"Let's clarify the rules and stakes," Konrad offered, rolling an arm before the first bout.
They didn't have to go far; the square in front of the temple was perfect for such duels. Nobles and retainers already lined its outskirts. The town was loud with their murmurs of disbelief.
But he stood firm and wouldn't back down.
"Where is your champion?" Count Rolalt asked, and others laughed with him.
"I don't need anyone to do my dirty work," he shot back, but his voice was low and steady. They had to stay quiet and pay attention to hear him. All part of his plan. "It's how we're different."
"Listen here, kid, the king's laws forbid spilling noble blood," the man claimed.
It sounded like a cheap excuse for cowardice.
"You're free to spill mine. I'm but a problem-solver, after all," Konrad sneered. "I can afford to lead by example—and don't have to pretend having something I don't. Like your honor."
He was about to pretend a whole lot more than that, but this sure hit the crowd where it hurt.
Not that he was confident he could beat all those champions in a fair fight.
But he didn't even consider it. All he had to do was to stand up in the face of overwhelming odds and show them his spirit. Make no excuses, call for no champions—
Then give them a show they would never forget.
In the grand scheme of things, it wouldn't matter if he won or lost. But they pissed him off.
It was about time he made a name for himself. One worthy of the Prodigy of Haiten, the only question was whether it would be fame or notoriety.
His plan was as risky as it was a great opportunity.
He wanted to establish dominance on his home turf before impressing the other dukes.
Not what he planned for it, but he was always ready to fight dirty.
And if he was unlucky, and one of his enemies had mana sight, he'd still have time to recover before the tournament. Which reminded him—
"Every champion I defeat will have to serve in my personal men-at-arms," he demanded.
Count Rolalt scoffed, but didn't refuse.
"Very well. But for every bout you lose, you'll relinquish our vassalage to the king. And his majesty will consider each victor for replacing you as Halaima's duke."
Konrad was happy to agree, but he had to take a glance at the princess first.
Helena gave him a nod, although she didn't seem as confident as he was.
"No unnecessary bloodshed," she said, her voice firm. "Play by the knight's rules, as we do in the capital. Disarm or yield, and—"
"With all due respect," the count protested. "The capital's far. Keep it simple."
Konrad couldn't be happier. Sticking to those rules would have been a shot in his foot.
He had no intention of playing nice.
"Agreed, a duel of might, the first one to yield or pass out loses. No lethal strikes, and I won't use offensive magic. Draw lots and I'll fight your men in that order."
His wording was deliberate. He never said he wouldn't use magic.
His favorite spells were already prepared.
Light scatter, animate images—and his Isekai Microwave.
"We'll take two-minute breaks between bouts," he announced. "If I'm not ready to fight by then, I'll yield by default. No restrictions on weapons and techniques. Let's get this over with."
If only they knew, it wasn't even his real voice at that point.
It was one he generated with the dragon's spell.
What everyone saw of him was an illusion, too. He walked around unseen, his adamantite blade drawn and ready to strike. The nobles had no idea what was about to hit them.
The champions drew their lots, and the first one entered their small circle.
Helena looked at him—or at his fake image—with concern.
"Are you sure about this?" She asked.
Konrad almost missed it, standing twenty paces away by that point.
Projecting his voice was still easy, though.
"Your brother wants me to gather a hundred men for that tournament," his illusion said with a shrug. "If you have a better idea how to recruit them fast, I'm all ears."
The princess sighed.
"I might've underestimated you, Konrad von Halstadt. But don't go get yourself killed over your ego," she warned, a little too late. "I will be the judge of the duels. Fight fair and clean."
As if. His unseen, real body took its comfortable position straight behind the first champion.
If he wanted, they'd never seen what hit them—but that wouldn't have satisfied him.
To make sure this never happened again, he had to send a clear message.
Show them something they'd never forget.
Like the best anime opening from his past life.
A fight he choreographed based on those unreal, overpowered cartoon heroes.
No human or even monster could move like that, but he didn't have to—only pretend with the help of his illusions. By the time the princess raised her hand, everything was ready.
"Ready—go."
At that moment, his illusion disappeared.
He created flashing lights as if he were running faster than the speed of sound in a zigzag pattern. The audience gasped, the champion raised his sword, terrified—
Then the image was gone, and he revealed himself standing behind him, blade at his throat.
"Didn't you hear the fight already started?" he gritted out, keeping his opponent in a steady hold. "Or did you think I'd wait all day before you strike? Yield."
Utter, absolute silence.
The warrior fell to his knees, his blood dripping where the adamantite blade touched him.
He didn't harm even him—the man passed out from the shock.
And the audience did almost the same.
It worked like a charm.
"What's the verdict?" Konrad asked, wiping his soiled blade on his opponent's clothes.
Helena had to collect her jaw before stuttering out an answer.
"Y-you could do this all this time?" she muttered, her voice pitching higher than ever. Her arm was still in the air after starting the first bout. "H-how? I couldn't see a thing—"
And that was the whole point, but he wouldn't give away his illusion for those dark eyes.
"Your highness, please. Did I win, or what?" he repeated, playing the impatient. But, well, he very much enjoyed the stunned looks all around.
It would have been trouble to fight a wizard.
But against ordinary people with no mana sight?
Illusions were all but overpowered.
"T-the victor is Lord Halstadt," Helena announced at last, adding, "Now a two-minute break."
"Nah, I haven't even warmed up yet. I expected more from something you call a champion."
That little stab did it. His opponents, already pale, began to reconsider their life choices.
But he wasn't done yet.
"It's insulting that you thought, after I fought the Church all by myself, this would slow me down. It seems I'll have a few lessons to teach you all. But better late than never. So next?"
The last words came out of an illusion's mouth, and he could tell that nobody saw the takeover.
The second champion was shaking and didn't even realize he was already behind him.
That fight would be another walk in the park.
"Well, um—R-ready, and go."
It was over before Helena lowered her hand. This one at least had the decency of screaming for his life, yielding, rather than passing out without a word.
But the result was the same. He had five more champions to go.