257 The Chieftain’s Arrival

William released Brunda’s hand with a feigned air of reluctance.

Only then was Brunda able to yank his injured hand away, cradling the fingers that were now cracked down to the bone.

Ainar clicked his tongue as he regarded his half-brother with thinly veiled disappointment.

“Sit down.”

“…”

Brunda trembled with humiliation, but he obeyed without protest.

He understood that any further struggle would only serve to disgrace him further.

With the confrontation settled, another group entered the tent, led by a figure who had been waiting for the opportune moment to make an appearance.

Unlike Ainar, who had intervened out of familial obligation, this newcomer had clearly intended to use the situation to his advantage.

And just like that, all four contenders to the chieftain’s seat were gathered in one place.

A heavy silence followed.

Then, a voice broke through the tension.

“Looks like we’re all here.”

A figure emerged from the entrance—his presence alone enough to shift the atmosphere.

William recognized him instantly.

A scarred warrior, his left ear half-severed, one eye clouded and blind.

Gunstein’s father.

The chieftain of the Blue Dragon Tribe, Marius’s opposition.

And more importantly, the man who controlled the artifact William sought—the Heart of the Dragon.

Ivar the Red Axe.

With long, confident strides, Ivar crossed the length of the tent and took his place at the head of the gathering.

The moment he sat, every warrior aside from William sprang to their feet and thundered in unison:

“The humble descendants of the dragon pay their respects to the mighty Blue Dragon!”

Silence followed the declaration.

Dozens of eyes turned toward William.

Expectant. Pressure.

They waited for him to stand.

To show the same reverence.

But William, resting his chin on one hand, merely raised an eyebrow.

“How long do you plan to keep them standing? Their legs must be getting tired. Accept their greetings already.”

“…!?”

The chieftain candidates, who had remained silent until now, openly gawked at him.

Even Ivar, who had barely reacted thus far, narrowed his one remaining eye in slight irritation.

Brunda, still nursing his injured hand, was the first to snap.

“They’re waiting for you to greet the chieftain, you fool!”

“Me? Offer greetings to the chieftain?”

William let out a quiet scoff, tilting his head.

“Ridiculous. Why would I do that?”

“You—!”

A warrior shot to his feet, livid.

He had remained on the sidelines earlier, watching William and Brunda’s confrontation from afar without interfering.

“You stand in this place as Gunstein’s replacement! If so, you should offer the respect that he himself would have given!”

“That’s a strange argument,” William mused. “I never agreed to replace Gunstein. I simply took what was rightfully mine.”

“It’s the same thing!”

“It’s not.”

William’s tone remained infuriatingly calm.

“Gunstein swore fealty to his father as both his son and a warrior of this tribe. But I am neither. Why should I pay respect to a man who holds no authority over me?”

“…”

The warrior fell silent, his mouth opening and closing in wordless frustration.

Because, as much as he hated to admit it, William was right.

The victor in a duel inherited the status of the defeated warrior, not their personal allegiances.

No one could force William to abide by customs that did not apply to him.

And yet, such blatant defiance of the chieftain was unheard of.

An heir who refused to bow.

A crisis of tradition.

“But still—!”

“Enough.”

For the first time since he sat, Ivar spoke.

His voice was cold, edged with authority.

At the sound of it, the warrior immediately shut his mouth and sat down.

Moments later, Ivar’s gaze locked onto William.

“Well. You’re not wrong. You have no obligation to show me respect.”

William smirked. “Glad we understand each other.”

“But before you get too comfortable,” Ivar continued, his tone dangerously even, “remember this—I have overlooked many of your transgressions thus far. If you fail to show even the slightest courtesy, my patience will eventually run out.”

William leaned back, unconcerned.

“Transgressions? And what exactly have I done wrong?”

Ivar answered without hesitation.

“The most absurd offense of all—bringing a concubine to this gathering.”

The words were met with immediate reactions.

William’s companions stiffened.

And sure enough, Ivar’s finger was pointed directly at Felicia.

“I don’t know how things are done in your homeland, but here, only warriors are allowed in this tent. If you did not bring her to mock us, then remove her.”

William barely spared him a glance before responding.

“There’s no problem, then. She’s not a concubine—she’s a warrior.”

“…What?”

Ivar’s face twisted into something unreadable.

For a man as composed as he was, it was clear the response had genuinely caught him off guard.

And he wasn’t the only one.

Murmurs erupted from the other warriors, disbelief spreading through the room like wildfire.

“Did I mishear you?” Ivar asked, his tone dark. “You’re claiming that woman is a warrior?”

“You heard correctly. Not only is she a warrior—she’s my personal guard.”

Silence.

Then—Laughter.

The entire tent erupted with raucous amusement.

“Your guard?”

“A woman, protecting you?”

“Amazing! I’ve never heard something so ridiculous in my life!”

It was clear that no one believed him.

To them, William’s claim was nothing more than a flimsy excuse to keep Felicia by his side.

And to make matters worse, he hadn’t just called her a warrior—he had called her his bodyguard.

“Are you telling us,” one warrior sneered, “that you entrust your life to a woman? That you put a blade in her hands and expect her to protect you?”

William shrugged. “We fight together, but yes. If I had to entrust my back to someone, it would be her.”

“This is hilarious!”

Ivar, still grinning, shook his head.

He had been wondering how best to deal with William.

But it seemed the fool had gone ahead and ruined his own reputation.

“What a joke,” he chuckled. “Tell me, then—how strong is this ‘warrior’ of yours? Is she stronger than you?”

William answered without missing a beat.

“She’s stronger than you.”

“…What?”

“Far stronger, in fact.” William’s expression remained completely serious. “To be precise, she’s stronger than everyone in this room.”

The laughter stopped.