Not only Brunda, but the warriors standing beside him twisted their faces grotesquely as well.
Rather than anger, it seemed they had never even considered the possibility that Lucian would strike back in the first place.
" …Heh. That nerve of yours really does suit a true warrior."
After agonizing for quite some time over how to respond, Brunda finally forced those words out.
Perhaps because they were squeezed out against his will, he failed to control his expression, his lips still twitching awkwardly.
But only for a moment—having regained his composure, Brunda stepped up to Lucian and held out his hand.
"Good to meet you, warrior. I am Brunda, son of Red Axe Ivar. What is your name?"
"Lucian. Lucian Grimaldi Valdeck."
Lucian gave his name and reached out his hand in return.
The moment their hands clasped, Brunda burst into loud laughter.
"Foreigners' names are always so damn long! Must be a real hassle having to rattle off such a long name every time!"
"At official occasions, my servant says it for me, so it doesn't really matter."
"Ah, so you're one of the high and mighty? My apologies for not recognizing you."
"No need to apologize. I don't intend to recognize your status either."
"Hah… now that's a bit troublesome, isn't it…?"
Brunda, trailing off at the end of his sentence, curled the corner of his lips upward.
At the same time, he began to tighten his grip on the hand he was shaking with Lucian.
It wasn't mere physical strength—he even drew up magic power, reinforcing his muscles to the utmost.
This wasn't a simple warning. He was fully intent on crushing Lucian's hand.
"This is our land. Even if we choose not to recognize you, you ought to recognize us. Don't you agree?"
"Not really."
A terrifying pressure bore down on his hand, yet Lucian's face remained perfectly calm.
After all, the moment his opponent extended his hand, Lucian had already anticipated how this would play out.
Lucian even smiled faintly and tilted his head.
"I don't see it that way. Seems we don't quite agree."
"…—!?"
Seeing Lucian without so much as a flicker of expression, Brunda's eyes widened.
But before Brunda could say anything, this time Lucian began to apply force.
Brunda nearly screamed without realizing it.
That small hand—not even half the size of his—felt as if it were about to tear everything beneath his thumb clean off.
"Y-you insane…!"
Horrified, Brunda resisted with all his strength.
At first, he tried to keep it subtle, but it was impossible—he openly attempted to yank his hand free.
Yet no matter how hard he struggled, Brunda's hand was held fast, unable to escape.
Lucian stared at Brunda for a moment, then lowered the hand they were clasping.
"Ggh—!"
Thud.
"W–War Chief!?"
As a scream finally escaped Brunda's lips, unable to endure the pain any longer, the warriors behind him widened their eyes in shock.
It was only then that they seemed to realize something had gone terribly wrong.
When they moved to intervene between the two, Brunda—now half down on one knee—shouted out.
"Stop! Stand back!"
"But—!"
"I said, stand back!"
Sweat poured down his face from the pain, yet Brunda stubbornly refused any help.
Watching the warriors grit their teeth, unable to interfere, Lucian let out a small snort of laughter.
"You'd be better off accepting help."
"Bullshit!"
"A one-on-one still takes ability. If you don't have it, you should just accept help and survive. You'll lose your dignity as a bonus, too."
At Lucian's words, Brunda shot him a fierce glare.
He looked utterly strained, but at least his eyes were still burning with life.
"I… can't… do… that…!"
"Then you'll die."
"I'd… rather… die…!"
"Oh?"
Lucian voiced a note of admiration at that unyielding will.
But while his words sounded impressed, the eyes fixed on Brunda were cold beyond measure.
"In that case—gladly."
Crunch.
"Ghk—!"
Overwhelmed by unbearable pain, Brunda dropped to both knees.
The force crushing his bones was incomparably stronger than before.
Only then did Brunda grasp Lucian's true intent.
This isn't just to cause pain. He's planning to make my hand unusable—just like I was about to do to him…!
The realization made his heart plunge.
If he lost the use of his hand, he wouldn't just be out of the running as a chieftain candidate—he wouldn't even be able to call himself a warrior.
He'd be pushed aside by his other brothers, reduced to a position even lower than Gunstein.
Fear, arriving a beat later than pride, wrapped around his entire body.
"Stop!"
Someone burst in, yanking open the tent flap.
A warrior who looked older than Brunda stared at Lucian and spoke.
"That's enough. Are you really going to spill blood first at a feast where not a single piece of meat has been torn apart yet?"
"And who are you to say that?"
"Ainar. The brother of the fool you're holding. Same father, different mother."
"Gkh!"
Brunda's face flushed crimson with humiliation.
It seemed the shame of disgracing himself in front of his rival, Ainar, cut deeply.
Lucian studied Ainar for a moment, then replied calmly.
"It was your brother who wanted blood first."
"The weak are always impatient in all things, but the strong are invariably composed. Is there any reason for the strong to behave like the weak?"
"Oh?"
A second note of admiration slipped from Lucian's lips.
If the first had been little more than casual interest, this one carried genuine respect.
He had probably never studied rhetoric even once in his life—yet to speak this eloquently.
"You're quite the smooth talker."
"I mean it sincerely."
"Well, if that's the case."
Lucian relented and released Brunda's hand.
Only then was Brunda able to pull away his fingers, now nearly fractured to the bone.
Ainar clicked his tongue briefly as he looked at his half-brother.
"Sit."
"… "
Brunda trembled with humiliation, yet sat down without a word.
He had realized that saying anything more would only further damage his own dignity.
Once the commotion settled, another person entered the tent, leading a group inside.
Unlike Ainar, who had intervened simply because they were brothers despite being rivals, this one seemed to be angling for an opportunistic gain.
As the four claimants to succession gathered in one place, an awkward silence lingered for a while.
"Looks like everyone's here."
With a heavy voice, the final attendee revealed himself.
Seeing the old warrior with half his left ear severed and a single eye, Lucian immediately knew who he was.
The father of Gunstein, and the chieftain of the Blue Dragon Tribe—long at odds with Marius.
And the one who controlled the Dragon's Heart that Lucian had to obtain.
Red Axe Ivar.
Ivar strode boldly through the banquet hall and took his seat at the place of honor.
At that moment, everyone except Lucian sprang to their feet and shouted in unison.
"We, the foolish descendants of the dragon, offer our greetings to the great Blue Dragon!"
***
After the thunderous cry, the banquet hall fell into silence.
From all directions, gazes poured toward Lucian, who remained seated.
It was pressure—get up and offer your greeting as well.
But Lucian, propping his chin up with an unabashed expression, spoke instead.
"How long are you planning to keep them standing? Their legs must be getting sore. Why don't you accept the greeting already?"
"…—!?"
At his attitude, as if he had nothing to do with any of this, the claimants to succession stared in shock.
Even Ivar, who had maintained an indifferent expression until now, slightly furrowed his brow.
Unable to hold back any longer, Brunda bluntly explained the situation to Lucian.
"They're all waiting for you to offer your greeting to the chieftain."
"A greeting? Me? To the chieftain?"
Lucian snorted and tilted his head.
"Ridiculous. Why should I?"
"You damn bastard!"
One of the warriors sprang to his feet in fury and shouted.
He was the one who had merely watched from the sidelines instead of intervening when Lucian and Brunda had clashed.
"You're standing here in Gunstein's place! Then shouldn't you naturally offer the respect that Gunstein ought to have offered in his stead?"
"That's a strange line of reasoning. I never stood in for Gunstein. I merely took the rights he possessed."
"That's the same thing!"
"It's not. Gunstein offered respect to the chieftain because he is his father and the ruler of this tribe. But I'm neither his son nor a member of this tribe—so why should I do that?"
The warrior was left speechless, his mouth opening and closing.
Thinking it through, it wasn't wrong.
What one gains by subduing a warrior is only the position that warrior enjoyed.
A tribe has no right to arbitrarily impose the obligations that defeated warrior once bore onto an outsider.
It was an obvious fact, yet the unprecedented situation—a claimant to succession refusing to pay respect to the chieftain—had thrown everyone off balance.
"No, but still…!"
"That's enough."
Ivar finally spoke, his mouth opening for the first time since he had taken his seat.
At the chill in his voice, the warrior shut his mouth and sat back down.
After a brief pause, Ivar looked at Lucian and said,
"Yes. You're not wrong. You have no need to show me respect."
"Thank you for recognizing that."
"But before that, there's one thing you should understand. I've been overlooking quite a few of your missteps myself. If you refuse to show even the bare minimum of respect, my mercy will run dry."
"Missteps? What missteps have I committed?"
Lucian shrugged, looking genuinely baffled.
In response, Ivar pointed behind Lucian without a moment's hesitation.
"There are many, but the most absurd of them all is that you brought a concubine into this place."
At the word concubine, Lucian's group flinched and turned their heads.
Sure enough, Ivar's finger was pointing squarely at Felicia.
"I don't know how licentious your homeland is, but no one who isn't a warrior may enter this place. Unless you intend to insult us, send that concubine out."
"Then there's no problem. She's not my concubine—she's a warrior."
"…What?"
At Lucian's answer, Ivar asked back with a bizarre expression.
He looked so dumbfounded that he couldn't even manage his expression properly.
The other claimants to succession and the warriors under them reacted much the same way.
"Did I hear something wrong just now? A woman is a warrior?"
"You heard correctly. She's a warrior, and my guard."
"Pfft! What a ridiculous excuse!"
"A woman as a guard?"
"Well, this is something new!"
"Bwahahaha!"
At Lucian's firm response, raucous laughter erupted from all sides.
It seemed everyone thought Lucian was making an utterly absurd excuse just to keep Felicia by his side.
He hadn't merely called her a warrior—he had called her a guard, no less.
"So you're saying you're protected by a woman? You put a sword in a woman's hand and tell her to protect you?"
"Well, we do fight together, but that's not wrong. If I were to entrust my back to anyone, it would be to her."
"What a masterpiece. Truly a masterpiece."
A deep smile formed at the corner of Ivar's mouth.
Lucian had already been a headache, and Ivar had been pondering how to deal with him.
Yet to think he would tarnish his own reputation like this.
Mocking Lucian's foolishness inwardly, Ivar asked, half joking and half serious,
"So then, just how strong is that woman? Stronger than you?"
"Stronger than you."
"…What?"
"I said far stronger than you. To be precise, I should say she's stronger than everyone here."
At those words, the laughter cut off abruptly.
The warriors' faces twisted as if they'd been gravely insulted, hands moving instinctively toward their waists.
This was a banquet, so they had no weapons—their hands grasped at empty air—but if they'd been armed, they looked ready to draw immediately.
In the suffocating tension, Ivar fixed Lucian with a murderous glare.
"Can you take responsibility for those words?"
Lucian answered without even a second's hesitation.
"If there's even one warrior here who can withstand a single strike from her sword, I'll offer you my head."
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