"Demacia!!!"
The moment the roaring battle cry thundered through the dueling grounds, Garen was already upon Duke like a war chariot, his greatsword raised high. With a force like a thousand weights crashing down, he cleaved toward Duke.
At this time, Garen was still in his youth, freshly joined to the Dauntless Vanguard. Aside from the training he had endured since childhood, he had not yet weathered the tempering fire of real bloodshed, nor reached the peak of his later years.
Yet even so, this untested youth was stronger than most seasoned fighters.
Garen was born to be a warrior.
He only needed to be honed in blood and flame, and that raw steel would be forged into an unbreakable blade.
Whoosh!
The rune-forged greatsword came down, its sharp edge cutting through the air. At the same instant, Duke's fist surged upward to meet it. The moment blade struck against the trigger-ring on his finger, Garen felt a force like a tidal wave crashing into him.
Steel met steel. The sword's edge visibly bent under the impact, leaving behind a deep dent shaped exactly like Duke's ring.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
The collision sent Garen staggering back step after step, each heavy footfall stamping a crater into the dueling ground.
He glanced at the dented blade of his greatsword. Blood seeped from the torn flesh of his palm, but he paid it no mind. Silently, he tore his cloak into strips and bound his weapon to his hand.
Duke's strength was far beyond his imagination. Without this, he feared the next clash would tear the sword right out of his grip.
Even so, Garen refused to yield. Lowering his stance, pressing his shoulders down, he fixed his eyes on Duke, searching for any opening.
Duke, standing calmly in place, shook out his right hand. To him, the earlier impact had been little more than habit, the casual reflex of loosening his joints.
"Come on," Duke called with a grin, curling his finger in invitation. "Keep going. I'll give you a bit of guidance."
"Where there is life, there is battle!"
With another roar, Garen charged once more. Dragging his greatsword behind him, he sprinted straight at Duke. But just as he closed in, his stance shifted. He spun violently, dragging the blade into a whirling storm.
Steel shrieked as the sword became a whirlwind of blades.
The Judgment of Demacia, his skill, E: Judgment.
In the maelstrom of steel, Garen became a human meat grinder. On a battlefield, no foe would dare meet him head-on.
But Duke only tilted his head in curiosity.
Doesn't he get dizzy spinning like that? he wondered. If he collapsed mid-battle from dizziness, that'd be a joke.
Yet Garen showed no sign of faltering. His spinning only grew faster, the wind pressure alone whipping against Duke as he drew near.
"Fist-Gun Style!"
Duke dropped into stance, fists drawn back at his sides. His voice cracked like thunder. "Maxim Volley!"
His fists flew forward like a storm of bullets, arms multiplying in a blur like the thousand hands of a war-god.
The audience gasped as one, eyes wide at the sight. Could a man with only two arms truly unleash so many strikes at once?
Steel and flesh collided again and again. Each impact warped the blade further, sent Garen's palms tearing open, his arms trembling from the shock. He could barely hold onto his sword as Duke's fists hammered dent after dent into its edge.
Boom!
Duke suddenly stomped forward, slipping past the arc of Garen's spin. His fist shot straight into Garen's chestplate.
Crack!
The armor caved inward with a clear fist-shaped imprint, fine cracks webbing out across its surface.
Wham!
Garen was hurled backward, his sword flying from his grip as his body slammed into the arena wall like a fired cannonball. Dust erupted as he tumbled across the ground.
Steam hissed around Duke's arms from the friction of his blows. Calmly, he strode toward the fallen warrior.
"Your battle instinct is sharp," Duke said evenly, "but your body is still far too weak."
He picked up Garen's massive greatsword as if it weighed nothing and dragged it before him. The once-straight blade was bent, its edge pitted with dents and notches. The weapon was utterly ruined.
Planting it in the ground, Duke looked down at Garen. "Do you still want to continue?"
Blood trickled from Garen's mouth and nose as he pushed himself up, trembling but unyielding. His eyes burned with determination.
"Please… continue to teach me!"
"You stubborn fool."
Duke shook his head with a faint smile. "Your body can't compare to mine. You'll never win head-on. But your will… your will is admirable."
He narrowed his eyes. "Can you even stand?"
"No problem!"
Garen staggered upright, his breath ragged. The punch Duke had landed had shaken his organs, leaving him with hidden internal injuries. Yet sheer willpower kept him on his feet.
Gripping the ruined sword, he swayed but did not retreat. His gaze never wavered.
Duke chuckled softly. "A fine lad indeed."
"Show me your strongest strike," Garen said hoarsely. "I want to see the gap between us. Father and Mother entrusted Lux to you… and I want to know why."
He steadied himself. "I'm ready."
Duke sighed but clenched his fist. The trigger-ring's chain rattled as a terrifying aura surged from him.
"Very well," he said. "I'll show you."
Drawing a circle with his back foot, Duke inhaled deeply. Steam roared from his arms as he dropped into stance.
"Fist-Gun Style…"
The hiss of boiling vapor filled the arena. Duke's voice dropped to a growl. "Secret Technique!"
His fist thrust forward, plain and unadorned, yet brimming with devastating force.
"Cataclysmic Strike!"
To Garen's eyes, that simple punch was death itself.
Every hair on his body stood on end. His spine went cold as terror flooded him, his body trembling uncontrollably, sweat pouring down like rain. His heartbeat raced, his blood pounded in his ears, and one thought echoed through his mind.
I'll die!
Whoosh!
The punch stopped just short of his chest. But the sheer pressure sent him skidding backward, until his body slammed into the wall, embedding him in stone.
Even without landing, the blow nearly crushed him. Had it connected, Garen would have been reduced to blood and dust.
"I suppose that makes me the winner," Duke said, withdrawing his fist. Steam still coiled around his arm, rising like a pillar into the sky.
For a moment, the arena was silent. Then the stands erupted, louder than at the opening cry.
"Duke!"
"Duke!!"
"Duke!!!"
The match was over.
Instead of returning to his lounge, Duke went straight to help the staff carry Garen into the medical ward. He frowned as the medics clumsily tried to remove the shattered armor.
"Let me."
Startled, they quickly stepped aside. At a thought, Duke's weapon Cicada sang through the air, slicing the armor into neat fragments.
Beneath, a dark purple bruise marred Garen's chest, the shape of Duke's fist etched clearly into his flesh.
"That strike was… terrifying," Garen whispered, still shaken.
"Of course it was. That's my ultimate move," Duke replied with a wry smile. Producing medical supplies, he began to treat the young warrior. "Your body's too weak. Want me to help you with that?"
"You'll… train me?" Garen's eyes lit with hope. If anyone could make him stronger, it was Duke. With greater strength, he could better protect Demacia.
"You'll see," Duke said simply.
He bound Garen's chest with special bandages, mind drifting to Tanya's "Life Equation", a blueprint for artificial humans. He didn't have time to craft homunculi now, but he could adapt the formula into genetic serums.
Garen's body, resilient and powerful, was the perfect subject.
What results would the experiment yield? Duke was eager to find out.
"I'll look forward to it," Garen managed a weak smile. Just then, Lux rushed in. Seeing her brother on the bed, she hurried to his side.
"Garen, are you alright?"
"I'm fine, don't worry."
He tried to sit up, but Duke held him down. "Stay lying. Moving will only make it worse."
"How is he?" asked Dylan, a cousin of the Crownguard family, as he entered. Spotting Garen alive, he sighed in relief.
"That's good."
"Brother Dylan," Lux greeted warmly.
Dylan nodded with a smile, then turned to Duke. "It's been a long time, Master Duke."
"It has indeed," Duke replied.
"Dylan, I'm afraid I can't attend your engagement banquet tonight," Garen said with a strained smile.
"That's alright," Dylan reassured him. "Just rest and recover."
Duke's brows lifted. "Wait, tonight's your engagement banquet?"
"That's right," Dylan confirmed. "I'd be honored if you could attend."
"I'll be there," Duke said with a nod.
After all, Dylan's fiancée was none other than the famed Duelist herself. Tonight's banquet promised to be very… entertaining.
End of chapter....
IRONBOUND PATRON
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