Ugh, nobles really are the same everywhere—obsessed with political marriages…
Rean stood behind Gloria, expression dripping with disdain as he eyed the door ahead.
If Gloria could hear it, there was no reason Rean couldn’t—and for him, it went far beyond mere hearing. He even caught the faint threat woven into the speaker’s tone inside. The unspoken message was clear: refuse to wed Gloria to him, and all aid to Yethania would vanish instantly.
To neighboring nobles, Yethania had barely survived a grueling war—undoubtedly thanks to outside support. Otherwise, they’d never have held out until Rean arrived.
So whether demanding wartime compensation or repayment for past aid, they had grounds to press Tyler. Frankly, asking for his daughter’s hand might even count as modest.
To Rean? Utter nonsense.
At the end of the day, this guy showing up personally to propose was pure lust-driven arrogance. “Future friendship”? Threatening to cut aid? If he was *that* capable, why not wipe out Mammon’s army himself instead of waiting for Rean? If merit decided rewards, Rean deserved priority—he’d marry Gloria first. That younger brother inside could wait his turn…
*(Purely hypothetical, of course. Rean would never entertain such an absurd idea.)*
After all, the one waiting back home was vital to Celestial Realm relations. Best not provoke her…
Anyway—the Sherman family of Albani…
Rean sifted through memories but drew a blank. He knew Albani, the commercial city bordering Yethania, yet the Shermans remained a mystery. Not his fault—he rarely lingered in human cities. His last step into the Kingdom of Tiyehua was five or six years ago.
“So… planning to eavesdrop till they finish? Hey!”
Rean leaned against the opposite wall like it was theater—until Gloria, silent moments prior, suddenly kicked the door open. *BAM!* It slammed inward, startling everyone inside.
*Tsk, tsk…* What a fiery-tempered girl.
Rean glanced at the three stunned figures: Tyler staring blankly at the doorway; a well-dressed brown-haired man seated across from him; and an elderly butler in black behind the man, eyes slightly closed, clearly wishing to stay uninvolved.
“Gloria! Don’t interfere—”
“Lord Ziseg Sherman,” Gloria cut in, voice firm yet measured, “I’ve stated clearly I have no intention of marriage. *Sigh*… Please cease these meaningless discussions.”
(She’d already tossed etiquette out the window the moment she kicked the door down.)
Tyler recovered quickly. “As you see, my daughter refuses. Kindly take your leave. Our friendship may continue through other means.” He clearly disliked Ziseg’s demand—Gloria’s sudden move had just caught him off guard.
“No need to rush marriage. A formal engagement would suffice.”
Even after the kicked door and blunt refusal, Ziseg showed no anger. He rose calmly and bowed.
*Hmph. Persistent.* From Gloria’s words, he’d been rejected before—yet here he was again.
Could he actually… like her?
But—
“Tsk, tsk, tsk… Sir, feigning ignorance of a lady’s refusal and persisting? Hardly gentlemanly.”
“And who *are* you?” Ziseg’s gaze snapped to Rean—slouched, insolent, radiating zero respect. A vein twitched faintly on his temple.
“Just a passing knight. Tasked with protecting Lady Gloria from fang-baring villains—at least today. Remember that.”
“You call *me* the villain?”
“Feel free to take the seat.”
Rean’s subtle, provoking smile deepened. No need to respect a spoiled brat irrelevant to his plans. A few barbs to bruise his pride and send him slinking home? Perfect.
Besides—if we’re naming villains, this junior didn’t qualify.
“Lady Gloria refused. Act wisely. Avoid humiliation. And sir—where’s this confidence from? That marrying her equals protection? A man offering no security isn’t appealing.”
“How *daring*,” Ziseg’s eyes widened with simmering anger. “Since you doubt my ability… you wish to *test* me?”
“I’m glad you understand. Prepare the items.”
“Arm the swords!”
…
Back in the study, Tyler bowed apologetically. “I failed in raising my daughter—forgive the scene, Sir Rean.”
At Ziseg’s request, dueling swords were readied. During the wait, Tyler quietly explained: The Shermans were newly ennobled four years ago, granted Albani City after the prior lord was summoned to the Royal Capital’s court for corruption. The first Earl Sherman—Ziseg’s father—quickly restored Albani’s finances, increased tributes, and even aided neighbors like Yethania against Mammon’s forces.
Ziseg, the youngest son, was spoiled and arrogant. Even citizens loyal to his father held him in disdain.
*Oddly familiar…*
Rean’s thoughts brushed buried memories. He stayed silent.
“No harm done. She spoke her mind—that’s honest.”
“So you’ll *really* duel him?” Gloria interjected from the sofa, voice tight. “His elder brother’s the royal swordmaster! He’s trained!”
“Gloria! Sir Rean accepted *for you*—” Tyler frowned. “Please excuse her, Sir Rean. She’s… impulsive.”
*Too late, old man. I knew your daughter had fire.* If you’d warned me yesterday, today’s meeting—and duel—might’ve gone smoother.
Truth was, Gloria wasn’t mocking him. She respected his magical prowess but worried: duels demanded swordsmanship. He didn’t look like a warrior. *What if he dies for me…?*
Rean stole glances as her expression shifted—from cold to tense, to worried. Her hands clasped tightly; a whispered prayer escaped her lips. He hid a smile.
*What a tsundere little thing.*
“Time’s up. I’ll go.”
Rean stretched, strode out. Gloria and Tyler followed to the front courtyard. Butler and maids stood ready with first aid.
*(Though their skills wouldn’t save anyone.)*
“Hmph. Thought you’d lost your nerve.” Ziseg sneered, sword raised as Rean approached leisurely.
“My apologies. *You* insisted on dueling here—I needed a moment.”
Rean took the offered sword, tossed the scabbard aside, and glanced past the iron gate. Passersby had already stopped to watch.
“Enough talk. Begin.”
Ziseg gripped his blade, eyes locked on Rean.
“Ah. Begin.”
Rean stepped back. His tone turned glacial; his gaze sharpened like Demon Realm polar ice—merely meeting it felt like blades scraping skin.
“Begin!”
*Heavenly Sword First Form: Petal Scatter.*
Jagged notches erupted across Rean’s blade—cracked, yet whole.
“The match is decided… This sword’s flimsy.” He shook his head, straightening up.
“What nonsense! We’ve only just—”
Ziseg sputtered—then froze. His sword shattered. His clothes followed, disintegrating into countless fragments that fluttered down in two silent waves around him.
