Saved By The Mad Duke
Chapter 47: The Duel Of Honor

Chapter 47: The Duel Of Honor

"Black Flame’s mercenary as his champion. What an idiot! He must have used all of our little Aideen’s money to hire that mountain of a man!"

Valon slapped his pale, bony hand over the wooden surface of the platform’s rail and released a loud giggle which only agitated Aideen even more.

Although the mercenary’s strong frame was indeed quite fearsome, Tillian seemed to be completely unbothered by it.

Scratching his chin in a contemplating manner, he looked the man before him up and down, then turned back to the Count, and stretched his lips into an arrogant grin.

"I must admit you have selected a rather fine champion, Lord Constantine. A member of the Black Flame guild, very impressive."

"The law dictates that I am allowed to assign as my champion whoever is willing to fight for me! I did not break any rules by hiring a mercenary!"

Count Crueder’s high-pitched, nervous voice echoed through the quiet jousting arena like thunder. The Duke raised his eyebrows as if to make the Count understand that he, indeed, saw no issue with him remaining on the platform instead of fighting, then ran his gloved hand through his blond hair, and grinned again.

"I had no intentions of accusing you of breaking the rules. However, you should bear in mind that a champion is still not my final opponent, Lord Constantine."

"What is that supposed to mean?" The Count widened his eyes in bewilderment, turning to the King to seek clarification, "Your Majesty?"

Euris offered the man a brief nod and explained, his eyes still locked on Tillian’s confident stance,

"His Grace is right. The duel of honor is the duel to death. If in the midst of fighting, your champion refuses to put his life on the line and surrenders, it will still be you who will have to remain in the arena until the duel is over."

Count Crueder swallowed dryly, hesitating for a few moments. He then slowly shifted his beady eyes to the mercenary who stood motionless and menacing, piercing Tillian with his sharp glare, and released a long sigh, as his tone relaxed again and regained its confidence,

"Well, then be it! This young fella knew what he was going for when he accepted my offer, so yes, I do acknowledge the rules. I am confident, though, that there will be no need to involve me in this matter any further. Now, let us not waste the whole day on this absurd event and get it over with."

The King rose to his feet and cleared his throat.

"Very well. Since both sides clearly understand the rules of the duel of honor, I see no reason to stall any longer. I invite the opponents to their positions. Start whenever you are ready."

"Please wait!"

Aideen nearly jumped from her seat, her entire body shaking while her mouth was greedily swallowing the cold morning air. Desperately clutching the wooden rail of the platform, she leaned over it, and continued in a nervous, trembling voice,

"Your Grace! Please, just a moment!"

Tillian shot the King a brief glare to which the latter replied with a gesture of his hand that implied that he was allowed to approach the platform.

As the Duke stood before Aideen, the princess rounded her eyes in utter distress and whispered,

"Your Grace! Please tell me you are going to be alright! His Highness the Crown Prince told me it’s the Black Flame mercenary, I know for a fact that they are ruthless and blood-thirsty men with no morals. Goodness, this is so nerve-wracking, I might faint!"

Duke Valentine accepted the lady’s concern with a wide smile on his pinkish lips.

"Here you go again, Your Highness, harboring no trust in me at all! Don’t faint, please persevere. I want you to be conscious when I bring you victory."

Still smiling confidently, Tillian gently took Aideen’s hand in his and planted a light kiss on the cold surface of her black leather glove. Then, he nodded at Euris Ruan, signaling his readiness for the duel, and returned to his assigned position in the arena.

The jousting arena was shrouded in an electric tension as Duke Tillian Valentine stepped forward, the ominous aura of his black sword casting an imposing shadow. Across from him, towering like a menacing presence, the mercenary assumed his position as well, clutching a giant sword in his right hand.

The audience hushed, and Aideen’s breath caught as the two powerful adversaries faced each other in the center of the arena.

Tillian’s grip on the black sword was unwavering, a testament to the innate strength that coursed through his veins. The mercenary, no stranger to battles, exhibited a prowess that made the air hum with anticipation. The clash of steel against steel reverberated through the arena, signaling the beginning of their duel.

Each move, a calculated dance of precision and skill, painted an intense scene of the struggle for dominance. Duke Tillian’s movements were fluid, a manifestation of raw strength and practiced finesse. The mercenary, however, countered with a relentless assault, his strikes imbued with a deadly precision that hinted at countless fights he had won.

Aideen clenched her fists, her eyes nervously following the sounds unfolding before her. The royal family and Count Constantine observed with bated breath, a collective silence punctuated only by the metallic symphony of the duel.

The mercenary, a master of deception and fighting tricks, executed a swift maneuver, catching Tillian off guard. The black sword sliced through the air, but the mercenary’s blade found its mark – a long scratch on Tillian’s arm. A gasp rippled through the audience as a piece of the red ribbon tied to Tillian’s wrist fluttered to the ground.

"What happened? Is he wounded?"

The princess’s frightened whisper reached Yanad’s ears. The Crown Prince leaned in and answered reassuringly,

"Just a scratch. He is fine. The mercenary is indeed a master of his blade. What an interesting clash."

Aideen’s heart raced, thumping in her ears while Yanad’s gaze flickered to the strand of Tillian’s blond hair now severed by the mercenary’s blade. The stakes had escalated, the battle reaching a new level of intensity.

The air crackled with a charged energy as Tillian, undeterred by the superficial wounds, intensified his offensive. His black sword cut through the air with a deadly grace, each strike calculated to dismantle the mercenary’s defenses. The jousting arena, once a symbol of chivalry, transformed into a battleground for mere survival.

In a surprising twist, Tillian disarmed the mercenary, the black sword poised at his adversary’s throat. A murmur of awe swept through the spectators. Yet, instead of delivering the final blow, Tillian’s steely gaze locked onto the mercenary’s eyes, conveying an unspoken message.

"I think that’s enough of the show. Surrender."

Aideen sensed a subtle shift in the atmosphere. The Duke’s quiet command, unheard by others, echoed louder than any battle cry in her keen ears. The mercenary, battered and bloodied, met Tillian’s gaze and, with a reluctant nod, conceded defeat. The black sword lowered, signaling the end of the duel.

"What is going on?! What are you doing?! Continue! Continue the fight!"

Count Crueder jumped to his feet, leaning over the wooden rail of the platform, his frightened voice thundering through the arena like a desperate cry of a dying animal.

"Pick up your sword this instant! I paid you money to fight for me, so fight, you worthless moron!"

The mercenary curled his blood-stained lips into a somewhat evil grin as he finally answered in a raspy voice,

"I’m afraid you do not have enough power to order me around, Lord Crueder. I will send you back your money, the deal is off. I am not giving up my life to the Mad Dog of Valentines while there are no comrades of mine to spread the story around. Take care."

The man accepted his dirty sword from the Duke’s hands, then paused, offered him an acknowledging grin, and left the jousting arena, disappearing behind the tall wooden fence.

Count Constantine, lost and confused, turned as white as a sheet while his tiny dark eyes ran frantically over Tillian’s massive black sword. The Duke furrowed his eyebrows as he adjusted the damaged silk ribbon on his left wrist, then wiped his damp forehead with the sleeve of his shirt, and pieced the Count with his sharp red glare.

"You should have thought twice before choosing a champion from mercenaries, Lord Constantine, especially from the Black Flame guild. Even I know that they have no morals or loyalties, and even money can’t be their masters. What a horrible mistake indeed."

Duke Valentine looked at Aideen who arched her thin eyebrows at the sound of the same words she said to Tilian in the carriage.

"Now," the man skillfully jumped over the rail of the platform, pointing his sword at the Count, and smiled, "with your champion gone, my opponent is you. I hope you brought a sword with you, My Lord, otherwise, I find the fight rather unfair. For you, that is."