“Okay,” Jareth said, chuckling at his allegation. “Please tell me the problem?”

“Let’s establish the facts first,” Elysian stated, smirking at the old man’s performance. “You’re stronger than my father, or at the very least, on par with him.”

Suddenly, the soldiers’ eyes widened in shock upon hearing the assertion. It wasn’t surprising; the Baron was considered the strongest in the barony and a widely known swordsman in the kingdom. After looking at each other, they turned to the mercenary, studying him more seriously.

“How did you even arrive at that assumption?” Jareth questioned, chuckling at the stares directed towards him.

“Why? Am I wrong?” the young noble asked, raising a brow, daring the old man to deny what he just said.

“I won’t confirm or deny,” the mercenary chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. “We never fought. How would I know who's stronger?”

“It’s simple. Who has the higher cultivation level?”

Jareth suddenly laughed and stated, “Brat, that’s confidential. No one in their right mind gives their cultivation level or all things related to their cultivation. That’s simply suicidal. Also, someone’s level of cultivation doesn’t dictate who’s stronger.”

“From what you just said, it confirmed my assumption. You have a higher cultivation level than my father, but not by a lot,” Elysian remarked, smiling while he kept observing him.

“How did you know?” the mercenary asked, growing serious. “Since you already knew my name earlier, the likely person who can tell you about me is your father, which I doubt he would do,” he stated. Turning to the commander, he inquired, “Did you tell him about me, Cedric?”

“Absolutely not, sir,” the commander quickly denied. “I’m also confident that the Baron won’t disclose any information about you to the young master.”

“If not you and your lord, then who?” Jareth asked. Examining the boy once more, he inquired. “Can you tell me your source?”

Elysian just stared at him, not saying anything.

“If you won’t tell me, I guess I’ll keep quiet then,” the mercenary remarked, sighing.

“Hey, everyone!” Elysian suddenly exclaimed, attracting all the attention. “Is anyone confident enough to get that dagger in the next thirty minutes if he’s as strong as the Baron, or might even be stronger?”

Looking at each other, everyone’s expressions instantly fell upon the realization of who they were dealing with.

“If what the young master said is right, winning this is simply impossible,” Yorick stated, studying the mercenary carefully. Slowly stepping forward, he remarked, “For this bet to continue, I suggest you have a handicap.”

“A handicap?” the mercenary repeated, mulling over the proposition. “Okay, I will agree to that. In the name of fairness, I’ll limit myself to using only fifty percent of my aura, and I won't use any weapons at all. So, how do we begin?”

“Fifty percent is still too high,” Yorick stated, raising a brow. “How about a twenty-five percent aura?”

“Okay, for this competition to start already, I’ll agree,” Jareth replied, sighing. “With that out of the way, shall we get this started?”

“Wait!” Elysian exclaimed.

“What’s your problem this time?” the mercenary questioned, trying to undermine his position and make him appear annoying. “The leader of the young soldiers here has already spoken. Your objection is only wasting our valuable time.”

Elysian burst into laughter at the jab thrown against him, fully aware of the old man’s aim—getting under his skin. “You’re right that Yorick has earned the right to be the speaker of the young soldiers here, but it doesn't mean that he has the authority to agree to any deal.”

“You have?” Jareth asked, chuckling at the boy’s attitude. “Spoiled brats are really shameless. Boy, you might be the son of the Baron, but in the military, chains of command are paramount. Knowing Thornwick, he’s very strict in implementing such rules.”

“You’re right about that, sir. However, this isn’t a military matter. This is just a simple game,” Elysian stated, pointing out the actual situation. Chuckling back before smirking arrogantly, he added, “Also, I’m not asserting control because of my blood, but despite it. Simply, I’m the strongest among them.” Looking directly into the eyes of the soldiers around him, trying to find anyone who wanted to challenge his words, he found none. Instead, everyone was averting their eyes. Smiling confidently, he turned to Yorick and asked, “Do you want to contend that I have the final say on this matter?”

“Of course not, young master,” the soldier quickly responded, bowing respectfully. “We’ll be behind you no matter what you decide.”

“See,” Elysian said, turning to the old man. Frowning at their agreed conditions earlier, he stated, “You might’ve duped some of these kids here by making them underestimate you, but you can’t fool me.” Shooting him a piercing glare, he continued, “My conditions are very simple. First, you can’t use your aura. Second, you can’t use any weapons or your arms. Third, you can’t kill or seriously injure anyone in the competition. Fourth, we just need to touch the dagger to win the fight. Lastly, instead of a thirty minute time limit, it will be one hour. The moment you violate the first three terms, you lose.”

“Are you messing with me, brat?” Jareth questioned, aghast at the outrageous terms. “Do you really think anyone would agree to these conditions?”

“Quit your acting, old man!” the young noble exclaimed, shaking his head at the antics of the mercenary. “I know how strong my father is. Even without his aura, he could kill us in seconds. So, you can’t fool me with your bad acting,” he declared, snorting at his behavior. “These are final conditions; I won’t allow any revisions. So what now? Do you agree?”

Sighing as if frustrated, he suddenly grinned and said, “It seems I was right. You’ve inherited that brain of yours from your mother.” Laughing loudly, he nodded and continued, “Okay. I’ll agree to your conditions.” Turning to the commander, he said, “Cedric will act as the referee to this bet. He will make sure that the rules are followed. Also, he’ll safeguard the pot of money so that it will be fair to everyone involved. Is that okay with you?”

“Okay, no problem.” Elysian nodded, studying the expression of the old man.

 

‘Sh*t! He seems so relaxed and not too worried at all. Even with those conditions, I might still have underestimated him. This isn’t good. Tsk.’

 

“Forgive me, young master,” Yorick said, bowing in apology. “I should have consulted you first before agreeing to the conditions. If not for you, we would surely lose this bet already.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Elysian responded, without taking his eyes off the old man. “I have a bad feeling about this, Yorick. The conditions might not be enough to swing the tide in our favor,” he warned. Glancing at the young soldier, he added, “Take this friendly match seriously, squad leader. This will be a valuable experience for you and your men. It’s not everyday that you get to fight someone like him.”

“I will, young master,” Yorick declared, nodding in understanding with firm resolve in his eyes.

Watching the young soldier go back to his men, he turned to Osric and said, “Here, put this money in the pot. I’ll cover both yours and Bran’s share.”

“Huh, young master, you don’t have to,” Osric immediately objected. “I’ve got money now. It will be shameless for me to take advantage of you like this.”

The young noble chuckled upon hearing his response and stated, “As the old man said earlier, one iron is nothing to me but a significant amount to you. Just use that money for your family, okay?” Grinning playfully, he added,  “And if you manage to win, just return the money to me.”

“Okay, young master,” Osric replied, grinning back before going to the commander.

Sitting beside Bran, who was munching peanuts this whole time without a care in the world, Elysian said, “Hey, big oaf, where’s my peanuts?”

The servant handed a small pack of peanuts to the young noble, who took it. “Do I really need to face that man, you master? He seems pretty scary.”

“Scary?” Elysian asked, curious about the other boy’s perspective. “How do you know?”

“I don’t know,” Bran responded. Thinking of an explanation, he added, “I can just feel it.”

“He’s right, young master,” Osric remarked, sitting beside the young noble. “I can sense an imminent threat around that old man, compelling me to flee. Something like a foreboding energy that’s radiating outward—screaming silently of death.”

 

‘Fascinating. It appears both of them can sense the danger this old man poses. Gifted people are truly different. It took me decades to hone my instincts to their level. Tsk, life is truly unfair.’

 

“Are you all ready?!” Cedric shouted, receiving nods from everyone. “Begin!”

All the contestants suddenly swarmed the mercenary. Instead of going directly for the relic, however, some of the soldiers were pushing or pulling each other, each vying for a lead. This quickly devolved into chaos as the soldiers fought each other. Some of the soldiers managed to get closer to the dagger, only to be swiftly knocked back by the old man. 

Wearing a delighted grin, Jareth was truly enjoying himself, kicking anyone who came closer. On the other hand, Elysian was just sitting with his two companions, eating peanuts, and observing the fight.

“Young master, I’m surprised you didn’t dive into the fight right away,” Yorick remarked, walking slowly from the side.

“Well, I should be asking you that,” Elysian quipped, chuckling when he saw the young soldier. “Aren’t you their leader? You should be there with them.”

Yorick snorted and said, “We’re talking about a fortune here, young master. I should try my best to win this game. Also, I’d like to watch how they perform.”

“Catch!” Elysian tossed a small pack of peanuts from one of Bran’s stacks.

“Hey, young master, that’s mine,” Bran protested, scowling at him.

“That’s enough already, you big oaf,” the young noble responded, snickering at the objection of the servant. “You’ve already eaten two packs. Don’t be a glutton.”

“Thank you, young master,” Yorick said, nodding in appreciation as he got some peanuts and shared them with a couple of soldiers beside him.

Studying the soldiers, Elysian recognized some of their faces. They were contestants in the duel that Sybil had won. He nodded to them while they bowed in return.

 

‘It seems he’s gathering the elites among this bunch of soldiers. Smart. It isn’t surprising, considering this boy has always been capable.’

 

Bringing his attention back to the chaotic scene, Elysian sighed, disappointed with the soldiers’ performance. They kept attacking like mindless insects, swarming like idiots without a plan in mind.

“I apologize for their disgraceful display, young master,” Yorick remarked, frustrated by what he saw. “After this competition, I’ll be sure to push them harder to wash away this shame.”

“Yes, that’s something you should do. At their age, being young is still an acceptable excuse for their lack of discipline; however, if this isn’t corrected, it will become a bad habit that must be avoided at all costs,” Elysian stated. Steering clear of his irritation, he shifted his focus back to the mercenary and remarked, “I had planned on merely observing, hoping to identify some vulnerabilities I could exploit. And if that failed, at least the soldiers could wear him down a little, increasing my chances of victory. However, given how things are unfolding, if nothing changes, our loss seems inevitable. Don’t you think so, group leader?”

Observing how the fight was progressing, Yorick sighed in defeat, concurring with the assessment of the younger boy. He turned back to the young noble and stated, “You’re right. This cannot continue. It seems I will be joining the fight much earlier than anticipated.” Suddenly adopting a grin, he quipped, “Young master, forgive me in advance if I win this competition!”

Elysian chuckled with amusement as he watched the squad leader join the fray.

“Ah, it seems this will start to get exciting,” Jareth remarked, looking at the elite soldiers joining the fight. Glancing at the young noble who was watching him, he asked, “Will you be joining as well, young master?”