Chapter 300: The Birth of the Fake Smile Knight

Ever since Ronin first set foot in the eerie valley, the thought of building a port had lingered in his mind.

Yet, it had always remained a mere concept, lacking any detailed plan for its execution.

Though his sudden desire to collaborate with Horn Castle today seemed rather spontaneous, it was by no means an unreasonable strategy.

After all, looking across the entirety of the Black Mountain Domain, this was the only place that possessed experienced craftsmen, captains, sailors, and port officials.

However, the matter carried significant implications and was hardly a project to be completed in short order; even though Viscount Victorino found himself intrigued by the proposal, he merely promised to give it serious consideration rather than agreeing outright.

He did, nonetheless, agree to have Baron Hamet take the veteran craftsmen of Port Dennis to the North Black Mountain Domain ahead of time to survey the terrain and search for a suitable site to construct the port.

As for whether to cooperate and how to do so, those details could be left for further discussion once everything had been thoroughly considered later on.

Ronin was in no hurry; now that the other party had taken the first step, could the second step be far behind?

Upon leaving the study, he stayed up through the night to pen a letter, intending for Hamet to carry it to Marsh Castle and deliver it to Elrond.

In the letter, he instructed Elrond and Chahar to play the gracious hosts to their distinguished guests, to arrange a contingent to ensure the surveyors' safety, and at the same time, tasked Elrond with safeguarding Carlos's house.

The wording was rather cryptic; even if the missive were to be intercepted and read, no one would know who Carlos was.

Meanwhile, Victorino remained quietly lost in thought within his study.

After Hamet returned from the battlefield, he had sung great praises of Ronin’s wisdom.

Originally, he had assumed Hamet was exaggerating somewhat, but today's meeting had truly opened his eyes, leaving him to feel that Hamet’s praises had actually been rather conservative.

Though their recent conversation had mostly revolved around the joint development of the port, Victorino could discern the young earl's clarity of mind and no small measure of ambition.

While the blueprint painted by his counterpart would require no short amount of time to realize, it was well worth a try, and the Dennis family had more than enough time to wait.

After all, they had been oppressed not just for a year or two; they could afford to wait another decade if need be.

Knock, knock.

The door was tapped, and Rhys pushed it open to enter.

"Father, you wished to see me."

Victorino offered a soft hum of affirmation, a faint smile gracing his features.

Now in his fifties, he did not know if he would ever manage to break through to become a Golden Knight in this lifetime; preserving the glory of the Dennis family remained his ultimate aspiration.

But his son, Rhys, was bound to become the first Golden Knight of the Dennis family, perhaps reaching even greater heights.

Therefore, he placed immense expectations on his eldest son.

"I have met with Ronin in private, and his performance far exceeds the rumors."

Victorino bestowed a high evaluation: "The Marquis must certainly have his eye on Ronin; from where I stand, the master of the Black Mountain Domain in the future will likely still be Ronin."

He looked at his son; Rhys excelled in every aspect, save for his poor sociability and a lack of the shrewdness expected of a nobleman.

Conversely, his second son, Jamie, possessed quite a talent for such matters, though his martial strength was rather underwhelming.

"On your journey escorting Ronin to Golden Feather City this time, you ought to interact with him properly to foster mutual understanding; it may well prove beneficial to you."

Rhys gave a brief nod of assent, seemingly showing little interest.

Victorino added, "Furthermore, I have already cleared it with Ronin; if you wish to spar and exchange pointers with him, you may bring it up, and he will agree."

Rhys's eyes gleamed with a sudden spark, "I understand, Father."

Compared to an exchange of words, he clearly favored an exchange of blades.

Victorino shook his head with a wry smile: "Rhys, you must learn how to interact with others like a true noble."

Yet Rhys remained entirely indifferent.

"Father, a noble might rely on socialization to maintain stability, but one cannot forever rely on socialization to ensure a family's enduring prosperity. If one's strength is sufficiently formidable, however, it can be done."

"An isolated powerhouse has no way of facing the siege of an allied army," Victorino reminded him.

"That is only because he is not yet strong enough."

Rhys spoke with absolute earnestness, "If it were a Blazing Sun Knight, I believe one could escape even from the siege of ten thousand men."

"Blazing Sun..."

Victorino wore a bitter smile; he was a viscount after all, and Horn Castle engaged in plenty of communication with the outside world, yet he had never heard any definitive news of anyone actually becoming a Blazing Sun Knight.

Rhys's ambition was commendable, but achieving it was far too difficult.

He waved his hand to bring the conversation to a close: "Very well, go down and rest up; we set sail tomorrow."

Rhys bowed and took his leave.

However, instead of returning to his quarters to rest, he went straight to Ronin’s courtyard.

Tom knocked on the door to report the news.

Ever since Ronin had harshly criticized them at Boulder Castle for privately letting Betty inside, they would now report ahead of time whenever someone wished to see Ronin, regardless of who the visitor was.

"What is he doing here?"

Ronin was currently soaking in a hot bath, "Have him wait in the living room, I shall be out shortly."

"Yes, my Lord!"

Ronin rose to dry himself, changed into a loose-fitting robe, and walked out, only to find the other man sitting upright on the living room sofa with his longsword resting at his side.

"Knight Rhys, what brings you to see me at such a late hour?"

"Earl Ronin, I have already arranged the vessels; we can depart tomorrow morning after breakfast."

Perhaps Victorino’s words had taken effect, or perhaps stating his purpose directly felt a bit too discourteous, so Rhys first uttered an irrelevant remark before standing up, his eyes burning as he stared intently at Ronin.

"Your Excellency, may we have a sparring match?"

Having listened to the man's first sentence, Ronin had been prepared to express his gratitude. Yet before the words could leave his mouth, they were choked right back down.

"Now?"

Ronin estimated that it was already close to midnight; who on earth would seek a duel at such an hour?

"Yes, now!"

Rhys spoke with intense anticipation, "Lately, I have been hearing constantly about how you slew a Meteor Knight, so I am very eager to experience your strength firsthand. My father just told me that you had already agreed to spar with me, so here I am!"

Ronin let out a sigh; he had indeed agreed, but he had never specified that the match would take place in the dead of night.

"David, go have the servants prepare more hot water for my bath."

With that, Ronin turned back into his room, changed into a fresh set of clothes, and emerged once more holding the Flame Current Sword.

"How shall we contest?"

For the first time, a smile broke across Rhys's face: "Let it be a contest of swordsmanship, what do you say?"

"Very well!"

Ronin stepped outside, "But if I should win, you must promise me that you will maintain a smile every time you see me."

The smile on Rhys's face instantly stiffened.

In a sparring match, there were many conditions a victor might impose, but they rarely strayed from wealth, women, or submission; demanding that someone smile was something he had never heard of before.

Rhys was not fond of smiling, but for the sake of the duel, he steeled himself and nodded: "Fine, I promise you!"

Only in swordsmanship, not in battle aura or combat techniques—he might not lose.

The two walked one after the other into the courtyard.

“Come on,” Luo Ning said.

“Alright!”

Ris drew his longsword with decisive speed, stepped forward, and closed the distance of several meters in an instant, thrusting sharply at Luo Ning’s face.

His speed was swift, his blade precise—clearly no mere showman’s flourish.

But Luo Ning reacted swiftly, evading the strike. In one fluid motion, he reversed his sword and lunged forward, forcing Ris to retreat, shifting instantly from offense to defense.

In their first clash, both sensed the other’s footwork and swordsmanship were far from amateur; their eyes grew solemn with mutual respect.

As the exchange continued, Luo Ning began to grasp the full measure of Ris’s ability.

Ris was no doubt a true knight, trained for years at the Royal Academy—his swordplay seamless, his transitions between advance and retreat effortless, his agile movements pressing like a tide.

Luo Ning had studied swordsmanship for barely over a year.

Though he had learned from Ridal and Macken, integrating their strengths into his own, his time was short—and in pure technique, Ris seemed to hold a slight edge.

Yet Luo Ning possessed strength, and with it, he compensated for his technical shortcomings, gaining the upper hand.

In the midnight courtyard, sparks flew with every clash of blades, the metallic ring echoing endlessly, the battle growing fiercer by the second.

Ris grew more grave with each passing moment—this Luo Ning was far stronger than he had ever imagined.

Prolonged pressure wore him down; his breath grew ragged, his arms trembling beneath the relentless assault.

Finally, after countless exchanges, Luo Ning brought down a heavy overhead slash that shattered Ris’s grip, sending his sword flying from his hand.

“You’ve lost.”

Luo Ning drew a deep breath, took the towel David offered, and wiped the sweat from his face.

“Come now, Sir Ris—smile.”

Ris panted, still unable to believe he had been defeated.

He glared at Luo Ning, unwilling. “My swordsmanship isn’t inferior to yours. You only hold advantage through brute strength.”

“Strength is also an expression of swordsmanship. Do you really need me to remind you of that, Sir Ris?”

Luo Ning handed the towel to David. “No matter how skilled your blade, you’ve lost. As a knight—and as the eldest son of the Dennis family—you wouldn’t break your word, would you?”

Ris’s chest heaved as he drew two deep breaths, steadying himself, then twisted his lips into a smile worse than a sob.

“Very well. You truly are a man of your word!”

Luo Ning praised, “Remember—keep that smile on your face every time you see me… until the day you defeat me.”

Ris’s forced smile grew even more grotesque. (End of chapter)