The Kingmaker System
Chapter 347 - 346. Dragons’ Chosen (2)

Chapter 347: 346. Dragons’ Chosen (2)

"I see now why he chose you for this fight. But too bad for you, I will win and have a battle with him," Arian declared, his scarlet eyes gleaming with determination.

I sighed, shaking my head slightly. This kid was too fired up about fighting me. It would be bad if he did, though. With my current assimilation percentage, I was strong enough to handle his Dragon sword without breaking a sweat. It might be troublesome, sure, but not enough to make me take him seriously.

"Don’t think so highly of yourself," Eric spoke up, his sword unwavering, his stance steady as a mountain.

"You’re still a hundred years too early to even think about having a battle with Master."

Arian scoffed, rolling his shoulders. "I’ll just have to prove it then."

And with that, they clashed once more.

The battlefield shifted.

Their earlier exchanges were nothing compared to the raw ferocity they unleashed now.

Arian surged forward like a storm, his Dragon sword carving fiery arcs through the air, its flames roaring with his will. His movements were sharp yet relentless, every strike a declaration of his strength, every blow meant to overpower and dominate.

Eric met him head-on, his blade parrying each attack with practiced precision. If Arian was a wildfire, then Eric was the unyielding steel that would not break. His every counter was methodical, exploiting the smallest gaps in Arian’s wild aggression.

Sparks flew. Metal rang like thunder, clashing in a deadly rhythm that sent shockwaves through the ground.

Arian’s sword swung low, flames licking at the edges as he aimed for Eric’s legs.

Eric sidestepped, raising his blade for a downward strike. Arian twisted, deflecting just in time. He retaliated with a sudden burst of heat, the air around them distorting as flames danced around his figure.

Then—

Shhk!

Eric’s sword struck true, a shallow yet precise cut grazing Arian’s side. Blood welled, staining his tunic.

Arian barely flinched. He grinned, lips curling in something akin to exhilaration.

Pain meant nothing.

He slammed his foot into the ground. A pulse of heat burst outward, waves of fire twisting violently around him. His aura flared, hotter, brighter, more unrestrained than before.

The knights watching the battle took an uneasy step back.

"Y-Young Duke, please stop them! This fight is getting out of hand," Captain Vancelot said, his expression tight with worry.

Rune, standing impassively with his arms crossed, didn’t even blink.

"I can’t," he said simply.

"But they—"

"Neither you nor I have the power to stop this fight," Rune stated, his voice firm, his cold gaze fixed on the duel.

Eric exhaled sharply, gripping his sword tighter. Arian’s attacks were getting heavier, his swings more erratic, more unpredictable. His own arm throbbed from a fresh wound, yet he stood his ground.

The fight reached its peak.

Neither backed down. Neither yielded.

Their attacks clashed violently, surging in a chaotic dance of fire and steel.

[Giver of Gifts is worried about the Princes.]

[Goddess of Wisdom asks if this battle to the death was in your plan.]

[Defender of Divine Glory clarifies that if either one of these two dies, then your hard work will be in vain.]

I sighed, setting my snack bag aside.

A flick of my fingers, and the sky responded.

Dark clouds churned overhead, thick and heavy with warning. Lightning crackled, splitting the sky with a sharp snap! before striking the ground a few meters away.

The knights flinched.

Arian and Eric did not.

They were too absorbed in their fight to notice the world around them.

Another bolt of lightning fell—closer this time, the shockwave rattling the air. The knights panicked, murmuring amongst themselves.

And yet.

The two fighters only burned brighter. Their clash grew even more fervent, as if the storm above was fueling them instead of warning them.

I exhaled slowly, running a hand through my hair.

"Guess I’ll have to manually stop this fight."

I rose from my seat, intending to intervene but then my body froze.

My heartbeat quickened.

Something shifted.

Something massive.

An overwhelming presence crashed into my senses like a raging blizzard, sharp and suffocating. My mana reacted instinctively, my Dragon instincts flaring to life as I whipped my head in a particular direction.

The air thickened.

Heavy. Dense.

The world seemed to still.

And then.

Clang!

A clash. A ground-shaking collision.

A flash of steel.

My water wall fizzled out instantly, cut through with such precision that I barely registered its destruction.

Knights stumbled back as armored figures emerged into the clearing. The thunderous sound of clanking armor and galloping hooves filled the battlefield.

And at the forefront.

A lone figure stood.

Tall. Composed. A long sword in his grasp, its blade gleaming with undeniable power.

I blinked.

"What the hell is he doing here?" I muttered.

[Goddess of Wisdom is anticipating what happens next.]

[Giver of Gifts is eager to know what will happen.]

[Defender of Divine Glory asks for more popcorn.]

I rolled my eyes.

The young man stepped into the clearing, his black hair tousled from the wind, amethyst eyes unreadable. He exuded authority, his mere presence demanding attention.

Behind him, the Seraph and Montaire Knights fanned out, their armor catching the storm’s dim light.

Rune’s eyes widened. Even Eric, usually unreadable, looked shocked.

Arian, however, just groaned.

"Another one?! Great," he muttered, exasperated.

Rune stepped forward, his sharp gaze locked onto the newcomer. "What are you doing here, Prince Davian?"

Davian didn’t respond.

Didn’t even look at Rune.

Didn’t look at Eric.

Didn’t acknowledge Arian.

Instead—

His eyes found me.

A precise, calculated gaze. Not searching. Not scanning. As if he already knew exactly where I was.

My fingers twitched.

Davian shifted his gaze slightly, taking in the battlefield. The two Princes. Rune. The knights. The slumped figure of Carlos being tended to at the sidelines.

He was assessing. Calculating.

But why was he here?

I had been careful. I had ensured that the message about this rendezvous between Eric and Arian was delivered to Carlos. And yet, Davian was here.

He walked forward, standing beside Rune, saying nothing.

Arian narrowed his eyes. "Is he not here to fight?"

Eric exhaled, adjusting his grip. "There’s no need to acknowledge distractions."

Arian frowned but glanced at Davian again, the flames in his sword responding to the Davian’s sheer presence.

"He’s got something strange about him," Arian murmured.

I followed his gaze. His sword was reacting.

Davian remained unmoved.

"He’s not your opponent," Eric reminded.

Arian hesitated—then reluctantly returned his focus to their fight.

I sighed again. If they kept looking in my direction, the knights would eventually notice me.

A flick of my fingers, and the clouds rumbled.

Thunder snapped.

The duel resumed.

And Davian—

Davian just stood there.

His presence clashed against mine, silent but undeniable.

Even with the distance between us, I felt him.

And I couldn’t help but wonder—

Why was he here if he wasn’t going to fight?

I simply turned my attention and watched the fight, as that was important.

Steel clashed against steel, sending shockwaves rippling through the air. The ground beneath them cracked, scorched by the heat of Arian’s flames and gouged by the force of Eric’s strikes. Neither yielded, neither relented. Their blades met in rapid succession, the sound of metal striking metal ringing through the battlefield like a war drum.

Arian’s eyes gleamed with raw determination, his sword ablaze as he pressed forward. Each swing carried the weight of his relentless drive, his desire to prove himself, to carve his name into history through battle. His strikes grew heavier, wilder—each one forcing Eric to meet him with equal, if not greater, strength.

Eric, however, remained composed. His blade met Arian’s onslaught with unwavering precision, each block and parry executed with the efficiency of a seasoned warrior. He was not just reacting—he was analyzing, dissecting every move, exploiting every reckless opening Arian left in his fervor.

Their battle was no longer a mere test of skill. It had become a war of endurance.

Arian’s blade came down like a blazing meteor, flames roaring as he aimed for Eric’s shoulder.

Eric shifted his stance at the last second, twisting his blade to deflect. The force sent him skidding back, his boots carving trenches into the dirt. Before he could reset, Arian surged forward, pressing his advantage with a ferocious horizontal slash aimed at Eric’s torso.

This time, Eric barely managed to block, the sheer impact rattling his bones.

But he didn’t let it show.

Instead, he retaliated.

A sharp, precise counter.

His blade slashed across Arian’s arm—shallow, but deep enough for blood to bloom against his skin.

Arian barely reacted. If anything, the pain only seemed to fuel him. His grip tightened, his flames burned hotter, his movements turned even more vicious.

Another clash. Sparks flew.

The heat of Arian’s blade was suffocating now, scorching everything in its path. The knights watching from a distance took uneasy steps back, sweat beading on their foreheads.

But Eric did not falter.

With a sharp exhale, he adjusted his footwork, ducking beneath Arian’s next attack and driving the hilt of his sword into his opponent’s ribs.

Arian coughed, but instead of stumbling back—he smiled.

Then, with no warning, he dropped his sword.

Eric’s eyes widened for the first time.

Arian caught Eric’s wrist mid-motion before he could react, twisting with brutal force. A sickening crack echoed through the battlefield as Eric’s wrist bent at an unnatural angle.

The spectators collectively flinched.

Eric, however, did not cry out. He merely gritted his teeth, his expression barely shifting.

But Arian wasn’t done.

Using the moment of imbalance, he drove his knee into Eric’s stomach, then ripped his sword free from his grasp and reclaimed his own weapon in one seamless motion.

The tides had shifted.

The fight turned more savage.

Eric, now disarmed, was forced to evade and defend with nothing but his instincts. He moved swiftly, fluidly, dodging Arian’s relentless strikes by mere inches. Yet each evasion pushed him further back, closer to the battlefield’s edge.

Arian was relentless.

He swung his sword in a wide arc, aiming to end it.

Eric ducked low, his injured wrist barely registering in his movements as he grabbed a dagger from his belt and lunged forward—fast and lethal.

The dagger sliced through Arian’s side, deep enough to draw a sharp intake of breath.

But Arian responded immediately, twisting his body to avoid a fatal wound and bringing his sword down with full force.

A deep gash tore across Eric’s back as he moved to evade, blood spilling onto the ground.

The knights gasped.

Rune’s expression darkened. Davian remained impassive.

Still—Eric did not go down.

He exhaled sharply, gripping his dagger tighter despite his wrist injury, despite the blood loss, despite the sheer force of Arian’s attacks.

Arian grinned, blood staining his lips from an earlier blow, his eyes burning with battle-lust.

Neither of them would yield.

Neither of them would surrender.

This was no longer a test of strength—

This was a fight that would only end when one of them could no longer stand.

And that—

Was when I knew.

It was time to step in.