Lord of Caldera - Chapter 233

Chapter 233: Chapter 233

Unable to voice their grievances directly to Arathion, the elves mocked Sylas. If this were set up as a sparring match, he likely did possess some ancient blood. But that alone wasn’t enough to impress them. What was a mere mortal with brute strength compared to the monstrous forces they already knew?

‘Even if the duke called us here, he won’t convince us completely.’

‘We’ll follow his lead, though we’ll make it clear it’s under protest.’

For elves who despised humans, this was the most resistance they could muster. Participating as spectators in this performance, they had no intention of pretending otherwise. But the moment the duel began, all such thoughts vanished.

Boom! Crash! Clang!

“….”

“….”

With each clash of metal, sparks flew, and the sound of thunder reverberated through the area. The shockwaves from their sword strikes whipped up gusts, shaking the surroundings. Had they not been watching, the onlookers might have assumed that lightning was striking continuously nearby. The clash between the two warriors was that intense.

It was like a small-scale natural disaster.

‘I can’t see it.’

Some of the elves, lost in amazement, trembled slightly. Among them were merchants and nobles who prided themselves on their martial abilities.

‘I can’t see it at all! What on earth is happening?’

Elves had better vision than humans, and those who had trained for long enough could even catch an incoming arrow with their hands. Those who accompanied Arathion were no different. Yet even they couldn’t keep up with the battle before them.

The only thing they could make out was one thing: the duke’s dismayed expression.

“Is His Grace being pushed back?”

“Impossible! How could a human…!”

Someone muttered in disbelief, immediately met with an instinctual denial. The tone was filled with emotions of utter rejection. Yet, no matter how hard it was to accept, the reality unfolding before them was merciless.

Clang!

“Hah!”

“Ugh!”

With a sound that threatened to split their eardrums, both combatants staggered back. Only then did the spectators begin to take in the scene.

Sylas was relatively composed, while Arathion was panting heavily. Anyone could tell that the duke had lost in this exchange.

“This… this can’t be!”

One person’s exclamation voiced what everyone else was feeling. But no one was more shocked than Arathion himself.

After a long look at Sylas, Arathion finally spoke.

“How old are you this year?”

“I’m sixteen this year. Seventeen next year.”

“And how long have you been training with the sword?”

“Not yet a full year.”

A dry laugh escaped Arathion’s lips as he looked up at the sky and muttered.

“I took up the sword at fifteen.”

“…?”

“And for the past three hundred and twenty-five years, I have honed my sword.”

Everyone fell silent at Arathion’s words. His tone was light, yet the weight behind those words was unimaginable. Three hundred twenty-five years—a span long enough to see a kingdom rise and fall—had been matched in just a single year.

In the suffocating stillness, Arathion raised his sword once more.

“Well then, we’ve rested enough. Shall we continue?”

“I think we’ve done enough for a sparring match,” Sylas replied.

“I may be a duke, but I am also a swordsman,” Arathion answered, making it clear he wanted to face Sylas in earnest, regardless of purpose. Understanding the sentiment, Sylas silently raised his sword. He, too, knew that feeling well.

Clang!

“…!”

The two swords clashed again. A shuddering shock surged through Arathion’s entire body as he gritted his teeth.

‘Am I being overpowered this easily? Even with my family’s relics?’

He had engraved magical sigils into his body to reshape it, consumed rare herbs now impossible to find, and absorbed every bit of legacy his predecessors had left behind. Though he fell short of ancient blood, he had transcended a mortal’s limits. Through this physical foundation, he had mastered swordsmanship, surrounding himself with relics across his entire body.

‘That’s how I earned the title of Duke of Swords. I was called the strongest of mortals in my time.’

He knew some elves had exaggerated the title out of pride, but he had always taken a measure of pride in it himself. Even if someone were stronger than him, he was confident that no one could defeat him in pure swordsmanship. Centuries of training with the blade could surely overcome even ancient bloodlines.

‘How arrogant I was.’

He had told Sylas he was overconfident, yet who was truly guilty of overconfidence here? A bitter smile formed on his lips.

Bang! Swoosh!

“Ugh!”

As if to snap him out of his thoughts, Sylas’s next attack pushed Arathion back. If he loosened his grip, he felt he would be sent flying. Meanwhile, Sylas seemed unbothered, maintaining complete composure.

‘I can’t win this.’

Arathion was forced to acknowledge it. This sixteen-year-old human had already become someone stronger than himself.

‘In that case, I’ll at least leave an unforgettable impression.’

Taking a deep breath, Arathion steadied his stance. The wind gathered around his sword, creating a wild, whirling sound.

“Let’s settle this with the next strike,” he declared.

“Very well,” Sylas replied.

In response, he ignited flames along his sword, the blue fire shifting to a blinding white as the air around them distorted with heat.

There was no sound. Only a blinding flash and a powerful shockwave that rippled in all directions. The spectators barely managed to hold their ground as the intense pressure threatened to knock them down. When the dust finally settled and the light faded, they opened their eyes to witness the outcome.

“Your Grace…!”

“No way!”

Arathion was kneeling on one knee, supporting himself with his sword. Standing tall, Sylas pointed his blade at the duke, the victor clear for all to see.

“It seems I’ve won,” Sylas stated.

“Indeed,” Arathion replied with a wry smile.

“I concede.”

The aftermath of the sparring match was immense. The shift in sentiment among the elves was especially dramatic.

“Did he truly lose? Even though His Grace fought at full strength?”

“I still can’t believe it. Could they have planned this ahead of time?”

“You still say that after witnessing the clash? Get a grip!”