46- The Duel.

The battlefield roared with the clash of steel and the cries of dying men, yet amidst the chaos, a strange stillness settled around the two warriors standing at the center. Soldiers on both sides instinctively slowed their clashes, drawn to the duel about to unfold.

Aldric stood firm, his cloak billowing slightly from the residual wind magic he had used to thin the fog around him. Opposite him, a hulking knight clad in obsidian-black armor stepped forward, his greatsword resting against his shoulder like an executioner's blade. His very presence exuded dominance.

"I am Ragnar Velstair, champion of House Velthorn." The knight's voice carried across the battlefield, deep and unshaken. "I have slain hundreds of knights and warlords. You will be no different."

Aldric rolled his shoulders, breathing in the lingering mana around him, measuring what little remained. Unlike Ragnar, who stood heavily armored and carrying an enchanted greatsword, Aldric was in his standard leather and plate mix, lightly armored for mobility. His single sword felt lacking against the sheer weight of his enemy's weapon.

Then his eyes flicked to the body of a fallen knight beside him.

Without hesitation, Aldric reached down and wrenched the bloodied longsword from the corpse's grasp. He gave it a quick spin in his left hand before adjusting his stance, dual-wielding for the first time in this world.

Mara, watching from the sidelines, blinked in shock.

"Dual swords? He's never fought like that before," she muttered.

"Where the hell did he even learn that?" Tobias added, gripping his weapon tightly.

Aldric met his gaze with a smirk. "You talk too much."

Ragnar scoffed. "You will kneel before me, whelp."

Without warning, Ragnar lunged forward, moving far faster than his bulky armor suggested. His greatsword cleaved through the air in a devastating downward arc, aiming to split Aldric in half.

Instead of stepping back, he rushed forward, moving inside Ragnar's attack range. His left sword clashed against the flat of the incoming blade, redirecting its force just enough to barely miss his body.

At the same time, his right sword shot forward in a thrust aimed at Ragnar's exposed armpit.

Ragnar twisted at the last second, his armor taking the brunt of the strike, but the unexpected maneuver forced him back.

Arnis. Eskrima. Kali. Aldric's mind processed centuries of modern martial arts techniques—filipino dual-blade combat, adapted to a medieval battlefield.

Most swordsmen in this world relied on sheer force, brute swings, and predictable counters. But Aldric? He wasn't bound by tradition.

A modern combat principle—get inside the opponent's power range.

Ragnar stepped in again, swinging in a horizontal arc.

Aldric ducked, closing the distance before Ragnar could recover. His left sword struck low, a quick slicing motion aimed at the knight's shin. But Ragnar's enchanted armor held.

So Aldric adapted.

He retaliated immediately.

Using Ragnar's own momentum against him, Aldric swept his leg, aiming for the back of the knee—another vulnerable joint.

Ragnar staggered but did not fall.

The watching soldiers gasped.

One of Velthorn's Knights muttered. "That's… what kind of fighting stance is that?"

Aldric is mixing techniques. Footwork, counters, parries not your avarage sword and shield fighting style.

Ragnar growled, forcing himself back into stance. "You're fast, I'll admit that. But you cannot cut through my armor."

Aldric smirked. "I don't need to."

He reached out with his magic, feeling the moisture in the air. With a flick of his fingers, he subtly coated the ground beneath Ragnar's feet in a thin layer of ice.

Ragnar stepped forward—

And his foot slipped.

It was only for a fraction of a second, but against someone like Aldric, that was all he needed.

Aldric surged forward, his right blade flashing towards Ragnar's helmet. The knight barely raised his greatsword in time, blocking the strike, but Aldric was already moving again.

His left sword slammed into Ragnar's gauntlet—hard.

The battle truly began.

Ragnar came at him again, this time with a brutal upward swing. Aldric ducked beneath it and kicked off the ground, flipping backward while twisting in mid-air—a movement unheard of in this era. He landed gracefully, both swords at the ready.

Ragnar didn't give him time to rest. He launched into a relentless barrage of heavy, sweeping strikes—each one capable of breaking bones or cleaving a lesser man in two.

Aldric wove between them, his footwork fluid and unpredictable. He sidestepped, pivoted, and redirected attacks rather than blocking them head-on, conserving energy while forcing Ragnar to exhaust himself.

Then Aldric struck back.

With a burst of wind magic, he propelled himself forward, spinning into Ragnar's blind spot. His left sword came in low, slicing across the back of Ragnar's knee—this time cutting through a weak point in the armor.

Ragnar roared in pain and swung wildly, but Aldric was already gone, using another wind burst to reposition.

For the first time, Ragnar looked shaken.

"You bastard—!"

Aldric pressed his advantage.

He lifted his left hand slightly, sensing the moisture in the air. With a slight manipulation of water magic, he condensed the humidity around Ragnar's feet and instantly froze it.

The knight's next step slipped on the ice.

It was a small moment—barely half a second—but it was enough.

Aldric surged forward, his right sword flashing towards Ragnar's helmet. The knight barely raised his greatsword in time, blocking the strike, but Aldric was already moving again.

With his left hand, he struck—not with the blade, but with the hilt.

A loud crack echoed as the pommel smashed into Ragnar's visor, denting the steel.

Ragnar roared, his monstrous greatsword descending like a guillotine, the sheer force behind the swing enough to split a man in two.

But Aldric didn't back down.

Instead of dodging, blocking, or even parrying, he did something unthinkable—he dropped his two swords.

The steel clattered against the blood-soaked ground.

For a fraction of a second, Ragnar's eyes flickered with confusion. What kind of fool abandons his weapons mid-fight?

That split-second hesitation was all Aldric needed.

As the massive sword came crashing down, Aldric stepped in—inside the arc of the swing—where the weapon's force was at its weakest.

His hands moved with surgical precision, one gripping the greatsword's broad flat edge, while the other latched onto the hilt, just beneath Ragnar's gauntleted grip.

Momentum. Leverage. Control.

Aldric's body twisted like a coiling serpent, redirecting Ragnar's own power against him. Rather than fighting the downward motion, he flowed with it—angling the sword just enough to break Ragnar's grip.

The pressure on the hilt shifted. The knight's ironclad fingers slipped.

A heartbeat later—the weapon was no longer Ragnar's.

The sword now belonged to Aldric.

But he wasn't done.

Without pausing, Aldric let the stolen greatsword's momentum carry it into a full sweeping arc. His fingers adjusted instantly, shifting from a defensive grip to an offensive one.

And then—he struck back.

The massive blade sang through the air, moving faster than a weapon of its size should have. Ragnar barely had time to react before a brutal gash split across his black armor.

A sickening crunch echoed through the battlefield.

Blood sprayed as Ragnar staggered backward, his once-pristine armor now marred by a deep, jagged wound.

For the first time, the strongest knight of Velthorn faltered.

The enemy forces gasped.

"Did he just—?"

"He's treating that knight like a recruit!"

But Adlric didn't give him time to recover

Aldric charged toward Ragnar, his greatsword raised high, its steel gleaming under the dim battlefield light. With a fierce roar, he swung the massive blade in a brutal downward arc, forcing Ragnar to brace for impact.

But just as steel was about to clash, the attack never came. At the last second, Aldric let go of his weapon, allowing the heavy sword to drop as he shifted his stance with lightning-fast precision. Before Ragnar could react, Aldric surged forward, closing the distance in an instant.

With a sudden step, Aldric hooked his foot behind Ragnar's knee in a deashi harai an advanced foot sweep, disrupting his balance. Before Ragnar could recover, Aldric's grip locked onto his opponent's arm, seamlessly transitioning into a waki gatame and armpit arm lock. Pain flared through Ragnar's shoulder as Aldric wrenched the limb with expert precision, forcing him off balance and sending him crashing toward the ground.

As Aldric completed the throw, he called upon his magic. The earth beneath Ragnar softened in an instant, turning into a deep, sucking mire. The once-solid ground gave way, dragging the knight down like a predator swallowing its prey.

The battlefield fell silent.

Aldric stood over his fallen opponent, his breath steady.

Ragnar Velstair—the strongest knight of House Velthorn—had never been thrown before.

But Aldric wasn't finished.

Raising his hand, he pulled the last remnants of mana from the air. With a seamless blend of earth and water magic, he forced the pit to harden once more. The mud solidified into solid rock, encasing Ragnar's entire body beneath the surface. Only his head remained above ground, his furious, helpless eyes glaring up at Aldric.

No hesitation. No mercy.

Aldric gripped his sword and drove it down.

The blade plunged through Ragnar's visor, straight between his eyes. His body gave one last, violent twitch—then fell still, forever entombed in the very battlefield he once ruled.

With a sharp pull, Aldric wrenched his sword free.

Ragnar Velstair was dead.

A heavy silence followed.

Then, one of the enemy soldiers whispered in horror, "He… he killed Ragnar…"

The realization spread like wildfire. Fear took root in Velthorn's ranks.

Aldric wiped the blood from his blade and turned toward the enemy forces.

He raised his sword and pointed it toward Velthorn's castle.

"Storm the keep!"

His soldiers roared.

The final battle was about to begin.