The morning sun glinted off the polished floors of the mansion's council room. Princess Elira and Princess Selene had gathered with their aides, maps, and ceremonial documents spread before them. The grandeur of the Mining Capital contrasted sharply with the urgency in their voices.
"This annual event," Elira said, tracing her finger along the map, "is not just a display of wealth. It's a show of political strength. Every noble in the Empire, every merchant lord—they will all be here. If we present Greyspire as strong and reliable, we strengthen alliances with the other five backbone cities."
Selene nodded, her expression serious. "Yes, but it also gives us leverage over the merchants and guilds here. A properly timed gift, a favor done publicly—it reminds everyone that our rule is beneficial to them."
One of the aides interjected, "Your Highness, with the Masked Man accompanying you and the reinforcement he provides, it signals to every faction that Greyspire's allies are formidable. That alone may deter attempts at sabotage during the event."
Elira leaned back, her gaze softening. "Indeed. But we cannot underestimate Duke Harrond's city. Even the smallest slight could ripple into political unrest. That's why our appearance, and that of our guest, must be flawless. Everything from ceremonial seating to gift exchanges matters."
Selene frowned slightly, looking down at the scrolls. "And the citizens… we must ensure their trust. If they see us only catering to nobles, the common folk may grow restless."
Elira smiled. "That is why the Masked Man's presence is crucial. He demonstrates that we value both strength and fairness, regardless of status. Now, let us finalize the ceremonial protocol and schedule."
Meanwhile, far below in the slums, the shadows were shifting. The suspicious man Kael had noted yesterday reappeared, now accompanied by a small cadre of others like him. Each moved with a precise, silent gait, weaving through the narrow alleys and dusty pathways of the warehouse district.
Their destination: a large, decrepit warehouse near the center of the slums. The first man pushed open the rusted doors and slipped inside, the others following quietly. Packages were exchanged, symbols of abyss energy flickering faintly along their cuffs and amulets. Kael's instincts screamed a warning even as he moved toward his sparring match.
Above ground, he adjusted his mask and strode toward Harrond's training grounds. The sun glinted off the polished stone walls, highlighting the tension in his posture. Beside him, Sara mirrored his movements, both masked and silent, blending into the crowd of city officials and onlookers escorting them to the arena.
When they reached the training grounds, Harrond had already assumed his stance. The massive open space stretched out like a stage for combat. The Duke's eyes, cold and calculating, scanned Kael with palpable anticipation.
"Masked man," Harrond said, his voice deep and resonant. "Before we begin, I require a fair match. Activate the Null Spell."
A mage stepped forward, hand raised toward the sky, chanting in low, resonant tones. Waves of energy rippled outward, forming a soft barrier that hummed against the air itself. Within its radius, Kael felt a subtle suppression—any attempt to call magic, conjure elements, or manipulate mana would be blocked.
"Spell nullified," the mage intoned. "Neither party may use magic within this area."
Kael's eyes narrowed. Fair, then. Let's see if raw skill can match raw strength.
Harrond's grin widened as he adjusted his footing, muscles coiling like steel springs. "No tricks. No magic. Just strength. Let's see if your reputation is earned."
Kael mirrored him, stance solid, muscles tensed under the mask. The air between them crackled—not with magic, but with the anticipation of a collision between two forces honed by very different paths.
And somewhere in the slums, those who handled abyss energy continued their work, oblivious to the duel about to unfold and the storm of power that would soon descend.
The wind shifted as Kael adjusted his stance, the muscles along his back coiling beneath the black armor of his mask. Harrond mirrored him, the sheer presence of the Duke radiating unyielding physical might. Around them, the Null Spell barrier hummed faintly, the faint crackle of suppressed magic filling the air.
Kael knew Harrond's reputation—level 50, no mana, no spellcraft, yet every strike was calculated, precise, and terrifyingly efficient. His physiology alone was honed to near-perfect human potential: tendon density increased, reflexes lightning-quick, muscles layered like reinforced steel. Harrond didn't need magic; his body was his weapon.
Without a word, Harrond lunged. The Duke's fist cut through the air like a piston, aimed straight for Kael's chest. Kael barely shifted, sidestepping with a flash of speed that blurred his edges. The ground trembled from the impact as Harrond's punch buried itself into the training mat, leaving a deep gouge.
Kael countered immediately, darting forward and delivering a kick aimed at Harrond's side, testing both reaction and defensive posture. Harrond pivoted smoothly, absorbing the blow on his shoulder with a grunt of effort. The Duke's next strike came in a flurry, a combination of rapid punches and low kicks that would have shattered an ordinary human.
Kael's strategy was simple: perception, prediction, and precision. Each movement was measured; each counter drawn not from raw strength, but from reading Harrond's body. A subtle shift of weight, a flex of a tendon—Kael noted them all. He feinted a step forward, luring Harrond into a high punch, then spun beneath it, striking at the Duke's thigh. Harrond's leg gave slightly, but the Duke barely staggered, turning Kael's blow into a glancing strike.
The training ground itself seemed to warp under the force of their exchange. Kael vaulted backward, narrowly avoiding a horizontal swing that smashed the stone pavement where he had just stood. Dust rose in small clouds as Harrond's fists struck again and again, each blow a demonstration of physical mastery honed over decades of training.
Kael's eyes flicked briefly to his surroundings, calculating distance, footing, and potential escape routes. Then, with a sudden burst, he dashed forward, closing the gap in the blink of an eye. Harrond responded instantly, pivoting and catching Kael's shoulder with an open palm, attempting to throw him off balance. Kael twisted in midair, landing lightly on the balls of his feet, the movement so fluid it seemed almost preternatural.
"You're fast," Harrond said with a grunt, stepping back and adopting a lower stance. "But speed alone won't win."
Kael's lips twitched into a faint smile beneath the mask. True. But speed combined with precision can. He feinted a strike to Harrond's torso, then swung low, aiming for the Duke's leg. Harrond shifted mid-strike, catching Kael's foot with the heel of his palm and flipping him over. Kael landed on one knee, rolling forward to regain balance instantly.
The next exchange was a blur of motion: Harrond's fists like hammers, Kael weaving and striking with pinpoint accuracy, testing every weak point. Harrond's strikes, though lacking magic, carried the weight of a man trained to break mountains. Kael's counters were precise enough to avoid fatal blows while probing for openings.
Sweat gleamed on both their foreheads, the intensity of combat drawing attention from onlookers and the princesses. Each strike, block, and evasion was a deadly dance, a test of body, mind, and reflex under the strictest conditions. Kael noted the Null Spell barrier's limitation—he could not summon mana to augment speed or strength—but his natural enhancements, perception, and years of training were more than enough.
Harrond suddenly changed rhythm, his strikes slower but more deceptive, each loaded with subtle torque designed to disrupt balance rather than merely strike. Kael responded, pivoting and sliding low, landing a near-perfect sweep that would have toppled an ordinary man. Harrond barely raised his arm in time, blocking with forearm strength alone, the stone pavement cracking beneath the force.
So this is what physical perfection looks like… Kael thought, analyzing every nuance.
The duel was no longer merely a test of speed versus strength—it was strategy against instinct, calculation against raw experience. Kael's mind raced with probabilities, while Harrond relied on centuries of honed skill, every punch and kick a perfect equation of biomechanics.
And as the battle continued, Kael began to notice small signs—tiny openings, subtle patterns in Harrond's movement—that hinted the Duke was testing him, probing to understand his limits. Kael grinned beneath the mask. Then let's make this a proper test.
With a sudden burst, Kael flipped backward, creating distance, then launched forward again with a feint and a pivoting strike aimed not to harm, but to measure the Duke's reflex. Harrond parried, yet a flicker of surprise passed through his eyes. The fight was escalating—and both men knew this was only the beginning.
Outside, the slums remained unaware of the storm building within the training ground. But the faint ripple of tension in the air whispered to Kael that the forces lurking in the city—the abyss energy manipulators, the suspicious man in the warehouse—would soon converge with this duel in ways no one could yet predict.
The ground shuddered again as Harrond's fist hammered forward, a blow that carried the weight of a mountain behind it. Kael met the strike head-on this time, his forearm clashing with Harrond's in a shockwave that rippled through the training grounds. Dust erupted, scattering across the barrier walls.
The crowd gasped—until now, Kael had evaded, countered, and redirected. But this time, he chose to match Harrond's raw force.
Harrond's eyes narrowed, a flicker of respect igniting in their depths."So… you're not just quick."
Kael exhaled slowly, muscles tightening, his posture no longer evasive but assertive, unyielding. His hidden strength surged forth, his body no longer holding back. When he struck again, it was with the sharp snap of compressed air, his fist colliding with Harrond's in a titanic impact that shook the very dome of the Null Spell barrier.
CRACK!
A thin fracture spiderwebbed across the barrier's inner surface. The mage maintaining it blinked in shock, sweat already forming at his temples. "I—impossible. The Null Spell is designed to suppress mana, not… not shatter from brute force!"
The princesses, watching from the shaded pavilion, leaned forward. Sara's masked gaze flicked to the flickering dome, her heartbeat quickening. She knew Kael was strong—but this was different. This was monstrous.
Kael and Harrond broke apart, circling each other now, both grinning faintly. Harrond wiped a trickle of sweat from his brow."Not bad," the Duke said, voice low but brimming with exhilaration. "Few have forced me to use my full power. But tell me—how long can you keep this up?"
Kael tilted his head slightly, his mask hiding the glint in his eyes. "Longer than you'd think."
Then he charged.
Their fists collided in a storm of blows, each strike resonating like thunderclaps, stone tiles beneath their feet fracturing into jagged shards. Kael's strength was no longer hidden behind strategy; it surged openly, every muscle fiber pushing against its limits. His blows didn't just counter Harrond—they contested him, every clash an equal exchange of devastation.
Another impact cracked the barrier again, the magical dome flickering visibly. The mage staggered, hands trembling as he struggled to stabilize the spell."This shouldn't be happening… no combatants have ever pushed it this far without magic…"
Harrond, even as he pressed forward with a devastating elbow strike, chuckled through the exertion. "Boy, you're a monster in disguise. Not even my veteran knights could endure this pace."
Kael caught the elbow, twisted, and drove his knee upward into Harrond's torso. The Duke slid back three full meters, boots grinding sparks into the fractured floor. Gasps echoed through the training yard.
The two combatants stood apart for a brief heartbeat, both breathing heavily, shoulders squared, eyes locked. The crowd had fallen utterly silent.
The Null Spell dome flickered again, faint lines of stress glowing like cracks of lightning.
Kael clenched his fist, rolling his shoulder. "I think… I've been underestimating myself."
Harrond smirked, flexing his own knuckles, excitement blazing in his eyes. "Then stop holding back. Show me what you really are."
The mage's voice cracked as he shouted:"If you both keep going like this—the barrier will collapse!"
Neither Kael nor Harrond moved their eyes from each other. The barrier was secondary. Right now, in this ring, the only truth was the collision of their strength.
And Kael was no longer merely the masked strategist. He was an equal to the Duke of Steel.