261 The Last Challenger

The previous test had been meant to showcase his warriors’ strength.

And now, with all of them lying dead at his feet, his failure was undeniable.

Yet Felicia did not relent. She did not acknowledge the trial’s supposed conclusion.

“Next.”

“Enough! The trial is over!”

Ivar’s voice rang out, sharp and commanding. A warning. A final chance to retreat.

Felicia barely spared him a glance before speaking again.

“Next.”

“You—!”

Ivar’s patience frayed, his anger bubbling to the surface. But before he could act, Goremssen, still dazed, reached for his weapon.

And stepped forward.

“Gormsen! What are you doing?!”

Ivar’s furious shout went unheard.

Goremssen’s grip tightened around his blade, but his eyes were distant, unfocused.

Felicia met his gaze, her sword rising in response.

“Do you have any last words?”

“…No.”

“Then come.”

The duel ended in a single heartbeat.

Goremssen leaped, blade swinging. The very same strike his warriors had used before him, as if to follow them even in death.

The result was no different.

Felicia’s sword whispered through the air.

A thin red line blossomed across his throat.

He staggered. His fingers clawed at the wound, trying in vain to halt the flood of blood pouring from his neck.

Choking, gasping, he turned his fading gaze toward Felicia, then to William. A small, bitter smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

“…Hah.”

A final breath.

Then, his body crumpled to the snow.

Unlike the others, he had not died instantly.

But in the end, he, too, was gone.

Felicia sheathed her blade and turned. With measured steps, she approached William and knelt before him.

“My lord, the enemy has been dealt with.”

“Well done.”

William extended his hand, helping her to her feet.

The gathered tribespeople, who had been frozen in shock, now stirred. A hushed murmur rippled through them—only to be silenced by a solemn voice.

“The ruler from beyond the snowy wastes has come. On the year the sun changes, he shall earn the right to challenge the heavens. He shall conquer these lands, leading them toward glory and peace. He is our king.”

The prophecy.

A shiver ran through the crowd as recognition dawned.

They turned, eyes widening as they saw him—Marius.

The man had stepped forward from the shadows, his presence commanding, his voice heavy with certainty.

He strode past the warriors, past the bodies, until he stood before William.

And then, slowly, deliberately—he knelt.

“…Your Majesty.”

That single utterance sent a shockwave through the gathered crowd.

Felicia had achieved a level of strength no warrior of the north had ever reached.

And she had sworn fealty to this man.

What kind of ruler could command the loyalty of such an unparalleled warrior?

Whispers turned to shouts.

The prophecy had spoken. The path was clear.

He was their king.

“Your Majesty!”

“The King of the North!”

“Our King!”

Their hesitation vanished, their awe solidifying into reverence. The people collapsed to their knees in waves, bowing before William, their voices rising in unified proclamation.

In that moment, they forgot the trial.

They forgot they already had a chieftain.

Ivar watched from the edge of the crowd. His lips were pressed into a thin line, his expression unreadable.

Without a word, he turned on his heel and walked away, retreating into his dwelling.

The sound of his doors slamming shut was drowned out by the cries of the people.

Amidst the thunderous chants, William and his party withdrew to Marius’s quarters.

Marius had stopped them, insisting that he had something to say.

He exhaled, shaking his head.

“…That poor fool.”

No one needed to ask who he meant.

“Once, he wanted to be a great warrior,” Marius continued. “He fought fiercely, traveled far, sought strength wherever he could. But somewhere along the way, he grew too fond of easy victories. He learned to manipulate. To plot.”

“Hm.”

“Still, his men believed in him. Even at the end, they thought he might return to the warrior he once was. And in a way… he did. But what good is redemption when you’ve already lost everything?”

Marius sighed.

William and the others remained silent, the weight of the day’s events pressing down on them.

Then, suddenly, Marius chuckled.

“But enough of that. She was truly something else, wasn’t she? A swordmaster’s disciple… I didn’t expect it, but she’s shattered the very foundations of the north. Do you know what they’re calling her now?”

William finally looked at him.

“Marius.”

Something in his tone made the old man pause.

William’s gaze was steady, unwavering.

“This is the last time we speak,” he said. “I have no more use for you.”

“…I have no idea what you’re talking about. When have you ever heard me say I needed you?”

Marius blinked in stunned silence, his expression momentarily vacant as if he truly did not understand. He even tilted his head slightly, feigning confusion so well that, for a fleeting second, William almost believed he had misunderstood.

But no amount of practiced composure could hide the slight tremor in the old man’s brow.

“Still, there’s no need to push me away so coldly,” Marius said smoothly. “Do you really find this old man so suspicious? I only ever wanted to see you succeed.”

William did not respond.

Instead, he murmured to himself, as if Marius weren’t even worth addressing directly.

“To you, I must have seemed like an ignorant child. A fledgling who had never set foot outside the Empire, too inexperienced to navigate the unexpected. No matter how capable I appeared, I’ve yet to live even two full decades—what could I possibly know about surviving in foreign lands?”

His tone was almost amused.

Marius’s brows furrowed. “William—”

“You assumed that if you stranded me here, cut me off from my empire, I would have no choice but to rely on you. That no matter what power I wielded, I would cling to the only lifeline available.” William’s gaze sharpened, finally meeting Marius’s eyes. “But now, you understand, don’t you?”

Marius’s expression darkened.

“I don’t need you.”

The words were calm. Absolute.