256 A Warrior’s Grip

William, however, remained completely unbothered.

With a calm gaze, he looked Brunda over and replied,

“And yet, you seem rather… fragile. Your muscles look hollow, as if they’d crumble at a touch. If I were to give you a light tap, I wonder—would you snap in two?”

Brunda had been smirking up until that moment.

Now, his expression froze.

It wasn’t just Brunda—every warrior standing beside him twisted their faces in odd expressions.

Not out of anger, but surprise.

It seemed none of them had even considered the possibility that William might retaliate.

“…Hah. You’ve got guts. A trait befitting a true warrior.”

Brunda, struggling to find an appropriate response, barely managed to force out the words. His lips twitched as if his own reaction had caught him off guard.

But he recovered quickly. Regaining his composure, he strode forward and extended a hand toward William.

“Well met, warrior. I am Brunda, son of Ivar the Red Axe. And you?”

“William. William Grimaldi Hern.”

William clasped the offered hand and returned the greeting.

The moment their hands met, Brunda threw back his head and let out a booming laugh.

“These foreigners and their names! Must be a pain, spouting such long-winded nonsense every time you introduce yourselves!”

“In formal settings, I don’t say it myself. My attendants handle that for me.”

“Ah, so you’re some highborn noble, then? Didn’t realize.”

“No need to apologize. I don’t intend to acknowledge your ranks either.”

“Oh?” Brunda grinned, his tone shifting slightly. “That might be a problem…”

His words trailed off as the corner of his lips curled upward.

At the same time, the grip around William’s hand tightened.

It wasn’t just brute force—Brunda was reinforcing his strength with mana, pouring as much power as he could muster into his grasp.

This wasn’t just a test. He intended to crush William’s hand completely.

“This is our land, foreigner. Even if we don’t recognize you, you had best learn to recognize us. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Hmm.”

An oppressive force clamped down on William’s hand.

But his expression remained calm—almost indifferent.

He had anticipated this the moment Brunda extended his hand.

Instead of reacting, William merely smiled and tilted his head slightly.

“I wouldn’t say so. Seems like we have a difference of opinion.”

“…!?”

Brunda’s eyes widened.

William’s grip had not wavered in the slightest.

And before Brunda could formulate a response, William’s hand suddenly tightened in return.

Brunda nearly screamed.

The smaller hand, barely half the size of his own, clamped down with crushing force, pressing against the base of his thumb like it intended to rip the entire section clean off.

What in the hell…?

Panic set in. Brunda reflexively mustered every ounce of strength he had, struggling to break free.

At first, he attempted to do so subtly, not wanting to make it obvious that he was retreating.

But subtlety was impossible.

No matter how much he strained, his hand remained locked in William’s grip.

William, watching him with mild amusement, finally lowered their clasped hands.

“Kugh—!”

With a strangled groan, Brunda collapsed onto one knee.

“Warlord!?”

The warriors behind him froze in shock, their eyes darting between the two men as if only now realizing that something was very, very wrong.

Several of them instinctively moved to intervene.

But before they could take a step forward, Brunda gritted his teeth and barked out a command.

“Stand down! Stay back!”

“But—”

“I said, stand down!”

Even as beads of sweat dripped down his face from the sheer pain, Brunda refused their aid.

William let out a small chuckle at the sight of them hesitating, torn between concern and obedience.

“You should take the help,” he advised, voice as casual as ever.

“Like hell I will!”

“One-on-one duels still require skill. If you lack the ability to win, it’s better to accept help and live. Of course, you’ll lose your honor in the process, but…”

Brunda’s glare sharpened.

He was struggling. That much was obvious.

But despite his suffering, his eyes still burned with defiance.

“I… won’t… do that…!”

“Then you’ll die.”

“Then… so be it!”

“Oh?”

William let out a quiet hum of interest.

His voice sounded amused, but his eyes remained as sharp as cold steel.

“If that’s the case, then allow me.”

A sickening crack echoed through the tent.

“Urgh—!”

Brunda’s body gave out completely. He collapsed fully onto both knees, his face twisted in agony.

William had increased the pressure, crushing the very bones in his hand.

And only then did realization strike Brunda.

He’s not just trying to hurt me—he’s trying to cripple me.

The same fate he had intended for William was now being inflicted upon him.

And if he lost the use of his hand, he would no longer qualify as a chieftain’s candidate.

No—he would lose everything. His position. His respect. His very identity as a warrior.

He would be beneath his brothers. Beneath Gunstein.

Panic struck a beat later than pride. And in that moment of dawning horror—

“Enough!”

The tent flaps burst open.

A new voice rang out, filled with authority.

William turned his gaze toward the newcomer—a warrior, older than Brunda, who regarded him with a steady expression.

“That’s enough,” the man stated. “Must we shed blood before we’ve even touched a single scrap of meat?”

William arched an eyebrow.

“And you are?”

“Ainar,” the man answered plainly. “Brother to the fool you’re currently holding. Same father, different mothers.”

Brunda let out a pained grunt.

His face flushed with humiliation, the shame of displaying weakness in front of his rival visibly eating away at him.

William studied Ainar for a moment before speaking again.

“It was your brother who first sought blood.”

“Weak men act hastily. The strong always carry themselves with patience. There is no reason for a true warrior to stoop to the level of the weak.”

“Oh?”

William let out a second, quieter hum.

This time, it was genuine.

Brunda’s attempt at rhetorical wordplay had been a mere imitation—shallow, lacking any real weight behind it.

But this?

This was something different.

This was someone who had never received formal education in diplomacy, yet wielded words like a weapon.

William’s lips curled into a small, intrigued smile.

“You have a silver tongue.”

“I meant every word.”

“Well, in that case…”