnar met his gaze calmly.

“This isn’t to test you. Answer me honestly. If you became chieftain, how would you lead the North?”

“I, I would…”

Loghain stammered, his head bowed.

“I would simply follow the chieftain’s will.”

“I see.”

Ragnar sighed. It wasn’t said out of decorum or humility; Loghain genuinely had no answer. He was a good lieutenant but lacked a vision grand enough to lead others as a ruler.

Even if I were to risk my life and destroy him, it would only end in ruin.

Discarding his final option, Ragnar looked back up at the sky. Would he have to live serving another king? Was that man truly fit to be his king? No matter how much he pondered, he found no clear answer. Only one option remained.

“I’ll have to meet with him.”

“Ragnar is here?”

“Yes, my lord.”

Sylas, who had been relaxing with a rare cup of wine, raised his eyebrows. Strange. During the day, he might understand, but Ragnar wasn’t the type to request a meeting this late at night.

“Understood. Tell him I’ll meet him shortly.”

“My lord, this could be dangerous.”

“Still saying that after seeing the Hydra I brought in?”

“This is different.”

Rei’s tone was firm. He knew that Hydra had been a formidable creature, enough to endanger both Toby and himself if they had attacked it together. However, even the greatest warrior could die from a single moment of carelessness.

“I will serve as your escort. Let’s go together.”

“No need.”

“My lord—”

“We’re in the North here. Not some other place.”

In a land that revered masculinity, warriors, and strength, showing up to meet a guest with guards in tow would only lessen their respect.

Besides, Ragnar isn’t the type to attempt an assassination.