Chapter 78
The battlefield, which had once been torn apart by chaos and scattered skirmishes, slowly fell into an unnatural stillness.
Dust drifted across broken earth.
Arrows no longer flew.
Even the distant cries of lesser Malignants seemed to fade as something far heavier began to press into the atmosphere itself.
Then,
the main army arrived.
Banners rose first, cutting through the haze like dark pillars of authority. Beneath them marched thousands of coordinated forces, their formation so disciplined it looked less like a monster horde and more like a conquered kingdom returning to enforce its rule.
And at the center of it all—
it appeared.
The King.
The moment its presence fully stepped into the battlefield, even the air seemed to compress under its weight.
Fifteen feet of armored dominance.
Its body was encased in layered war-plate carved from bone-like mineralized steel, etched with ancient markings that pulsed faintly with spiritual energy. Each step it took cracked the ground beneath it, not from haste, but from sheer gravitational pressure. Its presence alone forced weaker beings to lower their posture instinctively.
Its level was not announced loudly.
It didn't need to be.
The number alone carried enough authority to silence entire battlefields.
Even the instructors in the distant perimeter felt it.
A presence that did not belong to a hunting exercise.
A presence that belonged to conquest.
The King's gaze swept across the battlefield slowly, eventually settling on the center where two figures remained standing amid the aftermath of the earlier clash.
Nille.
And Varkhul.
For a brief moment, neither moved.
The King spoke.
Its voice was deep, layered with resonance that seemed to echo through both physical space and spiritual perception at once.
"So…"
It stepped forward once.
The ground bowed slightly beneath it.
"…this is what caused the disturbance."
Nille did not answer immediately.
Neither did Varkhul.
But something subtle had already changed between them.
The hostility that had defined their earlier battle was no longer absolute.
There was recognition now.
Not of friendship.
But of understanding forged through shared struggle.
Varkhul slowly rose to its feet beside Nille.
Not in obedience to the King.
But in defiance of what it now believed to be manipulation.
Its voice was rough, but steady.
"…You should not have come."
The King's eyes narrowed slightly.
Varkhul continued.
"You are being guided."
A pause.
The massive Lycan exhaled, its claws flexing, not in aggression, but in restraint.
"That Dalaketnon… and the one called Imto Dimas…"
Its tone darkened.
"They are not telling you everything."
For the first time, the King's presence shifted slightly, just enough for the pressure in the air to deepen.
But Varkhul did not step back.
Instead, it turned its head slightly toward Nille.
There was something different in its gaze now.
Respect.
Not born from victory.
But from restraint.
"You had the chance to end me," Varkhul said quietly.
"You did not."
A brief silence passed between them.
"I fought like a beast," it admitted.
"And still… you treated me like a warrior."
Its grip tightened briefly, then released.
"That is why I stand now."
Not as a subordinate.
Not as a conquered Alpha.
But as something closer to what it once was.
A warrior refusing to remain broken.
Then Varkhul faced forward again, directly toward the towering King.
"I will not allow this path to continue."
The King stared down at it for a long moment.
Then spoke again.
"…You challenge your king?"
Varkhul did not hesitate.
"No."
A pause.
"I question your certainty."
The words hung in the air like a fracture forming within authority itself.
Behind the King, the army remained still, waiting for command.
But for the first time, uncertainty began to spread.
And between them, Nille stood silently.
Not as part of the Lycan hierarchy.
Not as part of the army.
But as the variable that had forced two opposing truths to finally collide.
Inside Nille's mind, Nyx's voice became calm again, but beneath that calm was unmistakable urgency.
"Get closer to the Lycan King," she said.
Nille's eyes remained fixed on the towering figure ahead while the army stood motionless behind it like an ocean of restrained violence.
Nyx continued quickly.
"The manipulation affecting their leadership is not natural persuasion. There's a spiritual imprint layered into the King's aura itself."
Nille narrowed his eyes slightly.
"You can remove it?"
"Possibly," Nyx answered. "But only at close range. I need proximity to analyze the spiritual distortion directly."
A brief pause followed.
Then her tone sharpened.
"There is another option."
Nille listened carefully.
"Challenge the King to an honorable duel."
The suggestion itself was dangerous.
Not because of the duel, but because of what it implied.
To formally challenge a ruler in front of its army was not merely combat. It was political, cultural, and spiritual all at once. Among warrior races, especially ancient ones like the Lycans, public duels carried meaning beyond victory.
They established legitimacy.
Respect.
Truth.
And sometimes, change.
Nyx understood this.
"If you force direct engagement," she explained, "I can analyze the corruption while its attention remains focused entirely on you."
The risk was obvious.
A Level 450 King.
Against Nille.
Under normal circumstances, such a confrontation would be considered suicidal.
Yet Nille's expression barely changed.
Slowly, he lowered himself to one knee.
The movement alone stunned the battlefield.
Even Varkhul's exhausted breathing paused in visible shock.
Nille bowed his head slightly, not in submission, but in warrior acknowledgment.
Then he spoke clearly enough for the surrounding forces to hear.
"Honorable Warrior King of the Lycan race…"
His voice remained calm despite the overwhelming pressure radiating from the colossal ruler before him.
"…I kneel before you out of respect."
Silence spread instantly across the battlefield.
Not because of fear, but because humans rarely acted this way toward Malignant rulers.
Especially not alone.
Especially not after battle.
Varkhul stared at Nille in disbelief.
The Alpha was still injured, exhausted, and barely standing, yet even it understood the weight behind what Nille was doing.
Because this was not cowardice.
Nor desperation.
It was recognition.
Recognition given by one warrior toward another.
And among Lycans, that mattered.
The King's massive gaze lowered toward Nille slowly.
Behind it, shield-bearing guards immediately shifted formation. Rows of armored Lycans moved protectively around their ruler while archers raised their bows in synchronized precision, arrowheads glowing faintly with spiritual energy.
One wrong movement, and Nille would die instantly.
The pressure intensified.
The King released part of its spiritual energy deliberately.
A crushing force descended upon the battlefield like invisible gravity. Fear spread naturally through the area as weaker creatures and injured students near the distant perimeter visibly trembled beneath the aura.
This was dominance.
The spiritual presence of a ruler who had survived centuries of blood war against the Vampire race.
And the hatred within that aura was unmistakable.
Ancient.
Personal.
The Lycans and Vampires had slaughtered each other for generations beyond recorded human history. Entire territories had burned beneath that conflict.
And standing before such a being, Nille should have trembled.
But he did not.
His breathing remained controlled.
Steady.
Because this was not the first time he had trained against fear.
Since childhood, he had repeatedly conditioned himself to understand something simple:
Fear was a reaction of the body.
Not the will.
The body feared what it could not understand.
But the mind, the mind could still choose.
And so Nille remained kneeling without wavering, even while the King's aura pressed against him like a storm trying to force him down.
Varkhul finally spoke then, its rough voice breaking the silence.
"This warrior fought me equally."
The statement caused visible reaction among nearby Lycans.
Especially the guards.
Varkhul lowered its head slightly toward the King.
"He had chances to kill me."
A pause.
"He did not take them."
The King's glowing eyes narrowed further.
Its spiritual pressure increased again.
Yet Nille still did not move.
Still did not lower his gaze completely.
The battlefield became completely silent.
Even the wind seemed to pause between the banners and broken plains as Nille slowly rose from one knee, his gaze remaining fixed on the towering ruler before him.
The Lycan King's spiritual pressure still flooded the battlefield like an invisible storm, pressing down on every living thing nearby. Guards remained tense. Archers kept their arrows drawn. Thousands of warriors waited for a single command that could turn the entire field into slaughter.
Yet Nille stood calmly within the center of it all.
Blood stained parts of his clothing from the battle against Varkhul. Dirt and cuts marked his body, and exhaustion lingered beneath the controlled rhythm of his breathing.
Still, he did not step back.
Nyx remained silent inside his mind now, observing carefully as the atmosphere itself shifted around his next decision.
Then Nille spoke.
His voice was not loud.
But it carried clearly across the battlefield.
"Honorable Lycan King…"
He placed his weapon downward briefly in acknowledgment rather than aggression.
"…I wish to challenge you…"
A brief pause followed.
The tension in the air tightened instantly.
"…to a Warrior's Duel."
The words struck the battlefield harder than violence itself.
Several Lycans immediately snarled in outrage.
The shield guards moved aggressively, spiritual energy surging across their armor as though preparing to crush the insult before it could fully settle into the air. Even the archers adjusted their aim directly toward Nille's head and chest.
Because to challenge the King, especially as a human, was not merely bold.
It bordered on madness.
Far in the distance, even the instructors and students near the defensive perimeter felt the shift in the atmosphere.
Some thought they misheard.
Others stared in disbelief.
"He challenged the King…"
One senior student whispered the words almost fearfully.
Meanwhile, Varkhul's eyes widened slightly.
Not because the challenge existed, but because Nille understood the meaning behind it.
A Warrior's Duel among Lycans was sacred.
Ancient.
A tradition older than many kingdoms.
It was not simply combat to the death. It was a declaration that truth, honor, or conviction would be tested directly between warriors without interference.
To invoke it publicly in front of the army meant one thing:
The challenger acknowledged the King's authority enough to risk everything against it openly.
And among Lycans, that carried weight.
The King itself remained motionless for several long seconds.
Its massive armored figure towered above Nille while its glowing eyes studied him carefully, as if reevaluating the human entirely.
Then, the King laughed.
The sound shook the battlefield like distant thunder.
Not mocking.
Not entirely.
But genuinely surprised.
"A human…"
Its deep voice resonated across the plains.
"…challenges me beneath the laws of warriors?"
The immense ruler slowly stepped forward.
Each movement caused the earth beneath it to crack under sheer pressure.
"You understand what this means?"
Nille answered immediately.
"Yes."
No hesitation.
No uncertainty.
The King's aura intensified again, testing him.
"In a Warrior's Duel," it growled, "your life becomes the price of your conviction."
Still, Nille did not waver.
Because this was no longer simply about survival.
Not anymore.
If the manipulation affecting the Lycans continued unchecked, the conflict growing around Sector 6 would escalate far beyond a hunting accident. War between supernatural races would spread into the island's unstable systems, and countless students would become trapped inside it.
Nille understood that now.
And somewhere inside the army itself, uncertainty had already begun spreading because of Varkhul's words.
The King noticed this too.
Its glowing eyes shifted briefly toward its wounded Alpha before returning to Nille again.
Then the towering ruler spoke once more.
"…Very well."
The battlefield froze.
The King raised one clawed hand slowly.
And behind it, the entire Lycan army lowered their weapons at once.
The Lycan King's massive hand remained raised, halting the army behind it.
Yet despite accepting the challenge in principle, its gaze narrowed again as it studied Nille more carefully.
Then the King spoke.
"A king does not simply cross claws with a low-ranked individual."
Its voice rolled across the battlefield like thunder beneath iron.
"Even among warriors, hierarchy exists."
The statement caused many Lycans to nod in agreement. A Warrior's Duel was sacred—but so too were the ancient laws surrounding status and bloodline. A ruler could not carelessly accept challenges from just anyone without diminishing the authority of the throne itself.
Varkhul lowered its gaze slightly.
Even it understood the problem.
Nille had proven himself a warrior.
But by Lycan standards, he was still human.
And humans possessed no recognized standing within ancient Lycan lineage law.
Inside Nille's mind, Nyx suddenly spoke.
Calm.
Focused.
"And that," she murmured softly, "is where they are mistaken."
Nille remained still while listening.
Nyx's voice lowered further.
"You are not standing here solely as a human anymore."
For the first time since the confrontation began, traces of ancient draconic resonance stirred faintly within Nille's body. Deep beneath his spiritual channels, the inherited heart fused into his existence pulsed once, heavy and ancient.
Nyx continued.
"The Lycans recognize lineage strength."
A pause.
"They understand sovereign blood."
Then her tone sharpened.
"And dragons…"
"…stood above kings long before Lycans built kingdoms."
Nille's eyes narrowed slightly.
He understood what she intended immediately.
Not intimidation.
Recognition.
The dragon heart he carried was not symbolic.
It was real.
A direct inheritance from a Wingless Dragon, a calamity-class existence whose lineage existed beyond ordinary supernatural hierarchy.
Nyx spoke again.
"When I give the signal…"
"…speak in Draconic."
The language itself was ancient.
Older than most mortal civilizations.
Not merely words, but declarations tied directly to spiritual authority and blood inheritance.
Even fragmented phrases carried weight capable of affecting instinctive recognition among ancient races.
The King suddenly paused mid-motion.
Because it felt it too.
A faint pressure.
Different from human spiritual energy.
Older.
Predatory.
Ancient.
The battlefield atmosphere shifted subtly as the dormant draconic presence within Nille began surfacing beneath controlled restraint.
Several Lycans instinctively stepped backward.
Even the archers hesitated.
The King's glowing eyes narrowed sharply now.
"…What are you?"
Nyx spoke immediately.
"Now."
Nille inhaled once.
Then spoke in a language no ordinary human should have known.
"Vorthal ir Drakha'viel…"
The moment the words left his mouth, the battlefield reacted.
The air itself trembled slightly.
A low resonance spread outward from Nille's body like an invisible pulse carrying ancient authority within it.
Several lesser Kobolds collapsed immediately to one knee in confusion and instinctive fear.
Even Varkhul visibly stiffened.
Because the sound did not resemble human speech.
It sounded ancient.
Heavy.
Like something belonging to creatures born before kingdoms existed.
Nille continued calmly.
"Thar ven koraith… ir Sahr Drakon."
Nyx translated quietly within his mind while the effect spread naturally through the surrounding forces.
"By inherited blood…"
"…I stand beneath the gaze of dragons."
The King's expression changed completely.
For the first time, true caution appeared within its eyes.
Because instinct recognized what logic struggled to deny.
The pressure emanating from Nille was not imitation.
Nor artifact-based enhancement.
It was lineage resonance.
Ancient predator recognizing ancient predator.
The Lycan King slowly lowered its raised hand.
Not out of fear.
But acknowledgment.
Nyx's voice became quieter now.
"One more."
Nille spoke again.
This time more firmly.
"Drakha'voryn vaelthir… kor'vael Targothyr dravenkai."
"A warrior bearing the inherited blood and will of dragons… possesses the ancient right to challenge kings."
The draconic resonance surged once more, but it was enough so the Lycan king will be the only tat will sense it, as Nlle still want to keep this a secret, Nyx used all of the knowledge to make sure to hide this from other and it somewhat succeded.
"A warrior bearing a dragon's inheritance…"
"…possesses the right to challenge kings."
Silence consumed the battlefield afterward.
Absolute.
Even the wind itself seemed hesitant to move.
Then the Lycan King exhaled slowly.
Its massive armored frame straightened fully as its gaze locked onto Nille with entirely new understanding.
Not human.
Not entirely.
And no longer beneath recognition.
At last, the King spoke again.
"…So that is why the air around you felt wrong."
Its voice carried neither mockery nor anger now.
Only realization.
"You carry the heart of a dragon."
The battlefield remained silent as the Lycan King continued staring at Nille.
But now its gaze had changed.
It was no longer merely observing the young man standing before it.
It was searching deeper.
Ancient Lycans possessed abilities far beyond physical combat. Among rulers of old bloodlines, there existed techniques capable of tracing instinct, inheritance, and spiritual ancestry itself. Not perfectly, but enough to sense whether strength was borrowed, inherited, or falsely constructed.
Slowly, the King released part of its perception.
Its spiritual awareness pushed directly into Nille's existence.
And immediately, it felt layers.
Blood after blood.
Generation after generation intertwined within the young man's lineage.
The Dragon Heart was not symbolic.
Nor metaphysical illusion.
It was real.
A true draconic heart fused into mortal flesh.
The realization itself surprised even the King.
The heart was not ancient by dragon standards, but it was old enough to carry legitimacy. Its spiritual age nearly matched the King's own lifespan, meaning the creature from which it originated had not been some insignificant hatchling or fragmented remnant.
It had been real.
Powerful.
Alive once.
The King pushed deeper.
The draconic resonance remained stable, but beneath it, another pattern emerged.
Shamanic bloodlines.
Human spiritual inheritance.
Yet strangely inconsistent.
The lineage skipped generations repeatedly, appearing strongly in some descendants before nearly disappearing in others. It was unstable, fragmented by mixed ancestry and diluted mortal blood.
The King understood what that meant immediately.
Luck.
This human had likely inherited dormant compatibility by chance rather than direct cultivation.
A rare alignment of blood and fate.
The King almost laughed at the absurdity of it.
But still, it continued searching.
Further back.
Deeper into Nille's ancestral trail.
Residual memories began surfacing faintly around the King's spiritual perception—small fragments carried within inherited blood memory. Fleeting images. Distant emotions. Broken echoes of lives long dead.
Storms across endless oceans.
Ships made of old wood.
Foreign lands.
Then, a man.
A foreign patriarch.
The King recognized immediately that the bloodline shifted there. The ancestry carried traces of a Spanish explorer, one of the old humans who crossed oceans seeking conquest, trade, and forgotten places.
Beyond him, nothing.
The lineage simply stopped.
Not erased.
Not severed.
Just… absent.
As though the ancestral trail itself vanished into darkness before continuing no further.
The King paused within that void-like emptiness.
Then slowly smiled.
So this young warrior truly had gained power through luck.
Not destiny.
Not noble prophecy.
Chance.
A mortal born from scattered bloodlines who somehow inherited compatibility with a dragon's heart strongly enough to survive fusion.
Absurd.
Yet impressive.
The King's metaphysical form drifted briefly within the darkness surrounding the broken ancestral path, amused by the strange randomness of fate.
Then, something moved.
The smile vanished instantly.
Far within the pitch-black emptiness beyond the bloodline trail—
something looked back.
The sensation struck the King immediately.
Ancient.
Still.
Watching.
Not hostile.
Not aggressive.
But aware.
For the briefest moment, the Lycan King felt itself being observed by something that existed beyond the limits of lineage memory itself.
And instinct, ancient instinct born from centuries of survival, reacted immediately.
Danger.
The King withdrew at once.
Its spiritual perception snapped back violently into reality.
The battlefield returned instantly.
The banners.
The army.
The blood-covered plains.
Nille standing calmly before it.
But for the first time since arriving, the Lycan King looked genuinely unsettled.
Not because of the Dragon Heart.
Not because of the duel.
But because something hidden deep within Nille's lineage…
had noticed the King searching.
The Lycan King returned fully to reality with a subtle shift in posture that only Varkhul noticed immediately.
Something had changed.
The King's spiritual pressure remained immense, but beneath it now lingered a trace of unease, small, controlled, yet undeniably present.
Its gaze settled once more on Nille.
But this time, not as one merely examining a strange warrior.
Now it was looking at someone connected to something unknown.
Far within the fragmented darkness of Nille's ancestral trail, the King had felt it clearly.
A presence.
Watching.
And worse, reacting.
The memory of it lingered unpleasantly within the King's instincts.
Because the thing hidden beyond the broken lineage had not seemed pleased by the King's intrusion.
It had not attacked.
It had not spoken.
Yet the sensation it conveyed was unmistakable.
Disapproval.
As though the act of tracing Nille's bloodline itself had crossed into territory the King was never meant to witness.
The Lycan ruler slowly narrowed its eyes.
Then understanding formed.
So that was the truth.
This human had not obtained power through destiny or sacred inheritance.
He had been chosen.
Or perhaps, planted.
A seed.
The realization disturbed the King more than it wished to admit.
Because whatever lay hidden beyond that darkness clearly viewed Nille not as a finished existence, but as something still developing.
Something being watched carefully.
And for the briefest moment, the King sensed another thought within that distant presence, cold.
Evaluative.
As if reconsidering its decision entirely.
The sensation lingered like silent judgment:
Perhaps this seed was a mistake.
Perhaps this mortal was unworthy of what had been given to him.
The King exhaled slowly afterward, grounding itself back into the battlefield.
Then, unexpectedly, it laughed.
A deep, rough sound rolled across the plains once more.
Not mocking.
Not hostile.
But genuinely amused now.
"So that is how you obtained this power…"
Its glowing eyes remained fixed on Nille.
"Luck."
The word carried strange approval rather than insult.
Not noble birth.
Not pure lineage.
Not ancient prophecy.
Simple, terrifying luck.
A mortal born from fragmented bloodlines, unstable spiritual inheritance, and ordinary humanity, yet somehow surviving the fusion of a dragon's heart through coincidence powerful enough to border on impossibility.
The King found the absurdity entertaining.
Because among ancient races, luck itself was feared almost as much as fate.
Especially when it produced results that logic could not.
Still, the memory of that hidden presence remained inside the King's instincts.
Watching.
Evaluating.
And disliking what it had seen.
The Lycan ruler understood one thing clearly now:
Whatever existed beyond Nille's broken ancestral darkness…
was not the Dragon Heart.
It was something else entirely.
And for reasons unknown, it had allowed this human to continue living.
The Lycan King remained silent for several long moments after returning from the depths of Nille's bloodline.
Its glowing eyes stayed fixed on the young man standing before it while countless thoughts moved beneath the surface of its calm exterior.
Technically, the King could still refuse the challenge.
No law forced absolute acceptance.
It could dismiss the duel, declare the human beneath royal combat, and proceed with the army's advance if it truly wished.
But the situation had already changed.
Because the King was no longer the only one who sensed it.
Among the higher-ranked Lycans standing behind the royal guard, several evolved warriors had begun reacting uneasily to the draconic resonance lingering around Nille. The King's own offspring, those born from direct royal blood and sharpened instincts—had instinctively recognized traces of ancient predator authority within the young man.
They did not fully understand it.
But they felt it.
And among warrior races, instinct mattered.
If the King rejected the challenge now after openly sensing the legitimacy behind Nille's draconic inheritance, doubt would spread through the ranks. Not immediately perhaps—but eventually. Questions would form. Whispers would circulate.
Did the King refuse because the challenger lacked worth—
or because the King acknowledged something dangerous within him?
Authority among Lycans was not maintained through titles alone.
It was maintained through certainty.
Through visible strength.
Through absolute confidence in one's own dominance.
And refusing a recognized warrior challenge after sensing sovereign draconic lineage would stain that certainty, especially among the younger evolved Lycans already observing carefully.
The King understood this clearly.
More importantly, it had already measured the difference between them.
Nille was only Level 20.
A remarkable warrior for his age and condition, yes, but still vastly beneath the King's own existence. The gap between them bordered on absurdity.
This was not an equal contest of power.
The outcome, from a purely logical standpoint, should already be obvious.
And so, the King accepted.
Slowly, the towering ruler began walking forward.
The movement alone caused the battlefield to shift.
Its royal shield guards immediately stepped aside in perfect synchronization, lowering their weapons and opening a path directly toward Nille. Even the archers withdrew their aim now, allowing the King alone to proceed.
Each step carried overwhelming presence.
The ground cracked softly beneath armored feet heavy enough to resemble moving siege weapons rather than flesh and blood.
From Nille's perspective, the King looked enormous.
Fifteen feet of layered armor, spiritual pressure, and ancient battle authority advancing directly toward him like a living fortress.
Nille had faced giants before.
Massive creatures.
Monstrous Malignants.
But this felt different.
Because the being approaching him was not simply large.
It was established.
Forged.
The King had not inherited its throne peacefully through succession or ceremonial bloodline transfer.
Nille understood that immediately.
This ruler became King through conquest.
Through survival.
Through authority recognized by stronger creatures willing to kneel only before overwhelming power.
Every scar carved into its armor, every controlled movement, every ounce of pressure radiating from its body carried proof of countless battles fought personally.
This was not royalty born into comfort.
This was a warrior who had climbed over corpses to claim a crown.
And somehow, despite the impossible difference between them, Nille did not step back.
The King finally stopped directly before him.
At that distance, Nille looked almost childlike compared to the colossal ruler towering overhead.
Yet the Lycan King's gaze held no mockery now.
Only acknowledgment.
Then, slowly, the King extended one clawed hand outward.
The battlefield held its breath.
"I accept your challenge…"
Its voice rumbled across the plains like distant thunder.
"…Dragon-Blooded Warrior."
The colossal Lycan King stood before the battlefield in complete silence, its immense armored frame casting a shadow over Nille and the blood-soaked ground beneath them.
Then the ruler spoke.
"I am Lykos Kael… decendant of the great god Fenrir,"
Its deep voice carried naturally across the plains.
"…King of the Ironfang Lycans."
The moment the name was spoken, thousands of Lycans behind him lowered their heads slightly in acknowledgment. Even the evolved warriors standing among the royal lines showed visible respect.
Because Lykos Kael was not merely a title-holder.
Among the Lycans, the name Fenris Kael carried meaning tied to conquest, survival, and kingship earned through war.
The Ironfang King.
The Beast Who United the Broken Packs.
The Warrior Who Devoured Three Alpha Clans.
Nille understood immediately that this was a ruler whose authority had been forged personally through battle rather than inherited peacefully.
The towering King then lowered its gaze toward him.
"And you?"
Despite the overwhelming pressure surrounding the battlefield, Nille answered calmly.
"Nille ."
The King studied him briefly after hearing the name, then nodded once.
A simple gesture.
Yet one acknowledging him as a legitimate challenger rather than prey.
Then Lykos Kael spoke again.
"A Warrior's Duel requires equivalence."
Its glowing eyes narrowed slightly.
"You are courageous…"
"…but weak."
The statement carried no insult.
Only truth.
The vast difference between them was obvious to every creature present.
Then the King raised one massive clawed hand slowly.
"So I shall offer a condition instead."
The battlefield became still once more.
"If you withstand a single strike from me…"
Draegor's voice deepened heavily.
"…I will hear your request."
Shock spread quietly among both humans and Lycans alike.
Even Varkhul looked surprised.
Because despite the simplicity of the condition, everyone present understood what it truly meant.
A single direct strike from the Ironfang King could kill most warriors instantly.
Especially someone only Level 20.
Yet Nille did not immediately respond.
Instead, after a brief moment of thought, he spoke calmly.
"If that is your condition…"
His gaze remained steady.
"…then I ask one thing in return."
Several royal guards tensed instantly at the request.
But Lykos Kael simply motioned for silence.
"Speak."
Nille slowly lowered his stance respectfully.
"I ask to stand directly before you as an honorable challenger."
The request caused visible confusion among several Lycans.
Normally, challengers preferred distance against overwhelming opponents.
Yet Nille was asking to move closer.