“I said, I hope this beautiful Bloodkin lady will be my wife.” The man didn’t find it odd at all; he said it again, like ringing a bell across the room.

The tavern’s hush burst like a boiling pot, and voices spilled out.

“Bro, she’s Bloodkin. She might be older than your whole family tree. Don’t, man.”

“For real. And this is out of line. Who proposes on sight to a stranger, even as a joke—and with a Duel?”

“You’re drunk on her looks, bro. I get it, but still.”

Their scolding rolled like wind over wheat. The man didn’t sway an inch; he kept smiling, a warm sun with a cold center, and watched Lucimia.

Lucimia’s brows knit, a shadow like a thin cloud, and she said, “What if I refuse?”

“Heh. Since this beautiful Bloodkin lady refuses, there’s nothing I can do…” His voice fell soft, like a leaf on water.

A few patrons exhaled together, relief like a tide going out. At least he had a hint of manners, they thought.

But his tone turned on a heel. He straightened, that gentle smile still painted on like lacquer. “Then I’ll have to… challenge you to a Duel.”

As the words fell like a gavel, a longsword sigil flared on the backs of both their hands, sharp as frost.

Lucimia lifted her hand and studied the glowing blade. She murmured, “Rule Three: if the opponent says [Duel] out loud, the challenged cannot refuse. Right?”

Curiosity pricked like a thorn. Could this [Duel] touch anything at all? Even something as absurd as “be my wife”?

She’d suspected it already: maybe unique gifts, even Authority Power, could be enforced through a [Duel].

For example, the victor could strip the loser’s gift or Authority Power and wear it like a new cloak.

She’d even guessed Rexi’s memory gift came this way. Rexi hadn’t been a memory wielder before. Her father took her overseas by ship—was it to come here and duel? Did he duel every memory-gifter ashore until Rexi received that Authority Power?

While Lucimia’s thoughts drifted like smoke, the man’s provocation lit the patrons like tinder. Eyes widened; the room buzzed like a hive.

“Hey, what are you doing? You got a death wish? If you ‘win’ her, the Enforcer Squad will come duel you. They’re pros, iron and law, and it ends ugly!”

“Yeah! Don’t be dumb. Beg her to go easy, make the loss gentler, then surrender clean. We’ll pretend this never happened.”

“Seriously.”

Their words laid him a staircase down, like a bridge in mist. He didn’t step on it. He just said, “Please. Set your Duel terms.”

His confidence gleamed like polished steel; the smile stayed.

A heaviness tugged in Lucimia’s chest, like an anchor in deep water. She looked up at the “cultured” man before her.

Call him rude, yet his gestures matched etiquette like lines on rice paper; his compliments were smooth as silk.

Call him polite, yet he proposed on sight and then lunged for a [Duel]. It reeked of rudeness, like wine gone sour.

And whatever anyone said, that smile didn’t move. It was a smile that hid a blade.

This was getting melodramatic and absurd, like a street play in the rain. Lucimia didn’t buy it. He had another purpose, came prepared. Win or lose, he’d profit.

After a breath of thought that ran like a quick river, she didn’t set the terms. She asked, “What’s your name?”

“Roen,” he answered with that same spring-bright smile.

“Good.” Lucimia nodded. She didn’t give her name. She went on, “Rule Four: the Duel initiator can define the outcomes for winner and loser. But it must fit Rule Two’s fairness, unless the challenged accepts it. So, if you lose, what’s your outcome?”

“I can die.” Roen said it as simply as the weather, and fear didn’t touch his eyes.

That threw fog over the path. What did he want? Was he sent by the Time Stasis Bearer? Was he here to probe Lucimia’s Duel capability?

If the Time Stasis Bearer challenged Lucimia, then Lucimia would set the terms. Was the Bearer testing what kind of Duel she’d choose?

While Lucimia’s thoughts circled like hawks, Rexi couldn’t hold it. She stepped forward and snapped, “Wait!”

Roen’s gaze slid to Rexi, warm as a lamp. “What is it, miss? You’re beautiful too, but I—”

“Stuff it!” Rexi cut him off like a knife through paper. “Listen, she’s mine! If you want her, you duel me!”

As Rexi’s words slammed down, a longsword sigil rose on her hand like fire. At the same time, the sigil on Lucimia’s hand faded like dew.

Lucimia blinked, caught by surprise, a heartbeat skipping like a stone. What was that?

Could a [Duel] be hijacked midstream? Or… when [Duel] didn’t know whether Lucimia was already “spoken for,” Roen’s challenge took hold. Then Rexi claimed Lucimia as hers, and [Duel] ruled the dispute had shifted—from Roen versus Lucimia to Roen versus Rexi. So the Duel transferred.

Rule One really meant it: every dispute, conflict, demand, even the dirty ones, could be settled by [Duel], like lightning finding a rod.

But from the patrons’ talk, if you duel for something bad, the Enforcers will duel it back. The Enforcers sounded like iron hammers.

Interesting. New rules like fresh tracks in snow.

Lucimia suddenly wanted to see if these regulations hid more gears and springs, special mechanisms she could use later.

Rexi stared at the blade on her hand, stunned for a beat, like a deer in sun. Lucimia leaned close and whispered, breath soft as a feather, “Duel him. I need intel.”

“O-oh!” Rexi’s fighting spirit rose like a torch. She told Roen, “You’re the Duel initiator, right? You decide the outcomes. I’ll set the terms.”

Lucimia watched Roen.

His smile stayed, but a hairline crack showed like a shadow under ice. He took a slow breath and looked at Rexi. “Didn’t expect you to cut in. That’s troublesome.”

“Huh? What do you mean?” Rexi frowned, confusion like fog.

“You leaked a bit,” Roen said with a sigh and a smile, like rain on eaves. “And you’re wrong. Now I set the Duel terms. And I set the outcomes too, because you just ceded them.”

“Hah? Why?” Rexi blinked, the gears catching late.

Lucimia understood at once, clarity like a struck match.

Rexi, the hijacker, became the Duel initiator. By rule, the challenged—Roen—now sets the terms.

And Rexi, assuming he was the initiator, told him to decide the outcomes. She’d handed away her rights with her own tongue.