Officially Member

Jinny was gathering the hanging clothes and placing them back into the basket when she noticed Sir Yehuda walking alone. Her eyes sparkled, and she quickly called out to him.

"Sir Yehuda!" She waved enthusiastically.

Yehuda glanced in her direction and smiled before making his way toward her.

"How have you been settling into the palace?" he asked.

"I'm doing well! Everyone here has been so kind to me," she replied, her voice warm with gratitude.

Yehuda smiled and gently patted her head. "I'm glad to hear that."

Jinny blushed, unable to hide her happiness whenever he was around. After a brief hesitation, she mustered the courage to ask, "Ah, by the way… D-Did Her Highness speak to you?"

Yehuda let out a small chuckle and scratched the back of his head. "Oh... yes. She scolded me."

Jinny's expression fell. "I'm so sorry! You got in trouble because of me… It's all my fault."

Yehuda shook his head. "No, don't worry about it. I made my own decisions. Besides, it's already settled—her Highness let it slide. I'm just relieved she didn't have you expelled from the palace."

Jinny's worry melted into a grateful smile. "Thank you again, Sir Yehuda."

He returned her smile, his eyes filled with warmth.

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....

The barbarians roared with excitement, their cheers echoing through the battlefield as they watched Ragnar and Kiko duel. The crowd was entirely on their chief's side.

"Chief is unbeatable. There's no way he'll lose," one barbarian declared confidently.

"Yeah. Poor Kiko… too bad he caught the chief's attention in the wrong way," another added, shaking his head.

The others nodded in agreement, their eyes fixed on the fight.

Ragnar let out a booming laugh. "HAHAHAHA! Come on! Hit me!" he taunted, spreading his arms wide.

He kept provoking Kiko, daring him to attack. But Kiko remained silent, ignoring the chief's relentless teasing.

Growing impatient, Ragnar lunged first. His strikes were fast—blindingly fast—but Kiko dodged every single one. Again and again, Ragnar attacked, and each time, Kiko evaded with precision. The chief's frustration grew as he realized he couldn't land a hit.

The spectators were stunned. Never before had they seen anyone match Ragnar's speed, let alone avoid his attacks so effortlessly.

"Ha! Is that all you've got? Dodging?" Ragnar sneered. "Why don't you try fighting back?"

Kiko stopped moving. He closed his eyes and exhaled deeply, trying to suppress the urge to retaliate. He knew the moment he struck Ragnar, the chief would unleash his full wrath. He wasn't here to pick a fight—he wanted to avoid one.

But Ragnar kept pushing him. Kept provoking him.

Kiko had no choice now.

In the blink of an eye, he moved. Faster than anyone could process. A blur of motion.

Before Ragnar could react, Kiko struck. His punches came swift and precise, forcing Ragnar to shield his face. The crowd gasped. Kiko was relentless, his attacks unyielding. And then—

A sharp sting.

A thin line of blood trickled down Ragnar's face.

For the first time, the mighty chief had been scratched.

Kiko was skilled in combat, having been trained daily by his father since childhood. His father always reminded him that strength was essential—it was the only way to protect his mother and siblings.

However, Kiko's true expertise lay in firearms. From a young age, he displayed exceptional skill with a gun. His favorite weapon was a cherished gift from his uncle, Mikhail—a token that fueled his passion and sharpened his aim.

The Colt M1877 was a rare and antique revolver, no longer produced in the modern firearms industry. In short, it was a true vintage piece. Kiko's uncle had purchased it for a hefty sum, intending it as a special gift for Kiko's 13th birthday.

To Kiko, the gun was more than just a weapon—it was a treasured heirloom. He reserved it for moments when his family's safety was at stake. In ordinary battles, he relied on a standard revolver, but when true danger loomed, the Colt M1877 was the one he reached for.

Ragnar staggered back slightly, his eyes widening in shock. He had underestimated this young warrior. A slow smirk stretched across his lips. "Interesting…"

Summoning his full strength, Ragnar launched a devastating punch. Kiko barely had time to raise both arms in defense before the impact sent him flying. He crashed to the ground, gritting his teeth in pain.

Damn it. He's strong.

Panting, Kiko wiped the blood from his mouth. He glanced down, irritated at the dirt smeared all over him. He hated getting dirty.

Ragnar laughed heartily. "I admit, I didn't expect this. I never thought I'd face an opponent as strong as you, especially someone so young."

Kiko exhaled sharply. "Why don't we end this fight now?"

Ragnar raised a brow before grinning. "Hah! You finally speak!" He cracked his knuckles. "End it now? Are you tired already?"

His grin widened. "Fine! Then I'll finish this with one final attack—at full strength!"

Ragnar summoned his full strength once more and charged toward Kiko like an unstoppable force. The spectators tensed, their excitement laced with worry.

What if Ragnar accidentally kills Kiko?

Among them, Froilan stood silently, his expression unreadable. No one could tell whether he was concerned or indifferent.

Kiko braced himself, eyes sharp, muscles coiled. At the last second, he dodged the deadly strike. A collective gasp rippled through the crowd. But Ragnar wasn't finished. With a sudden, unexpected move, he launched another attack—one Kiko hadn't anticipated.

BOOGSH!

Ragnar's fist landed squarely against Kiko's face, sending him crashing to the ground.

The barbarians erupted into cheers. Their chief had won.

Kiko lay sprawled on the dirt, feeling the throbbing pain in his face. The distant sounds of Ragnar's laughter and the roaring crowd rang in his ears. He stared blankly at the bright sky above, his chest rising and falling in slow, controlled breaths.

Suddenly, Ragnar's grinning face blocked his view.

"Heh." The chief smirked. "I can't believe I've met someone with such incredible skill in battle."

Kiko averted his gaze, saying nothing.

Ragnar chuckled. "Since you're strong, I'll let you into my tribe."

He extended his hand toward Kiko.

Kiko's eyes widened in surprise. He stared at the outstretched hand, momentarily stunned.

"Welcome to my tribe, young man." Ragnar said.

For a long second, Kiko hesitated. Then, finally, he reached out and grasped Ragnar's hand. The chief pulled him to his feet.

The moment their hands met, the barbarians erupted into a deafening cheer.

"Alright! Tonight, we feast!" Ragnar declared.

The barbarians roared in celebration, the excitement spreading through the camp.

Amidst the chaos, Froilan suddenly stepped forward, his piercing gaze locked onto Kiko.

"We need to talk. Privately."

Kiko turned to him, puzzled. But what confused him even more was the strange familiarity in Froilan's face.

Why… does this man look like my father?