Life Is So Unfair.

Eren gazed lazily at the knight, his expression cold and unreadable. A red mark had formed on the man's left cheek, evidence of the humiliating strike he had just received. Raising his sword slightly, Eren taunted him with a slow, indifferent voice.

"What's wrong?"

"Surprised that I blocked your attack and even landed a hit on you?"

His tone remained emotionless, yet his words carried a sharp edge.

"Did you really think I was weak and easy to defeat?"

As he spoke, Eren swung his sword slightly, his cold gaze locking onto the knight. A chilling killing intent momentarily flickered in his eyes, sending a shiver down Bolder's spine. Instinctively, the knight jumped back, his breath heavy.

'What was that?!'

For a brief moment, he had felt as if he was about to be cut in half. But when he looked at Eren again, the boy's face remained the same—lazy, stoic, as if nothing had happened. Was it just his imagination?

It was only now that Bolder finally registered the pain on his cheek. He touched the red mark, his fingers trembling slightly. It stung, it burning, humiliating pain, no different from a hard slap.

Then, Eren muttered something in his usual lazy tone.

"Ten."

His voice was calm, indifferent, yet his words left the knight and the onlookers confused.

"I will hit you ten times before knocking the sword out of your hand. That's my plan."

A stunned silence filled the training ground. Some of the spectators scoffed, unwilling to believe the young master could achieve such a feat. They dismissed his first hit as mere luck, a fortunate accident rather than skill.

Eren continued, his tone dripping with boredom.

"The rules say the winner is decided by knocking the opponent's weapon away. But that's too boring."

With a smirk, he stabbed his wooden sword into the ground, leaning on it casually.

"So instead, I'll land ten hits on you first—before I finish this duel."

His words made Bolder grit his teeth in fury. His hands clenched tightly around his sword, veins bulging in frustration. The sheer arrogance of this noble brat was unbearable.

Even Mereoleona and the other knights watching were stunned. Was Eren overconfident? Or was there something more to his words?

Eren lifted his sword again, assuming the same stance as before. His expression was cold, his eyes mocking.

"One hit has landed. Nine more to go."

His lips curled into a smirk as he uttered the final provocation.

"Come, Commoner."

That was the last straw.

"GRAAAAAA!!"

Bolder roared in fury, his anger blinding him as he charged recklessly at Eren. He no longer cared about holding back. He would put this arrogant brat in his place, even if it meant injuring him.

Meanwhile, Gareth felt hesitated. He had been considering stopping the duel, but after witnessing Eren's previous counterattack, he found himself second-guessing. Was it really just luck? Or was there something more to the young master's abilities?

Just as he took a step forward, planning to stop the dual, his sharp eyes caught a subtle movement—Eren shifting his right foot slightly to the side.

And then—

—Tuck!

—Shush!

At the perfect moment, Eren dodged and deflected the incoming strike with impeccable timing. Before Bolder could recover, Eren swiftly countered, delivering a sharp blow to the knight's side.

"Urgh!"

Bolder groaned in pain, stumbling backward. His left hand instinctively clutched the spot where he had been struck in his abdomen on the side.

A second time.

The spectators were stunned into silence once again.

This wasn't luck.

Some of the onlookers, especially the mansion's servants, still refused to believe it. But those with experience in combat—the knights, the commander, the butler, and even Mereoleona—were starting to see the truth.

Eren wasn't an amateur.

"That's two."

Eren's voice was calm as he rested his sword on his shoulder, gazing at Bolder with a lazy expression. His disappointment was clear.

Bolder's rage boiled over. His pride as a knight, his strength, his dignity—this brat was trampling over all of it.

With a loud snarl, he raised his sword high and charged at Eren once more.

—Tuck!

—Shush!

Again.

Eren dodged and deflected the attack smoothly, effortlessly creating another opening. Without hesitation, he thrust his wooden sword into Bolder's stomach.

"Guh!"

Bolder stumbled back, groaning in pain. His knee hit the ground as he clutched his abdomen, his breathing ragged.

Eren stood over him, his cold, lazy gaze unchanging.

"Get up."

His tone was calm, but his words carried a cruel edge.

"I still have seven more hits to give you, commoner."

Bolder's fists tightened around his sword. His body ached, his pride burned, but the greatest pain was the humiliation. The insult of being toyed with by a noble brat made his blood boil.

Mereoleona's warning flashed in his mind—but it was too late.

With nothing but rage clouding his thoughts, Bolder let out another furious battle cry and lunged at Eren once more.

Eren simply smiled.

…

Five minutes later.

…

The knight was struggling.

Every attack he launched, every desperate strike—Eren countered them all.

His swordsmanship was fluid, precise. He moved with such ease that it almost seemed effortless. Every time Bolder tried to land a hit, his strike was deflected with perfect timing, leaving him open to another painful counterattack.

Again and again, Eren struck him.

His face.

His stomach.

His neck.

His legs.

His knee.

Any part of his body not protected by armor was fair game.

The training ground was silent, save for the sounds of Eren's wooden sword repeatedly landing solid, painful hits.

The spectators were frozen in shock.

Some still refused to believe it.

But those with real experience like Leon, the knight commander, and the butler—they could see the truth clearly.

Eren wasn't a beginner.

His movements, his counterattacks, his precise strikes—there was no waste.

No unnecessary movements.

It was as if he could read Bolder's every move before it even happened.

And that was far more terrifying than any of them had expected.

Meanwhile, Mereoleona was staring intensely at the duel with a fierce gaze, her fists clenched tightly. She wasn't worried about her knight escort losing, nor did she care as she watched him get beaten and humiliated. Instead, she was frustrated—seeing Eren wielding the wooden sword with such mastery, completely dominating the knight, as if he had trained for years—more than her.

How is he this strong?

That was the question that plagued her mind. Just by looking at Eren's movements, his technique appeared flawless, precise, and highly refined. She recalled their first meeting in the guest room, where he had given off the aura of a weak, lazy, arrogant, and spoiled noble boy. That was the impression she had after analyzing him. She had even noticed how his hands were completely clean and soft, like those of a newborn—a clear sign that he had never held a sword in his life.

But now, he was like a completely different person. The aura of weakness had vanished, replaced by the presence of an expert swordsman. That was what she felt.

Yet, despite all this, Eren still carried the same lazy, indifferent expression.

'Could it be that he's an Awakener?' Mereoleona thought suspiciously. Could he have been hiding his awakening, and was an Awakener just like her?

But then, she immediately dismissed the idea. It was impossible for someone like Eren to be an Awakener and possess such high-level sword skills. Unless, of course, he had trained diligently—but that was highly unlikely given his infamous reputation for laziness. And his unknown illness (which she believes it real)

So, she arrived at two possible conclusions:

1. The rumors about his illness were a lie—a cover-up.

2. He possessed a high-ranking Skill related to swordsmanship.

To Mereoleona, the second option seemed more likely. Nothing else could explain what she was witnessing. If Eren had a powerful Skill related to the sword, that would make sense. After all, she had read about certain historical figures who had similar abilities—like those who could wield magic effortlessly without prior training or studying. and those who grew stronger just by consuming the flesh of monsters.

The thought of Eren having such a powerful Skill made Mereoleona bite her lip in anger until it bled.

For an arrogant, lazy, and spoiled noble brat like Eren to have something as incredible as a powerful Skill—it was unfair. It disgusted her.

'Why? Why is it always the corrupt, arrogant nobles who get everything they want?'

She trained hard every day to become stronger. Her family struggled daily for their territory and their people—training, defending, and fighting monsters—while other nobles simply lounged in luxury, living off their wealth.

It was truly infuriating.

'Life is so unfair.'

If Eren could hear her thoughts, he'd probably say something like:

"Bruh, then just jump out the window, woman."

—With a lazy, stoic face.

.....

Back to the duel, the knight was now fighting recklessly, swinging his wooden sword wildly. At first, when the duel began, he had been focused on winning. But now, his rage had overtaken him, making him easy to read—allowing Eren to exploit every mistake.

—Shush!

Eren deflected another attack and then struck Bolder on the back of the head with the hilt of his sword.

—Bang!

The knight lost his balance and collapsed onto his hands and knees, but still gripping his sword. He was breathing heavily, sweat dripping from his forehead and pooling on the ground. His wide eyes trembled in disbelief—unable to accept that he was losing.

"Nine."

Eren's cold, indifferent tone jolted him back to reality. The boy looked down at the knight with a bored expression, his gaze filled with mild disappointment and annoyance.

But more than anything, Eren was irritated and sure annoyed, because his time was being wasted—by this stupid knight, the annoying red-haired brat, and this entire pointless duel.

He just wanted to return to his room, collapse onto his bed, and play some video games.

Yet his old habits had gotten the best of him, making him accept this ridiculous challenge in the first place.

'Why did I even agree to this? I should've just thrown him in jail or killed him instead. That would have been faster.'

Useless, who was able to hear its Master thought, stared blankly at him—its dull, unreadable like-eyes seeming to say:

"Wasn't it you who came up with the duel in the first place?"

Of course, the system kept that thought to itself, not wanting to provoke its master's annoyance any further.