I swung my axe again, tearing off his other leg in a spray of crimson. The edge sliced through flesh, tendon, and bone with the ease of a butcher's blade. Another blood-curdling scream erupted from his throat—raw, agonizing, delicious.
But I couldn't care less.
The rush of dopamine surging through my veins made me feel invincible. Every beat of my heart pumped euphoria into my brain. My smile widened, my breaths deepened. I was bathing in chaos, and it felt divine.
Blood poured out of the fresh stump like a river escaping a shattered dam. His flesh flapped and dangled from his body like the sagging peel of an overripe fruit. Strips of skin hung loose, flapping slightly with every twitch.
Even his nerves were exposed now—thin, twitching strands resembling frayed wires caught in a storm.
He lay limp. Foam pooled at the edges of his mouth, mixed with blood, spit, and mucus. His eyes rolled back. His breathing slowed. Maybe he's dead, I thought briefly.
But the moment that thought entered my mind, he stirred.
A violent cough wracked his mangled body. Blood sprayed from his lips as he fought to lift his head. His half-lidded eyes glared at me, burning with bloodshot fury and reluctant survival.
His lips quivered, struggling to form words, but I crouched down first—placing the soaked, glistening edge of my axe just above his mouth.
Then... Tap. Tap. Tap.
With a devilish grin, I tapped the flat of the blade against his trembling lips. They split slightly from the motion, blood blooming along the edges.
Slowly, I brought my forefinger to my lips and gave a soft, mocking shush. "This is a life and death duel... Don't forget that," I whispered.
He didn't move. His face remained motionless, but I could feel the change—like a shift in atmosphere. He wasn't defiant anymore. There was no anger. No regret. Just quiet, bitter acceptance.
'He has accepted death,' I thought, almost impressed. 'No tears. No begging. Just... peace. He does have admirable qualities.'
In a different life, if he hadn't tried to use my sister like a pawn for his noble ascension... maybe we could've been friends.
But that was a big if. And right now? He was my enemy. And not just any enemy—he was a fool who made every wrong choice possible. A fool who reignited buried memories.
I wasn't about to let him walk away from this. I wasn't that kind.
'Let's enjoy this torment a little longer.'
I pulled the axe back again, raising it for another slash—this time something non-lethal. Just enough to leave a lasting scar. Something to haunt him. Something artistic.
But just as I tightened my grip and angled the blade—
"Finish him, Cassius! We don't have much time left!"
Lucian's voice thundered from above. I glanced up, slightly irritated.
He stood on the edge of the dueling platform, arms crossed, face stern—but his eyes? They sparkled with undeniable pride.
'He's happy. And yet he wants me to hurry up?'
And he said "we". Meaning this was somehow related to me or needed my assistance or just presence. Figures.
Next to him, the boy's parents had arrived, watching the scene unfold without a single tear or protest. No pleas. No rage. Just... calm, composed detachment.
They weren't crying over their son's shattered limbs or his inevitable death.
'So they expected this... they planned for this outcome. how to keep their poker face when their kid died?'
I clicked my tongue in irritation.
Nobles were scary sometimes—so damn cold. Of course an innocent person like me would be scared of them, they were so calculating. It made my skin crawl.
I looked down again at the broken boy.
He was barely conscious now, breath ragged, body twitching. So fragile. So human.
I leaned down, bringing my face close to his ear and whispered, voice soft as silk, "You will live... just surrender."
Then his eyes shimmered. Tears welled up and spilled silently down his cheeks. He didn't speak immediately—his throat struggled to produce sound—but eventually, he rasped out a single word:
And with that, the system flared to life.
« Your Opponent Is Surrendering »
« Will You Accept the Request? »
I exhaled slowly, voice barely above a whisper. "Yeah. I accept."
The next moment, another prompt appeared, bathing my vision in Neon Blue light.
—— CHALLENGE COMPLETE ——
Term: Life and Death Duel
Victor: Cassius Lancaster
Reward: Annulment of Marriage Contract & Ownership of Brent Curlts (Slave)
—— CONGRATULATIONS ——
Lucian dropped down from the stands with a thud, dust swirling up around him. His boots crunched against the ground as he approached with slow, deliberate steps.
His face was tight, not with anger—but with restrained annoyance. "Why didn't you finish him?" he asked, tone sharp.
I rolled my eyes, replying with all the attitude I could muster. "Just because I felt like it."
He chuckled, patting my shoulder with a strong hand. "Good child. Always do what you want. Listen to your heart—and you'll live the best life. That's the way of the Lancasters. And today, you followed it well."
I smiled outwardly. But inside? I laughed.
That was the second time someone told me I was a true Lancaster.
This time, it was from someone who was a Lancaster.
'Guess I transmigrated into the right type of family after all. Maybe it will be different from before...'
The sound of boots echoed again. The parents descended, rushing past me without so much as a glance. The mother dropped to her knees, cradling her broken son. The father produced a small crimson vial out of thin air and poured it down Brent's throat.
A soft green light enveloped him. Slowly, the color returned to his face. The torn flesh began to knit itself back together. Muscle reformed, and skin followed. Even his bones aligned and snapped back into place.
The parents were now sobbing—gripping their son, holding him like he was the most precious thing in the world.
The same cold-blooded nobles who moments ago didn't flinch at his suffering were now weeping like children.
It was almost... touching.
Deep in my chest, I felt something stir. A small, quiet emotion...
An urge to destroy it.
My grip tightened around the axe.
In one smooth motion, I stretched my arm back, then hurled it with all my strength. The axe spun like a buzzsaw through the air.
It embedded itself directly into Brent's temple.
His head split open like a blooming flower—blood and brain matter exploding outward in a grotesque, beautiful blossom of crimson.
The system confirmed it with another cold, satisfying prompt.
I watched the parents freeze. The cries stopped. The sobbing ceased. The green light flickered and vanished, pointless now.