260 Beyond Understanding

Ivar’s eyes sharpened in suspicion. He braced himself, expecting some kind of sorcery.

Then, the sword in Felicia’s grip shone with a brilliant, bluish glow.

“T-The Dragon’s Blessing!”

“That light—it’s radiant!”

A collective gasp rippled through the crowd. Even among the strongest warriors, manifesting an aura of power was no small feat. To see such a luminous glow emanating from a woman’s blade—it was beyond belief.

But Felicia did not stop.

The hum of energy grew louder.

“W-Wait… is it getting stronger?”

“Am I seeing things?”

Even the warriors, hardened by countless battles, found themselves rubbing their eyes in disbelief. They knew of magic, had heard of its effects, but few had ever wielded it. To them, power was something crude and raw—used to strengthen the body or project force outward.

Yet what they were witnessing now was something far beyond their understanding.

“So this is what you call magic.”

Felicia murmured the words softly, then swung her sword.

A thin arc of energy sliced through the air, its force so palpable that it seemed capable of cleaving flesh and bone apart with ease.

Only then did they realize the truth.

“This… this isn’t magic, is it?”

Silence.

Not a single warrior spoke.

Their initial defiance had crumbled under the weight of what they had just seen. Their silence was a mixture of awe and shame—reverence for a power they could not grasp, and humiliation for having so easily mistaken it for something else.

Goremssen, who had been the first to accuse her, collapsed to his knees, his legs no longer able to support him.

But it was not he who bore the greatest shame.

That burden belonged to Ivar.

Damn it all…

Had it been only Goremssen who had condemned her, it could have been brushed aside. He could have feigned ignorance, claiming that he had merely observed how things played out.

But no—Goremssen had sought his approval, and he, the chieftain, had readily sided with him, pressing Felicia with accusations of magic.

And now, the truth lay bare for all to see. The legendary warrior of the tribe—he—was weaker than the woman standing before him.

Felicia turned her gaze upon him, her lips curling into a slight smirk.

“Since no one else is answering, I suppose I shall ask the chieftain himself.”

She took a step closer, eyes gleaming with amusement.

“Was that magic?”

“…No.”

The word was forced through gritted teeth, Ivar’s face darkening with humiliation. He had no choice but to admit it. The power she had displayed was unmistakably that of a warrior—it was not magic. He could not deny the truth, no matter how much he wished to.

Satisfied, Felicia lowered her sword, withdrawing the aura that had stunned them all into silence.

“Next.”

All eyes turned toward the chieftain’s sons.

With anticipation thick in the air, Ainar stepped forward.

“I will not challenge you.”

Felicia raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And why is that?”

“I will not send my men to their deaths for the sake of my own pride,” Ainar declared. “You are the strongest warrior here. I was blind to that truth, clinging to my own prejudices. Forgive my foolishness.”

Then, without hesitation, he knelt before her, pressing his forehead to the ground.

It was an act of surrender, but none dared mock him for it.

Because what Felicia had displayed—her level of strength—was something beyond even the tribe’s greatest warriors. Even the annals of their history held no record of one who had reached such a level.

“I will surrender as well,” said Brunda, stepping forward to kneel beside Ainar. “Challenging a warrior none in the north can best would be nothing more than suicide.”

With that, only one challenger remained.

Gormsen.

Still kneeling where he had fallen, he clenched his fists, teeth grinding together in frustration.

If he backed down now, his honor would be forever lost.

His uncle had been slain. He had accused Felicia of using magic.

Ainar and Brunda could claim they had simply been blind to the truth. But he—he had already made an enemy of her.

If he surrendered now, it would not be seen as wisdom. It would be seen as cowardice.

And the entire tribe would mock him for it.

“Rodbrook!”

Gormsen, unwilling to surrender his pride, shot to his feet and called out another warrior’s name.

The one summoned flinched, hesitation flickering in his eyes. But he quickly steeled himself and stepped forward.

Felicia’s gaze swept over him, cool and impassive.

“So, you are next?”

“It seems that way.”

“Come.”

There was no official signal from the chieftain to begin. No formalities.

Just a single word from Felicia.

And that was enough.

Rodbrook lunged. If he was to die, he would do so as a warrior, proving his honor in battle. With that resolve burning in his chest, he swung his greatsword with all his strength.

A clean arc. A decisive strike.

A wasted effort.

Before the blade could even reach the ground, Rodbrook’s body split apart from crown to groin, severed in two. His lifeless weapon tumbled across the snow, coming to a halt as it buried itself deep into a nearby drift.

Felicia, her sword already sheathed before anyone had even seen her move, spoke again.

“Next.”

“T-Torving!”

Goremssen’s voice was raw, nearly a scream. He was not calling warriors to battle anymore—he was hurling them into the abyss.

Torving, the next warrior to be named, cast a brief, sorrowful glance at his lord before charging forward.

He, too, was dead in an instant.

“Next.”

“Yorvik…!”

The third fell. Then the fourth. Then the fifth.

One by one, the warriors followed their predecessors into death, each heeding their master’s desperate calls without hesitation. None defied his orders. None turned their back on him.

By the time the snow beneath them was dyed a deep crimson, Goremssen had no warriors left to summon.

Felicia raised her chin slightly, eyes still locked onto him.

“Next.”

Silence.

Goremssen stood frozen, his gaze sweeping over the bodies strewn across the battlefield.

Rollo. Ketil. Floki. Hafdan. Horik.

They had fought together for years. Bled together. Survived together.

Now, not a single one remained.

His mind was blank, hollowed out by the sheer finality of it all. Yet Felicia’s voice cut through the void once more.

“Next.”

A tremor ran through him.