Chapter 169: 169 Champion

Chapter 169: Champion

While Ronin and Galil conversed, the contest on the square had already begun.

James drew his knightly sword, and a crimson aura erupted violently around him, propelling his entire body forward like a cannonball—so swift it stole the breath from onlookers.

Ronin raised an eyebrow. With just that initial stance, he recognized the man’s fighting style as wild, reckless—his strength likely surpassing Rogna’s.

Indeed, the ensuing battle confirmed his suspicion.

James’s swordplay was razor-sharp; his power and speed subtly outstripped Rogna’s.

Each clash of blades sent Rogna stumbling, his footing faltering. As the relentless barrage of strikes piled one upon another, his disadvantage widened.

Soon, after a thunderous collision, James kicked out, planting his foot squarely upon Rogna’s breastplate—and sent him flying backward, crashing hard onto the ground.

“I’m sorry,” James said, looking down. “You’ve lost.”

Rogna rubbed his chest, picked up his sword, and rose. “Congratulations. You’ve won.”

On the balcony, Marven, the Viscount who had been cheering moments before, grew cold. His gaze darkened as it fell upon Osun’s direction—he knew now that Osun had sent James up specifically to ensure Rogna did not win the third round.

“I never expected Rogna to fall so quickly.”

Galil sighed. “Baron Bernardo Monsun is said to be Bronze-ranked. This James must be his son. I never imagined he’d possess such talent.”

Ronin nodded.

Since James had entered the tournament, he must be under thirty. To defeat Rogna so effortlessly at such a young age—his talent could not be ordinary.

“Still, Rogna is only twenty-one. He’s likely younger than James. As for raw talent—who knows who surpasses whom?”

As they spoke, James on the square turned his gaze toward Ronin’s direction.

He bowed with formal knightly grace, his voice ringing clear: “Lord Ronin, may I challenge you?”

Silence fell over the entire balcony and corridor. No one had anticipated such a direct challenge.

Even Ronin was taken aback—he had been comfortably enjoying the spectacle.

“Uh, Sir James, there is no provision for voluntary challenges in knightly competition,” interjected Bretton, the host, attempting to rescue Ronin.

But faced with such a challenge, Ronin could not avoid a response.

Dozens of nobles watched—among them, Princess Branche. If he refused, would they not assume he feared him?

Ronin had already decided to enter the tournament and claim the champion’s prize. His strength had already been revealed. Whether he fought now or later made no difference.

“Of course.”

Ronin extended his hand. Tom, standing nearby, stepped forward and respectfully offered the Flameblade.

Ronin gripped the hilt, walking slowly toward the square as he spoke: “The House of Wushan never shuns any challenge.”

Instantly, thunderous applause and cheers erupted around him.

The noble ladies’ eyes sparkled with stars.

“Malick, Ronin is even more handsome than last time!”

Marianna of Lake Town whispered to her brother, recalling that night she’d almost slipped into Ronin’s tent—and now regretted her hesitation.

Had she pressed harder, would she have succeeded?

Malick coughed. “Sister, mind your tongue. Jamie will misunderstand.”

Beside Marianna stood a fat man with deadfish eyes—the second son of Viscount Denis, Marianna’s betrothed.

Jamie laughed heartily, ever the gentleman. “Marianna’s right. Ronin is indeed handsome!”

It wasn’t just them. Beneath her long gown, Princess Branche’s fingers clenched tightly, her heart pounding as she silently cheered Ronin on.

At the center of the front row, Rulans smiled. The words “The House of Wushan never shuns any challenge” filled him with deep satisfaction.

“Thank you, Lord Ronin, for granting me this honor,” James maintained his posture. “Please.”

“Come!”

Ronin raised his hand and unleashed “Flame Clouds Blanket the Heavens”—a wide-area fire surge hurtling toward James.

James did not flinch. He countered with the exact same technique.

“Boom!”

The two fan-shaped fire waves collided midair, exploding in a deafening roar. The heatwave rippled outward like a gale.

“Ronin’s technique is stronger!”

Many saw it: Ronin’s flame clouds devoured James’s entirely, then surged forward with residual force.

Ronin’s innate affinity for fire was already high; his fire techniques naturally carried greater power. And with the Flameblade amplifying his strength—

The same technique, wielded by him, was undeniably superior.

“His sword is unusual.”

James sensed the anomaly in Ronin’s blade and realized he could not win by matching techniques.

He sheathed himself in armor of aura, slashed through the remnants of the flame clouds with a single stroke, then charged forward—seeking to defeat Ronin with the same rapid assault that had felled Rogna.

But this time, he had chosen the wrong opponent.

Ronin’s swordsmanship fused the strengths of Macken and Ridal—both defense and swift offense mastered.

Against James’s speed, Ronin’s defense was flawless.

“His technique is fast—but lacks power.”

As their blades clashed, Ronin analyzed James’s skill.

“And his precision is poor. His transitions between offense and defense leave wide openings.”

These were the very flaws Ridal had once pointed out to him. Now, in James, he saw echoes of his own past self.

On the balcony, Rulans watched, his smile deepening with every passing moment, his admiration for Ronin swelling.

He could not fathom how this boy had attained such mastery in defensive swordplay.

The other nobles felt the same. They had assumed the tales of Ronin’s strength from the arena incident were exaggerated. Now they realized the rumors had been true.

Osun frowned deeply. He could not comprehend how, in merely half a year, Ronin had become so absurdly powerful.

“It’s my turn.”

In the square, Ronin ceased his defense. His power surged—and with one swift thrust, he disarmed James’s blade.

He lunged forward, his right side slamming into James like a living weapon. Their aura armors twisted and warped under the force.

The sudden shift, combined with the sheer impact, left James utterly unprepared.

As he staggered back, he slashed wildly—a massive flame cut meant to stall Ronin’s advance.

But Ronin unleashed his full speed.

He evaded the slash effortlessly—and closed the distance, catching James mid-flight.

“Storm Palm!”

Luo Ning slammed his palm down, wind-elemental aura coiling into a furious gale that crashed against James’s body.

“Boom!”

The armor on his person shattered into fragments; his whole body collapsed like a sack severed from its rope, slamming hard onto the ground. His outer cloak tore open, revealing the soft armor beneath.

James felt his chest churn with surging blood and qi, then spat out a mouthful of crimson.

“You’ve lost,” Luo Ning said, looking down from above.

“I—”

James seemed ready to admit defeat, but the blood in his throat muddled his voice—he could not speak, only nod silently.

Luo Ning turned to Breton, who remained frozen, stunned by the sudden, decisive end of the match.

It had looked evenly matched just moments ago—how had it ended like this so swiftly?

“Breton, stop standing there like a fool. Announce the result. Have the attendants carry the injured Jenny away for treatment.”

“Oh—oh, right!”

Breton finally snapped back to himself. “The… the victor… is Luo Ning!”

“Bravo!”

On the balcony, Viscount Marvin raised his voice in applause—as if Luo Ning’s victory gave him more pleasure than Rogner’s had.

Others began clapping and cheering.

Blanchi clapped as she spoke: “Misi, present five hundred gold coins to the valiant knight!”

“As you command, Your Highness!”

With the princess’s reward, other nobles followed suit, offering their own gold coins—though each amount fell far short of five hundred.

Blanchi had only offered five hundred out of consideration for the honor of Wushan Castle; after all, the champion’s prize in a knightly tournament was only one thousand gold coins.

Luo Ning had never expected such an unexpected windfall, and he felt profound gratitude toward Blanchi.

This girl was wise.

With Luo Ning’s overwhelming defeat of James, the remaining matches grew dull, for everyone now knew who would claim the title.

Still, to warm the crowd, knights from various families stepped forward, challenging him under the pretense of seeking instruction in swordplay.

Luo Ning defeated them all, one by one.

More than ten minutes passed.

After Breton called out three times, no knight dared to rise.

“Since no further challengers remain, I declare the Wushan Castle Knight Tournament concluded in triumphant fashion!”

He turned to Luo Ning in the arena. “The champion of this tournament is…”

“Wait!”

Breton instinctively thought another challenger had appeared.

But when he recognized the speaker’s identity, he froze.

“Brother… what is it?”

Luo Ning nodded, lifting his gaze to the balcony.

“I hereby, in the name of the tournament champion, Lord of the Forest Town, and eldest grandson of the Wushan family, request that Lord Raisen of the Sain Domain descend here.”

(End of Chapter)