272 Judgment of the King

Despite having witnessed his display of power firsthand, there was no fear in the man’s eyes.

Confidence? Maybe.

Or perhaps… he simply didn’t understand what he was up against.

‘This one is useless.’

Brunda was exactly the type of man who, even if spared, would hold onto delusions of one day surpassing him.

Keeping him alive would only invite future betrayal.

There was no reason to let him live.

Brunda, completely unaware of the fate William had just decided for him, flashed a grin.

“I have to admit, I’m impressed. I didn’t think the Dragon’s power could be used like that. The strength of the great ancestors truly knows no bounds.”

William remained silent.

“But,” Brunda continued, gripping his sword with both hands, “if our strength comes from the same source, then surely it can be neutralized.”

A low hum reverberated through the air.

Vrrrmmm…

Brunda’s greatsword began to glow.

“The Dragon’s Blessing!”

The moment he activated his technique, the tribespeople gasped in shock.

“When did he…?!”

“Is that… magic solidification?!”

It was a feat that had little to do with the Dragon’s Heart and more to do with sheer talent.

Only those who had reached a certain level could shape magic into a tangible force and infuse it into their weapons.

And Brunda had just done exactly that.

William, however, merely scoffed.

“That’s pathetic. Why don’t you stop pretending to be something you’re not?”

William’s voice was cold, cutting through Brunda’s strained concentration like a blade.

“Just maintaining that form must be exhausting for you.”

Brunda’s face twisted in anger at the remark.

William was right.

The power he had infused into his greatsword wasn’t something he had mastered through true understanding.

He was merely forcing the Dragon’s energy into the blade, desperately patching up the magic that constantly leaked out.

It was like trying to keep water in a broken jar—pouring in more before it could completely drain.

“Even if you can keep up the act for a while, it won’t last,” William continued. “Give up before you collapse from exhaustion.”

“No,” Brunda spat. “For you, this temporary imitation is more than enough.”

Sweat beaded on his forehead.

He was burning through his energy at an alarming rate, yet he refused to stop talking.

“You’re using the Dragon’s power to harden your body, aren’t you? But what happens when Dragon’s power meets Dragon’s power?”

William let out a quiet hum of amusement.

He had to admit—it wasn’t a terrible idea.

If two sources of the same power clashed, there was a chance they could cancel each other out.

Ainar had focused solely on reinforcing his body, which made no difference against William’s defenses, but Brunda was attempting a direct magical collision.

It was possible that it could work.

“Now do you see?” Brunda said, his confidence growing. “Even if it’s only an imitation, this power will—”

Boom!

Mid-sentence, Brunda lunged.

The speed of his charge was explosive—clearly, he had been stalling on purpose, luring William into dropping his guard.

‘So that’s why he kept running his mouth.’

William chuckled as Brunda closed the distance in an instant.

There was a risk, of course. If he took the attack head-on, he couldn’t be completely sure what would happen.

But there was an easy way to avoid that.

Whiff.

Brunda’s eyes widened.

William had vanished.

“What—?”

His greatsword sliced through empty air.

Before he could even turn his head to search for his opponent, his vision suddenly tilted.

“…What?”

A dull thud followed.

Brunda’s severed head hit the ground.

His body collapsed soon after, rolling lifelessly in the dirt.

William flicked the blood off his blade with a click of his tongue.

“The idea wasn’t bad,” he muttered. “But an idea alone isn’t enough.”

It didn’t matter how powerful an attack was—if it didn’t land, it was meaningless.

Brunda had only absorbed a fraction of the Dragon’s magic, nowhere near enough to compare to William.

Had he been smart, he might have waited for William to deliberately take a hit, like he had with Ainar.

But instead, he had foolishly chosen a frontal assault, thinking raw power would be enough.

‘He tried to use a technique he couldn’t even fully control. If the gap between us is this wide, he never stood a chance.’

Not that Brunda had ever realized just how outmatched he was.

William cast one last glance at the corpse before turning his attention to Ivar.

“Your turn. The third opponent.”

Ivar stepped forward without a word.

Some might have called it bravery.

But William could see the truth.

It wasn’t courage—it was resignation.

He had seen this look many times before.

The expression of a man who had no escape left, who had already come to terms with his own death.

Ivar’s eyes flickered toward his son’s head lying in the dirt.

His throat trembled as he spoke.

“Don’t get cocky just because you took the chieftain’s seat. One day, you’ll fall, just like us.”

William’s smile was cold.

“Do you actually believe that?”

Ivar scoffed. “You’re young. You don’t understand how the world works.”

“I didn’t ask about the world.”

William took a step forward.

“I asked you—do you truly think I’ll fall? Can you picture it? Does that future feel real to you?”

Ivar clenched his jaw.

He had thrown the words out in anger, but when he truly thought about it…

No.

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t see William’s downfall.

And that realization made his stomach churn.

“Bastard.”

It was all he could say.

William chuckled.

A loser’s insults were nothing more than a compliment to the victor.

Clang.

William flicked the blood off his blade before sheathing it.

At the same moment, another headless body slumped to the ground.

The second father-son pair lay side by side, their severed heads resting in the dirt.

William turned to face the silent crowd of tribespeople.

He swept his gaze across them and spoke, his voice ringing through the air.

“From this moment forward, I am your king.”

A heavy silence followed.

No cheers of triumph.

No wails of grief.

Nothing.

Not because they didn’t care, but because they couldn’t comprehend what had just happened.

William hadn’t displayed the refined mastery of a supreme warrior.

He hadn’t fought with the heroic grandeur of a legendary champion.

Instead, he had let every attack strike him without care—like a master watching insects struggle against inevitability.

And when the fight bored him, he crushed his opponents as if swatting away pests.

It hadn’t been a battle.

It had been judgment.