Veyran finally set his fork down. "If this is true," he said thoughtfully,
"Then someone's playing a much bigger game than we thought."
The Duchess looked visibly paler. "Why would he… your own brother…"
Kael didn't say anything at first. His lips pressed into a tight line, but he nodded slowly, as though considering the words carefully.
The Duke's gaze lingered on him, stern but expectant.
"After your brother returns," the Duke said firmly,
"Just apologize. Close the matter. He will definitely challenge you to a duel otherwise."
Kael gave a long, tired sigh.
From Kaelion's memories, he knew the weight of those words.
A duel wasn't some childish brawl with wooden sticks—it was a sacred tradition, watched over by the War God 'Thalrik'.
It was said the god himself bore witness to these battles of honor between nobles, and granted legitimacy to the victor's cause.
A duel wasn't just violence. It was law. It was divine arbitration.
And Kael, the transmigrated soul from a world of laws, courts, and contracts, was now being told that the truth could be decided by stabbing someone harder.
'What kind of caveman logic is this?' he thought, nearly letting out a hollow laugh.
'So if I decapitate someone well enough, I'm right?'
Kael's mind churned fiercely.
'If I apologize, my image shatters. I'll be branded a coward—my plan A of winning this duchy through diplomacy? Gone.'
Plan B... well, Plan B didn't care about appearances.
'Mass murder ' had no room for shame.
He looked up suddenly, voice cutting through the tense silence:
"I will not apologize."
The Duke's brow lifted sharply—an eyebrow arching like a judge's gavel dropping. The room fell completely still, all eyes locked on Kael.
A pregnant pause stretched out.
Kael's bold refusal hung heavy in the air.
'Yeah, it's a stupid decision,' he thought bitterly.
'I know. But Plan A isn't something I can just throw away.'
Since Selene's revelation that morning, he'd known the brutal truth — even with his SSS-grade mana control, reaching Rank 4 magician would take time.
Time he didn't have if he wanted to survive this deadly game. And looking at the Duke's sharp gaze, Kael realized clearly: killing him now wasn't possible.
Kael's mind raced.
'There's one more catch. The sacred duel—it's only between magicians of the same rank. '
So Kael had to at least master a Rank 1 spell this week...
Kael's thoughts spiraled, the manic glint in his eyes growing sharper.
'Wait a second… I can also use this stupid caveman logic to my advantage.'
'I mean if I do manage to learn a spell by then… I can just say the God of War himself blessed me to expose the lie. A divine miracle! Instant reputation buff!'
His grin widened.
'Ha! I'm a genius! Hahahaha—'
"—Ha… ha—cough cough!"
Selene, still standing behind him, flinched. "…Are you okay?"
Kael waved her off, wiping a tear from his eye.
The Duke's face twisted into a loud, booming laugh.
"Very well, boy. Let's see what you can do."
Veyran sneered from his seat, "Fool."
Their mother simply shook her head, disappointed.
***
The duke didn't look up from his desk as Renold entered. The office was dimly lit, shadows pooling around the tall shelves lined with ledgers and aged scrolls.
A single lamp burned beside a tower of parchment, casting the duke's expression in flickering gold.
"You called, master?" Renold asked, standing stiffly with his hands behind his back.
The duke didn't lift his eyes from the parchment. He just murmured,
"You were right. He's changed completely."
He dipped the quill again, scribbled something with cold precision.
"That hollow look… gone. Now, he's got will in his eyes."
Renold stood straight but clenched his jaw. "I think it's because of Lana's death. And… and…"
'And that damn promise...'
Not like he'd say it out loud; he still got tormented enough just thinking about it.
The duke paused mid-sentence, quill hovering above parchment, ink slowly pooling at its tip.
His eyes narrowed.
"…He's changed, all right," he muttered, more to himself than Renold.
"But why… why do I feel killingintent from him?"
Renold made a noise that could only be described as a dying hiccup.
His spine stiffened like a plank, then snapped into chaos as he choked on absolutely nothing, tripped over his own boots, and crashed to the ground on his rear with a dramatic thump.
"W-WHAT?!"
Renold stared at the duke as if he'd just suggested the family cat was secretly a spy.
"I—I mean, in the whole western province—no, screw that—in the whole kingdom?! Who would dare—who even can think about killing you? Besides, like, the King or that creepy old bastard from the Academy who eats raw mana crystals for breakfast?!"
The duke just stared, deadpan.
He sighed, clearly used to dealing with his overly dramatic butler.
"Even I can't understand it. If he wanted to be heir, he'd have his killing intent aimed at Veyran. But directing it straight at me means only one thing."
Renold finally got up, brushing off his pants. "What's that?"
The duke's eyes darkened.
"His ambition is to become duke—directly."
Renold gasped, eyes wide.
Suddenly, the duke burst out laughing—a deep, unsettling sound that echoed through the room.
"Interesting. Very interesting," he said, like a madman savoring a new game.
Renold just stood there, thinking,
'This whole family's gone off the deep end.'
Renold glanced up, hesitant.
"Master, shouldn't we also pay attention? I mean, spying on him..."
The duke chuckled, shaking his head.
"What do you think I am? A duke and rank 4 magician afraid of a brat who can't even master a rank 1 spell?"
He waved dismissively. "Just do your own work. Let him scramble — we'll see who comes out on top."