Royal inheritance.
At those words, Eisen went completely stiff. Even in this era dominated by the Empire, royal houses still existed, though they were rare.
Countries that had not been fully annexed and remained as vassal states.
But if you added the word “inheritance” to that, the story changed completely.
“You don’t mean it’s something left by the previous Duke Grimaldi?”
“To be precise, it’s not a single item, but several.”
Not a single item, but several? Could the fallen Grimaldi really have had the means to leave behind multiple legacies?
Though doubtful, Eisen couldn’t contain his curiosity and opened the box.
“An armor?”
An armor of pure white, reminiscent of platinum. More precisely, only the breastplate of the full set was stored inside the box.
As soon as Eisen pulled it out completely, his eyes widened.
“In this world…!”
Just by the touch of his fingers, he knew. Among all existing artisans, there was no one capable of forging something like this. He didn’t even know what metal it was made from, but it was lighter and more durable than any armor he had ever seen.
Moreover, the runes engraved between its plates dispersed the surrounding mana, as if blocking all external interference.
‘It’s not just tough. It clearly also protects against magical attacks.’
Unfortunately, Eisen couldn’t fully understand the effects inscribed on the armor. He knew swordsmanship, but when it came to magic, he was completely ignorant.
While he examined the breastplate in a daze, Lucian’s voice pulled him back to reality.
“I’d like to ask you to test its durability, Sir Eisen.”
“Test it? You’re not thinking of the kind of durability test I’m imagining, are you?”
“Exactly that. Cut it with all your strength.”
“Ha!”
Eisen swallowed the gasp of astonishment that almost escaped him.
He had seen very few armors as flawless as this in his entire life. And now they were asking him to destroy it with his own hands.
“Your Highness, an armor of this level needs no testing. Just one glance is enough to know it’s among the best ever made.”
“Even so, wouldn’t it be good to know the limit of the impact it can withstand?”
“…If this were a common item, that would make sense. But destroying something this irreplaceable would be like smashing a treasure with our own hands.”
“Then cut it, just as I asked.”
“What?”
“This armor is a mass-produced item.”
“…!”
This time, Eisen couldn’t hide his expression.
A mass-produced item? Something this precious?
He was so shocked that he stood up on the spot.
“You’re saying this is really mass-produced?”
“More accurately, a mass-produced item from ancient times. Over a thousand units are still preserved today.”
“Hahaha!”
A disbelieving laugh escaped Eisen’s mouth. Not a hundred, but over a thousand. If a thousand men marched equipped with this armor, what kind of sight would that be?
Just imagining it sent shivers down his spine.
‘Even a unit of recruits could take a fortress with ease.’
That thought crawled down his back like a chill.
That alone would be enough to conquer a fortress—but what if those thousand weren’t recruits, but seasoned soldiers hardened by countless battles? Or worse yet, if they were all knights trained in swordsmanship?
“Sir Eisen.”
At the sound of his name, Eisen snapped back to reality and looked again at the armor. It was still a treasure, but if more than a thousand remained, breaking one here wouldn’t be a huge loss.
Determined, he picked up the wooden sword beside him.
“You’re going to cut it with a wooden sword, not a real one?”
“If I use a real sword, this stops being a test.”
It might have sounded arrogant, but it was the plain truth. No matter how durable it was, it was still just a motionless object.
With a real sword, he would slice it in two easily, making the test pointless.
Zuum—
When Eisen gripped the wooden sword with both hands, condensed mana began to ripple around him.
Compared to a real sword, the strike would be duller, but with that amount of mana, it was practically equivalent to a siege ram.
After steadying his breathing, Eisen swung the sword like a flash of lightning.
Crash!
A deafening roar, like thunder crashing from the sky, rang in Lucian’s ears.
The runes engraved on the armor clashed with the Swordmaster’s strike and tore apart one after another. They glowed continuously as they broke, trying to absorb the impact.
Finally, when the last rune lost its glow and all defensive effects dissipated—
“…Haa.”
A murmur escaped Eisen’s lips—unclear whether it was admiration or shock.
Through the cloud of dust, Lucian saw the wooden sword embedded in the armor. It had pierced and torn roughly a third of the breastplate but had not gone all the way through.
If someone had been wearing it, they would have undoubtedly died, but the fact that it had withstood a Swordmaster’s blow without splitting in two said a lot about its durability.
“Your Highness… what exactly did the previous duke leave behind?”
In Eisen’s eyes, there remained only pure doubt. How had the fallen Grimaldi preserved more than a thousand items like this?
Lucian held his gaze and smiled slightly.
“I’ll tell you after we wipe out Calix.”
***
Norvek murmured, stunned, at the unexpected report.
“You’re saying they accepted my proposal for a duel?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“And why?”
“…”
Palmir, a knight of Count Calix’s house, shut his mouth at his lord’s question.
How was he supposed to know what those people were thinking? Norvek knew that too, yet he couldn’t help asking.
After all, he had never imagined they would accept the proposal.
‘Are they so confident they’ve gone mad? Are they going to abandon that wall and come out?’
The wall of Asagrim was, without exaggeration, impossible to breach without the help of an internal traitor or some special method like magic.
It was so solid that it would barely even require guards to be stationed there. Norvek’s proposal of a duel had been more of a desperate attempt, born of impatience at finding no way to overcome the wall.
And yet now they were saying they would come out voluntarily.
“Don’t tell me they really believe it will be just a duel?”
“I don’t think so.”
After having even attempted an assassination, there was no reason at all to trust Norvek.
Most likely, they had accepted knowing perfectly well it was a trap, because they had their own plans as well.
“Perhaps they’ve decided to abandon even the fight over legitimacy. They might pretend to accept the duel and, once close, strike us all at once.”
“If that were the case, they would have stayed behind the wall and waited for our supplies to run out. Giving up legitimacy and attacking right when the enemy is strongest makes no sense.”
“There’s a chance that the Swordmaster we’ve only heard rumors about has joined them. With his help, instead of mind games, they might try to lure us out first.”
“If he begged victory from a Swordmaster who isn’t even his vassal, but his father’s, who would recognize it? Unless he’s an idiot, he’ll try to finish it with his own hands.”
“My apologies. That’s the limit of the strategies I can imagine.”
Seeing Palmir frankly admit his inadequacy, Norvek let out a sigh. In the past, he would have tried to wring his mind dry, but since deciding to abandon his life, he had become excessively honest.
Norvek knew the reason, yet it still made him uncomfortable.
“If we could always see through the enemy’s intentions, we wouldn’t be in this situation.”
“What do you wish to do? If you’re worried about a stratagem, you can always cancel.”
“No. We’ll accept. The benefit is too great to discard just because it’s suspicious.”
No matter what the enemy was plotting, the fact was they would come out of the wall of their own accord. It was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, worthy of risking everything.
‘Raven Hill as the dueling site? How ridiculous.’
A midpoint between five territories, including Asagrim. The hill bore that name because its summit, always muddy, resembled a raven’s head.
With insufficient cover to hide troops, any ambush would be discovered immediately. That made the enemy’s intention clear.
‘Are they so confident of victory that they think, without ambushes, it doesn’t matter how I come out?’
Crrk.
The surge of fury made Norvek grit his teeth without realizing it. That the House of Calix, a great family that had dominated the north for centuries, was being looked down on like this by a newly arrived brat.
‘Enjoy your imaginary victory while you can.’
It was humiliating, but still nothing more than a fleeting illusion.
When death truly came close, that brat would regret every single one of his actions.
Just being able to see his face dyed with terror at that moment was enough for Norvek to endure humiliations like this as many times as necessary.
***
Three days later, Lucian set out at the head of his army and met Norvek at Raven Hill.
Seeing the approaching forces in the distance, Lucian rubbed his chin.
‘Just as the report said, they have twice as many troops as we do.’
Lucian commanded the Blue Rose Knights loaned by the Empire and two thousand elite soldiers. Norvek, for his part, led the White Bear Knights of Calix and four thousand soldiers.
In numbers, Calix had an absolute advantage, but in training and equipment quality, Lucian far surpassed them.
If they clashed head-on, the outcome would be difficult to predict.
“Lucian! Brat, brat—if you’re not scared to death, take up your sword and stand before me right now! You’re the one who asked for the duel—are you planning to back out?!”
As both armies watched each other from opposite sides of the hill, Norvek stepped forward and shouted. At the provocation, Lucian replied with a mocking smile.
“Not a chance! How could I turn my back on a decrepit old man like you? Since we’re meeting again after so long, I’ll take care of you personally.”
“…!?”
Not only Norvek, but even the soldiers on both sides were stunned.
He was really going to step out for a duel as the commander-in-chief? It was nothing more than a provocation, not even a formal proposal, and yet he accepted without hesitation.
As murmurs spread, Lucian raised his voice again.
“But it doesn’t look good for the commander-in-chief to come out from the start! If you want me to appear, first bring down one of my knights!”
“What…?”
“If my knight falls, then I myself will come out to face you! What do you say?”
Palmir, beside Norvek, frowned.
Defeat just one knight and the commander-in-chief would accept the duel?
It was becoming harder and harder to understand what he was plotting.
“My lord, this is strange. We should observe a bit more—”
“Are you serious?!”
Before Palmir could finish, Norvek shouted. Turning his head, Palmir saw Lucian smiling as he raised a banner.
“I swear by the names of Valdeck and Grimaldi, and by the eight gods of the heavens! The moment my knight falls, I will come out alone for a duel!”
He had sworn not only by Valdeck, but also by Grimaldi. Mentioning Grimaldi before the northerners gave that oath a weight impossible to ignore.
Unless Calix broke the form of the duel first, Lucian could not retract his oath.
Norvek clenched his fist tightly.
“Sir Palmir.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“No matter how many must be sacrificed, send them one after another. Until we draw that brat out, do not act rashly.”
Palmir shuddered at the order. They were abandoning all prepared plans and stepping straight into the ground the enemy had set.
He wanted to stop him at all costs, but Norvek’s eyes, completely unhinged, made it clear he wouldn’t listen to anyone.
‘They’ve laid a trap for us.’
Finally realizing the enemy’s intention, Palmir shut his eyes tightly.
____
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