"Hah."
A hollow chuckle slipped from Ivar's lips.
To think this wasn't an excuse, but genuine praise for a woman—it was absurd.
Yet at the same time, the thought that a perfect opportunity had fallen into his lap to crush Lucian made his shoulders twitch with delight.
"Words once spoken cannot be taken back."
"If I hadn't known that, I wouldn't have spoken them in the first place."
"Good!"
Ivar slammed the table with a loud bang and rose to his feet.
Then, before anyone could intervene, he proclaimed in a booming voice,
"Descendants of the dragon, hear me! As one who bears the purest blood, I have led this tribe! But time has dyed my hair white and bent my back!"
"Now, grown old and weakened, I find it difficult to shoulder the dragon's duty any longer. Thus, I intend to entrust what remains to a suitable successor! Are you prepared to bear this heavy burden?"
All the claimants to succession except Lucian rose at once and bowed their heads.
It seemed to be a formality that didn't even require a spoken response.
Seeing Lucian still sitting motionless once again, Ivar's eyebrow twitched—but only briefly.
Soon, a peculiar smile formed at the corner of his mouth as he continued.
"…Very well! I have seen your resolve! However, one who seeks to shoulder such a duty must prove that they possess the requisite capability—through three trials!"
At those words, the warriors attending the banquet swallowed dryly.
The very mention of the tradition used to choose the next chieftain made it clear that a test would be held here and now.
Depending on the nature of the trial, it could favor some and disadvantage others, so tension was inevitable.
With everyone's attention fixed on him, Ivar revealed the first trial.
"One who wishes to become chieftain shall demonstrate the strength of the warriors who serve them! Show how great a warrior your vessel is capable of containing!"
At Ivar's declaration, the warriors' gazes turned toward Lucian.
The test itself was familiar—one that had appeared many times before.
The problem lay in what Lucian had just declared earlier.
Given his words, the moment he sent out anyone other than the woman, he would become a laughingstock.
But if he sent her out and even a single strike was blocked, then by his own vow Lucian would have to offer up his head.
It's over.
The warriors collectively mocked Lucian's blunder.
Now, the only choice left to Lucian should have been to forfeit the trial and be reduced to a mere spectator.
Yet, as if to betray their expectations, Lucian smiled and spoke.
"That's not wrong. Subordinates are the face of their ruler. By seeing a subordinate's ability, one can judge the ruler's caliber as well."
At Lucian's relaxed tone, the warriors blinked in blank disbelief.
Was he seriously planning to take the trial with nothing but a single woman?
Facing the doubtful warriors, Lucian drove the point home once more.
"Very well. I'll play along with your tune. Just be careful—my guard isn't as forgiving as I am."
—The outsider introduced a woman as his warrior!
—They say he's sending that woman out to fight the other warriors!
What happened at the banquet spread through the entire tribe in an instant.
More precisely, the warriors who had attended the feast openly ran around spreading the story themselves.
Partly to publicize Lucian's disgrace—but more than that, it was simply too shocking to keep quiet about.
"A woman is a warrior? What kind of nonsense is that?"
"How would I know? Maybe that's allowed in foreign lands."
"He's insane! A man who hides behind a woman is supposed to be king?"
"Did the prophecy get it wrong or something?"
"Prophecy or not, I'll never 인정 a king like that!"
The tribespeople were stirred into unrest by an act that overturned every tradition and piece of common sense they knew.
At first, their gazes were filled with curiosity and unease, but soon hostility began to creep in.
For Ivar and the other contenders, it was a more-than-satisfactory outcome.
But regardless of all that, Lucian and his group paid it no mind whatsoever.
The sole exception was Gunstein, who had only just learned that Felicia was a warrior.
"My lord! Why didn't you tell me beforehand!?"
"Did I ever hide it? You've seen her wearing a sword at her waist plenty of times."
"I thought it was just for self-defense! We equip people that much too, in case they need to protect themselves!"
"Well, it's good you've figured it out now. From now on, if something seems strange, ask right away."
"No, that's not what I meant…!"
"Your Majesty."
At the voice beside him, Gunstein flinched.
When he turned his head, he saw that Felicia had somehow approached without a sound and was now kneeling demurely before Lucian.
I didn't sense her presence at all—when did she…?
Ignoring the flustered Gunstein, Felicia asked Lucian,
"To what extent would you like me to go?"
"How far do you want to go?"
"Either is fine. The point will be made regardless."
"Then handle it as you see fit. In this land, duels are generally fought without regard for life or death, so you're free to act as you wish."
"Understood. I'll judge the situation and adjust accordingly."
Gunstein stared back and forth between the two with a bewildered expression.
With no subject specified, he had no idea what they were even talking about.
"My lord, what in the world are you talking about? Adjust? Adjust what, exactly?"
Lucian grinned broadly at Gunstein and replied,
"Why, how thoroughly Felicia is going to smash her opponents."
The next morning, not a single tribesperson was absent as they gathered beneath the chieftain's residence.
This was where duels overseen directly by the chieftain were always held.
Ainar, who had arrived a little earlier than the others, glanced around and muttered,
"He seemed to have some backbone, but it looks like I misjudged him. Was he just a man with a silver tongue?"
"You mean that outsider?"
"Who else could I mean? Despite making a fatal mistake, he couldn't abandon his greed and walked straight into a death trap."
At his subordinate's question, Ainar clicked his tongue.
If it was a guard he trusted that deeply, then even if she was a woman, she likely wasn't completely unskilled.
Through relentless training, she might have gained enough strength to be called a warrior.
But even so—ending every opponent with a single strike?
Even if she only fought opponents one—no, two levels below her, it would still be impossible under these conditions.
If she poured everything into the first attack, it might work once or twice.
But repeating the same kind of attack over and over would inevitably let the opponents read her fighting style.
By the third opponent, they would already be devising countermeasures; by the fourth, they would identify her weaknesses.
By the fifth or sixth, it simply wouldn't work at all.
Unless she completely changed her fighting style every time—but with the added restriction of winning in a single strike, even that was impossible.
"So this is what happens when excessive trust in a subordinate tightens the noose around one's own neck."
"Trust, my ass. He's just an idiot. A man who hides behind a woman instead of fighting with his own strength is simply paying the price."
The sneer came from Gormsen, another contender and Ainar's half-brother, standing beside him.
Unlike the disappointed Ainar, he looked positively eager, itching to see Lucian's head roll.
"It's for the best. The descendants of the dragon won't be ruled by an outsider. Father can finally breathe easy."
"On the other hand, the guide's prestige will fall to the ground. The moment the prophecy fails, decades of accumulated trust will collapse."
"Are you actually worried about that old man right now? The one who kept tripping the chieftain at every turn?"
"Whatever the guide's true intentions may be, his abilities are necessary for this land. Don't lose sight of what truly matters just because you're obsessed with power."
The two brothers' gazes collided in midair.
Whenever they spoke at length, things always ended up like this, so it wasn't unusual.
Normally, a few more harsh words would have followed—but surprisingly, this time Gormsen was the first to back down.
"Enough. You piss me off, but with an outsider in the mix, we can't keep fighting among ourselves. Let's deal with him first."
…So you're that full of brotherly affection, yet you just stood by while Brunda nearly became crippled?
Ainar swallowed the words that had risen to his throat.
He could at least understand the feeling of not wanting to hand the chieftain's seat over to an outsider.
Just as the two finished their awkward exchange and turned their heads away—
"K–King… no, the outsider is here!"
"The chieftain has come out!"
Before long, cries erupted from both sides among the tribespeople.
Lucian and Ivar appeared at the exact same moment, as if by prior arrangement, drawing everyone's attention.
It might have bruised Ivar's pride, yet his expression remained perfectly calm.
"Looks like everyone's gathered. Then there's no need to drag this out."
Even with the entire tribe watching, Ivar began the trial immediately, without a single flowery preface.
He then glanced at Lucian and said,
"Outsider. Will you honor the words you spoke yesterday?"
"Of course. She'll step forward as my warrior."
Lucian answered without hesitation, as if it were obvious, and nodded once.
At the same time, Felicia—who had remained in the back until now—stepped forward.
The moment the tribespeople confirmed that a woman was truly stepping out as a warrior, murmurs broke out everywhere.
"Really… it's really a woman!"
"What on earth is that guy thinking?"
"He said he'd offer his head if she can't win even once."
"Hah, I'll give him this—he's got guts."
At the surrounding whispers, Ivar's smile deepened.
No matter how skilled a woman might be, calling oneself a warrior directly defied the laws of this frozen land.
Even if she somehow passed the trial, the people's aversion would never disappear.
Without hiding his smile, Ivar looked toward his sons.
"Which of you will step forward first? Who will reveal a warrior worthy of boasting before the others?"
"I will step forward first."
The one who moved without the slightest hesitation was Gormsen.
More precisely, it was Strad—Gormsen's right-hand man and maternal uncle.
A seasoned warrior who had pledged himself to his nephew in hopes of raising his sister's son to the position of chieftain.
Ranked among the top ten warriors of the tribe, he was a choice no one could object to.
"Good! Then warriors—fight! Prove your strength and reveal the caliber of the lord you serve!"
Despite Ivar's thunderous proclamation, no cheers rose from the tribespeople.
To them, this was not a duel between warriors, but a fight between a warrior and a woman.
Rather than excitement, there was discomfort; rather than fascination, something eerie.
As the silence dragged on, Strad finally spoke, his expression displeased.
"Woman, do not resent me. All of this is the result of your lord's reckless bravado."
"Still alive?"
"…What?"
"It's over. Stop talking and die."
"What kind of nonsense are you—?"
Frowning at the incomprehensible words, Strad felt his throat grow damp.
It was only when he reached up to touch his neck, unsettled by the strange sensation, that it happened.
Sticky blood trickled down his palm and dripped to the ground.
Only then did Strad realize that a long gash had opened across his throat.
"Grrh—!"
Strad's voice leaked out from below his Adam's apple like the sound of wind escaping.
The gash widened, spreading until it wrapped around his entire neck.
And the moment Strad became unable to utter even a single word, his severed head dropped to the ground with a dull thud.
"…"
"…"
The onlookers blinked in disbelief at the utterly unreal sight.
What had just happened?
They hadn't even seen blades cross, yet a head had fallen to the ground.
As everyone stood stunned, Felicia calmly spoke.
"Next."
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