Just as the two were speculating about some shocking conspiracy,
a knight jogged over. He first performed a standard knight's etiquette toward Roland, then bowed down and whispered to Philip, "Young Master, Young Master Thomas, the son of Count O'Connor, requests an audience. He is currently waiting in the main hall, saying he came to chat with you about enrollment."
"What do I have to talk about with him... Never mind... Have him come over."
"Thomas?"
"I'm surprised you still remember him." Philip sighed and continued, "I don't really get along with him, but the guy keeps coming over to find me whenever he has free time, claiming it's noble socializing. I just don't know how to refuse him."
Thomas O'Connor's situation was similar to Philip Wayne's. The only difference was that his character was truly terrible. On ordinary days, he bullied men and harassed women, and he loved flexing his authority in the streets. The commoners of Lucifiel City feared the nobility so much largely because of him.
Before long, led by the knight, a pudgy youth with a bloated figure, curly hair, and freckles was brought in. He wore an impossible-to-ignore arrogance on his face, which, combined with his unsightly looks, made him all the more repulsive. However, when his gaze swept over Roland, a flicker of astonishment flashed across his eyes.
Thomas O'Connor quickly adjusted himself and rubbed his hands together.
Passing right by the knight, he trotted over with his fat body, sat down familiarly beside them, and said with a hint of teasing, "Oho! At first glance, I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. Philip, when did you invite Young Master Roland over? How could you not call me for an occasion like this?"
"..."
Philip buried his face in his hand, not responding.
"I came today to share good news. Yours truly has successfully advanced to a First-Rank Warrior. As for the gathering, Philip, how do you plan to get there?" Thomas said with a chuckle. Especially when mentioning his advancement, his eyes darted toward Roland from time to time, as if in provocation.
Unfortunately for him, Roland had not even looked at him directly since he walked through the door.
Sharing a room with such an ignorant fool was already an insult to the King of Pride.
"I've already made plans with Roland."
"Oh?" Thomas raised an eyebrow and looked at Roland. "Young Master Roland is going too?"
"Mm."
Roland uttered a soft acknowledgment.
Thomas was a classic noble, as well as a staunch believer in the rumors.
He despised anyone who was superior to him. Someone like Roland, with noble lineage and an immaculate bearing, naturally became his imaginary enemy and a thorn in his side. Because of Roland's mild temperament and lack of any combat record, Thomas could only pick flaws in his talent and ability to suppress this imaginary enemy in his mind.
At the slightest achievement, he would grow smug and complacent.
Believing himself omnipotent, unmatched by anyone.
Simply put, he was the spoiled fool of a neighbor's son.
"My family has prepared a carriage for me. Why don't the two of you come along with me?"
"No need. I plan to take the mana train. Going by carriage makes too much of a scene, and the train is faster and more convenient." Philip tactfully declined, then looked at Roland. "Roland, what do you think?"
"I don't mind either way."
"Then I won't force the issue."
Thomas spoke with a smile, but his expression flickered slightly. Having been rejected by both of them in succession, he felt his pride wounded, so he decided to find a new topic—preferably one that would allow him to show off his formidable prowess.
"By the way, since Young Master Roland is also planning to go to St. Romanvia, you must have advanced to a Warrior or a Mage as well. It happens that there are only three of us here, and win or lose, it won't be leaked outside. How about we have a sparring match?"
Thomas believed he had given more than enough of a way out.
At previous noble gatherings, Roland had never accepted anyone's request for a duel, presumably because he did not want to make a fool of himself in public. Conveniently, there were only the three of them here now. Furthermore, he had already promised that win or lose, it would not be spread outside, so Roland had no reason to refuse.
"Sure."
Roland readily accepted, his expression calm as usual.
Although Thomas had hoped for it, he had not expected Roland to agree so straightforwardly. Those dark-gold eyes merely looked at him quietly, devoid of any emotional fluctuation, showing not the slightest panic over the impending battle.
"Since Young Master Roland has agreed, I'll trouble Philip to lead the way. Otherwise, someone might have to renovate this beautiful back garden afterward."
Coming back to his senses, Thomas could not help feeling a surge of excitement.
If he defeated Roland here today—the guy was the son of a Duke, after all—the nobles of the Eastern Territory would certainly view him in a new light. Though he had promised not to spread the news, if it were merely brought up privately as casual tea talk without raising a big fuss, Roland wouldn't find out anyway.
Philip looked at the excited Thomas, then at the placid Roland.
Sighing, he said, "Follow me."
The two followed him to a training ground. Roland and Thomas stood facing each other dozens of meters apart, while Philip stood far away, acting as a temporary referee.
"If I accidentally hurt Young Master Roland later, please don't blame me!"
"Accidental injuries are inevitable in a spar. Do as you wish."
Once Philip called out "Three, two, one,"
Thomas pushed off hard with his feet and charged straight at Roland.
Seeing that Roland made no move at first, combined with the obvious chill filling the air, Thomas realized Roland was casting a spell. His heart leaped with joy. In a one-on-one duel between combatants of the same rank, Mages were rarely a match for Warriors—in fact, even two Mages of the same rank might not necessarily defeat a Warrior of equal standing.
He had panicked for a brief moment earlier due to Roland's calm demeanor.
But looking at things now, so what if Roland had advanced as well?
Within the same rank, how could a Mage possibly beat a Warrior?
Victory in this battle was assuredly his!
Thomas raised the warhammer in his hands.
He disliked the intricate techniques of swords and blades; practicing them was not only troublesome but difficult to learn. They were far less direct in dealing damage than a hammer.
Roland remained standing still in place, while Thomas swung directly down at him,
excitement gleaming in his eyes.
But in the next instant, that excitement froze on his face.
A muffled thud resounded.
No matter how much strength he exerted—even using every ounce of effort he had, his face flushing crimson—he still could not shatter the ice shield floating in front of Roland.
A bone-chilling cold traveled up his weapon,
freezing his hands to the point of trembling.
"Hmph, let's see how many times you can use this kind of spell."
Thomas thought to himself that while he couldn't smash the ice shield, he didn't believe Roland could continuously cast such spells in a short period. After all, that was the innate disadvantage of Mages compared to Warriors.
Just as he was about to launch an attack from the side,
Thomas realized he could not even lift his feet.
Unbeknownst to him, everything below his knees had been frozen solid by ice, making it impossible to move a single step. Whether it was the warhammer in his hands or his feet below, the cold continued to spread. Even his bodily sensations were gradually disappearing. For a moment, he found it difficult to accept that the useless trash he scoffed at on ordinary days could be so strong.
This must be fake, it must be fake!
He doesn't dare face me head-on at all!
Right, it must be so! That's why he's hiding behind this turtle shell, using these cheap, dirty tricks to restrain me!
"Roland, is this all you've got? Do you dare face me head-on in a duel?"
"Are you sure?"
Rate on N.U.
