270 Trial by Combat

William swallowed a scoff and put on a disappointed expression.

“Well, that’s a shame. When do we start?”

“Right now. Here.”

“Quick. I like that. Who’s first?”

“I am.”

At the voice from the side, William turned his head to see Ainar stepping forward, an axe slung over his shoulder.

Lowering the weapon in front of him, Ainar met William’s gaze with unwavering resolve.

William responded in kind, drawing his sword as he strode toward his opponent.

As the two men took their positions, the surrounding tribespeople stepped back, forming an impromptu arena.

“Any last words before we begin?”

William’s question seemed to catch Ainar off guard. He blinked in mild surprise before giving a wry smile.

“What could I possibly say to you now? I still remember what shame feels like.”

Just days ago, Ainar had spoken to William as an equal. Now, he addressed him with formality—not the forced reverence Ivar had displayed, but the genuine respect of a warrior who understood his own inadequacy.

William studied him for a moment before speaking.

“If you’re so ashamed, you could always refuse. Yet here you are, still following your father’s orders.”

“He is my family. How could I turn my back on him just to save myself? If I cannot save him, the least I can do is die by his side.”

“Even after you’ve lost all your family? Even if you’re the only one left, you’d still make the same choice?”

Ainar’s expression hardened.

He hesitated, lost in thought, before exhaling a heavy sigh and raising his axe.

“Enough talk. Let’s begin.”

A smile tugged at the corner of William’s lips.

Ainar had no intention of begging for his life. Even if he didn’t say it outright, he had no desire to surrender.

‘A waste of a good man.’

He was leagues ahead of his father—not just in skill, but in character. In fact, he was a better warrior than most knights of the Empire.

If brought under William’s command, he could serve as a bridge between the tribes of the frozen plains and the Empire’s people.

Having made his decision, William let his sword drop loosely to his side.

“Come.”

“Pick up your weapon.”

“Sorry, but you’re not the kind of opponent I need to take seriously. No need to worry—just focus on attacking me first.”

Ainar’s face flushed with anger.

He had already lost the right to hold his head high, but to have his skills as a warrior dismissed so casually was another matter entirely.

“You’ll regret that!”

With a sharp inhale, Ainar charged forward.

Ainar surged forward, his entire body radiating the Dragon’s power.

His speed and strength were nothing short of monstrous—on par with the Empire’s greatest knights.

Yet, William didn’t even flinch. Instead, he reached out toward the incoming axe.

“What the—?!”

Ainar’s eyes widened in shock at the reckless move, but it was too late to stop the swing.

With terrifying force, the axe slammed into William’s outstretched hand.

CLANG!

“…?!”

The spectators’ eyes went wide in disbelief.

The sound that rang out was unmistakably the clash of metal against metal. But the axe had struck bare flesh—how was that possible?

Ainar, realizing what had happened, felt his stomach drop.

“This is insane…!”

William stood completely unfazed, gripping the axe blade in his bare hand as if it were a mere twig.

Even though Ainar had swung with all his might, William didn’t so much as grimace.

He gave the weapon a casual shake, making the heavy axe tremble in his grasp, then grinned.

“That’s it?”

A bead of sweat rolled down Ainar’s forehead.

To an outsider, it might have looked like William had simply caught the weapon before it could do any damage, but Ainar knew better.

‘He didn’t intercept it mid-swing… He took it head-on—with his palm.’

The axe had definitely struck flesh. He had felt the impact himself.

Yet, the blade hadn’t even left a scratch.

“What the hell did you just do?” Ainar demanded.

William tilted his head. “You don’t know? You should. You have the same power.”

As he spoke, a shimmering heat haze flickered around his body.

It was faint, barely visible, but unmistakable.

Ainar’s eyes narrowed in realization.

“…The Dragon’s power.”

William smirked, as if he had just given the correct answer.

The night before, William had sought answers.

“The Dragon’s magic is the Dragon’s power itself,” Marius had explained, taking great care to phrase his words in a way that even a layman could understand.

Having trained numerous disciples over the years, Marius was skilled at breaking down complex theories into simple terms.

“Everything a dragon can do stems from the magic of its heart. And since you now wield the Dragon’s Heart, Your Highness, you should, in theory, be able to replicate all of its abilities.”

William arched an eyebrow. “So… I can breathe fire?”

“Yes. That is, if you can cultivate absolute belief, replace the fire gland with a suitable human equivalent, and control the magical flow required to manifest it.”

William had been half-joking, but Marius’s serious response left him momentarily speechless.

“…Wait. You mean that’s actually possible? A human breathing fire?”

“In theory, yes. The issue is that Your Highness was born human and is thus bound by human understanding.”

Dragons instinctively knew what they were capable of from birth, and their hearts were designed to optimize their abilities.

For a human, however, simply wielding the Dragon’s power wasn’t enough. They had to consciously imitate dragons—both in thought and action.

The Dragon’s Heart wasn’t going to adjust itself to fit a human body.

“The simplest example,” Marius continued, “is the heat that escapes when you channel magic. Dragons are born with specialized organs to store and release that heat at will, but…”

“Humans don’t have such an organ. So when I use magic, the heat just bleeds out?”

“Precisely.”

William leaned back, deep in thought.

“So breathing fire or flying is out of the question, then. The former is too dangerous to replicate with a different organ, and the latter… well, I’d need wings at the very least.”

Dragons were massive creatures, yet they soared effortlessly through the skies using thin, membranous wings.

That kind of mobility had to be fueled by the power of the heart.

But if even dragons needed wings to fly, then for a human—who wasn’t even built for it—to force an alternative solution… it would destroy their body.