"Impudent!"
Enraged, Gormsen took a step forward.
It was an impulsive move, blood rushing to his head.
Felicia snapped her head toward him and spoke.
"Are you next?"
At the chill in Felicia's gaze, Gormsen flinched.
Instinctively, he knew that the moment he drew a weapon, his own head would fall.
Though he felt ashamed of his outburst, he seemed unwilling to let the matter end there and shouted loudly.
"To dare use magic in a sacred duel!"
"Magic?"
"Chieftain! You must immediately hold that woman and her master accountable for defiling the duel! I beg you to render judgment!"
Felicia tilted her head, looking genuinely puzzled.
What magic was he talking about, when she didn't even know the first thing about its principles?
But the other tribespeople, upon hearing Gormsen's words, nodded as if they finally understood.
"Magic! That's right—she used magic!"
"Just as I thought. There's no way she could do that without magic…"
"I knew something was off. Now it makes sense."
"Silence."
At Ivar's single word, the murmuring voices were cut off at once.
As the silence stretched on, Ivar looked at Felicia and spoke.
"Woman, do you have an excuse?"
"An excuse?"
"You used magic in a sacred duel and toyed with a warrior. That is a grave crime. Neither you nor your lord will escape punishment."
Felicia said nothing.
Instead, she raised her sword with a faint, curious smile.
As Ivar's eyes sharpened, wondering what kind of magic she intended to use, a bluish light gathered along Felicia's blade.
"B–By the heavens! It's the dragon's blessing!"
"That light—it's so bright!"
The tribespeople burst into collective shock the instant they saw magic given visible form.
Even seasoned warriors could barely emit a faint shimmer of light at best—yet this woman was radiating such brilliance.
But Felicia didn't stop there.
She continued to draw out her power.
Wuuuuung—
"W–Wait… is it getting bigger?"
"What is that? Am I seeing things?"
Not only ordinary tribesfolk, but even the warriors rubbed their eyes again and again.
They had only a vague understanding of what magic was, and even less of how to properly wield it.
At most, they used it to reinforce their bodies or release it outward in crude bursts.
For people like them, witnessing the manipulation of fully materialized magic power for the first time was an overwhelming shock.
"Magic, you say."
Whoosh.
Felicia murmured briefly and swung her sword.
At the same moment, the magic power bursting from the blade sliced through the air alongside it.
Its sharpness looked as though it could effortlessly cleave through human bone and flesh the instant it made contact.
Only then did everyone finally understand what had happened moments earlier.
"Does this look like magic to you?"
The warriors lowered their heads without a word.
Their silence was half reverence for a realm they had never seen before, and half shame at their own inability to recognize it.
Gormsen, who had been the first to denounce her as using magic, lost all strength in his legs and collapsed heavily to the ground.
Yet among them all, the one who received the greatest shock was not Gormsen—but the chieftain, Ivar.
Damn it. Of all times…
If Gormsen alone had accused Felicia, it wouldn't have been a problem.
Ivar could have excused it as testing how well Gormsen read the situation and reacted.
But Gormsen had sought Ivar's approval—and Ivar had readily sided with him, pressing Felicia together with him.
Now it had been laid bare that even Ivar, chieftain and famed strongest warrior, was inferior to Felicia in skill.
"Since none of you will answer, I'll ask the chieftain instead."
After sweeping her gaze once over the warriors, Felicia shifted her eyes to Ivar.
Then, with the corner of her lips lifting slightly in a mocking curve, she asked,
"Is this magic?"
"…No."
Though his face flushed red with humiliation, Ivar had no choice but to deny it.
When it was so clearly the power of a warrior for all to see, he couldn't stubbornly insist it was magic on his own.
Having received a clear answer, Felicia withdrew her magic power and said,
"Next."
The tribespeople's gazes shifted to the chieftain's sons.
As curious looks poured in from all sides, Ainar stepped forward.
"I will not challenge her."
"What do you mean?"
"I cannot send my subordinate into a death trap for the sake of hollow pride. You are unquestionably the strongest warrior. Please forgive my foolishness for failing to recognize a warrior, blinded by prejudice against your being a woman."
After finishing his words, Ainar dropped to one knee and pressed his forehead to the ground.
It was a humiliating posture, yet no one spoke ill of him.
The realm Felicia had displayed was so exalted that, even searching through the history of the frozen plains, there was no one who had ever reached it.
"I, too, will forfeit. Challenging a warrior whom no one on the frozen plains can oppose would only make me a sacrifice."
Brunda likewise knelt beside Ainar.
With both of them withdrawing, only Gormsen remained.
Still collapsed on the ground, unable to rise, Gormsen clenched his teeth under the weight of the surrounding stares.
If I back down here, my dignity will be dragged through the mud.
His maternal uncle had been killed, and he had branded Felicia's power as magic.
Unlike the other two, who could at least make excuses about realizing the truth too late, Gormsen had already accrued a personal grudge.
In a situation like this, abandoning revenge and bowing outright would make him the laughingstock of the entire tribe.
"Lordbruk!"
Unable to surrender his pride, Gormsen sprang to his feet and called out another warrior.
The one who was named flinched for an instant, then stepped forward boldly.
Felicia looked over the warrior called Lordbruk and spoke.
"Are you the next opponent?"
"Seems so."
"Come."
Slash.
There was no signal from the chieftain to begin the duel.
Lordbruk simply charged in response to Felicia's curt words.
Even if he were to die, he would die showing the spirit of a warrior.
With that resolve, Lordbruk brought down the greatsword in his hands with all his strength.
Splat.
Before the greatsword could even reach the ground, Lordbruk was split clean in two from the crown of his head down to his groin.
The greatsword flew free, rolled across the ground, and finally buried itself deep in a snowdrift.
Felicia adjusted her grip on the sword—no one had even seen when she'd swung it—and spoke once more.
"Next."
"Torving!"
Gormsen's voice, calling out the third warrior, was closer to a scream than a command.
The one whose name was called looked at his lord with pity in his eyes, then charged bravely at Felicia.
And like his predecessor, he died in an instant.
"Next."
"J–Jorvik…!"
With a voice that sounded as though it were being squeezed from his throat, Gormsen called the fourth warrior.
After the fourth died came the fifth, and after the fifth, the sixth.
Every one of them faced Felicia without refusing their lord's unreasonable orders—and died.
By the time blood from the corpses had soaked through and stained the surrounding snow red, Gormsen had no warriors left to call.
"Next."
Gormsen stared blankly at the bodies scattered across the ground.
Rollo, Ketil, Floki, Halfdan, Horik.
Of the comrades who had crossed the frozen plains with him, not a single one remained alive.
As though a hole had been punched through his soul, Gormsen stood dazed—until Felicia's voice reached his ears once more.
"Next."
At her relentless urging, Gormsen could do nothing.
From the outset, this trial had been meant to display the strength of one's subordinates.
With every subordinate dead, he had effectively already failed the trial.
Yet Felicia, as if unaware of such rules, repeated the same word again.
"Next."
"That's enough! The trial is over!"
A furious shout finally burst from Ivar's mouth.
It was a warning to stop here and withdraw.
Felicia glanced briefly at Ivar, who was glaring at her with blazing eyes, then spoke again.
"Next."
"Damn it…!"
Just as Ivar was about to explode in anger at her blatant disregard for his warning,
Gormsen—who had been half out of his mind—stepped forward, drawing his own sword.
"Gormsen! What do you think you're doing!?"
Startled by his son's sudden action, Ivar shouted, but Gormsen stood still as if he hadn't heard a thing.
Felicia leveled her blade at him and asked,
"Any last words?"
"No."
"Come."
The moment the brief exchange ended, Gormsen kicked off the ground.
He swung his weapon just as the warriors he had sent out before him had done—
as though seeking, at the very least, to meet the same death as his fallen comrades, a final act of atonement.
Slash.
"Ghk!"
As Felicia's blade brushed past Gormsen's neck, a faint cry escaped him.
Instinctively, Gormsen clutched his throat, but it was hopeless—
the blood pouring out like a waterfall could not be stopped.
Panting raggedly, Gormsen alternated his gaze between Felicia and Lucian, then twisted his lips into a self-mocking smile.
With a laugh that sounded like air leaking from his lungs, Gormsen's body collapsed to the ground.
He didn't die as swiftly as the other warriors under his command, but at least his corpse remained intact.
Once Gormsen was dead, Felicia, as if her task were complete, returned to Lucian and knelt before him.
"Your Majesty, I have dealt with the enemy and returned."
"Well done."
Lucian praised Felicia and personally helped her to her feet.
As the tribespeople stared blankly at the scene, a solemn voice rang out from behind them.
"Beyond the frozen plains, a foreign lord shall come. In the year when the sun changes, he shall earn the right to challenge the heavens. He shall conquer all this land and lead us upon a path of glory and peace—our king."
At the familiar prophecy, people gasped and turned their heads in shock.
Marius, who had been nowhere to be seen until now, had emerged outside and was walking among them.
Pushing through the crowd, Marius came forward and knelt before Lucian.
"My king."
That single word was enough.
A transcendent being who had reached a supreme realm no warrior of the frozen plains had ever attained—despite bearing the body of a woman.
If such a being served him, then just how noble and magnificent must her lord be?
With the guide's prophecy added to it all, it felt as though a halo were shining behind Lucian.
"My king!"
"King of the frozen plains!"
"Our king!"
Unlike before, when they had hesitated awkwardly, the tribespeople now collapsed to the ground like a wave and shouted toward Lucian.
They seemed to have forgotten that this was merely the first trial to select a new chieftain—and even that a chieftain still existed.
Watching that scene, Ivar turned away without even declaring the end of the trial and walked straight back into his residence.
The sound of the door slamming shut was buried beneath the thunderous cheers.
***
Amid the uproar, Lucian's group moved to Marius's quarters.
Marius had stopped Lucian, saying he had something to tell him.
"Pitiful fellow."
Marius, who had invited Lucian in, muttered those words with a sigh.
There was no need to ask who he meant.
"He used to roam around everywhere, saying he'd become a great warrior someday. At some point, though, he started enjoying schemes more. Must've gotten addicted to the taste of easy gains."
"…"
"Still, his old comrades believed in him. They thought he'd only strayed for a moment, that one day he'd remember his old pride. In the end, I suppose they were right. Though remembering it only after losing everything hardly means much."
Only after hearing Marius did Lucian's group understand why the warriors had been so loyal.
They'd assumed he was nothing but a sly schemer—but it seemed he'd once had an honorable side.
When Lucian remained silent, Marius continued.
"That aside, it was impressive. They said she was the Sword Saint's disciple, but she surpassed my imagination. You overturned the common sense of the frozen plains. Do you know what the tribespeople are calling her right now?"
"Old man."
Lucian spoke quietly, cutting off Marius's casual chatter.
"Let's stop here. I have no further need of you."
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