Devourer's Legacy: I Regressed With The Primordial Crest-Chapter 17: Duel (1)

The Sword of Honor

Renard's heart skipped a beat when he recognized the figure standing before him. It was Zain—the legendary Knight of Codes!

Never in his wildest dreams had he expected to encounter such a famous warrior in this place.

Zain's reputation preceded him. He was one of the handful of survivors from the brutal war between the Seven Houses and House Grim. But what truly made him special wasn't just his survival—it was his Unique Blood Crest, a gift even more precious than the Royal Blood Crest itself.

Those born with Unique Blood Crests walked a path of extremes.

They either remained powerless, unable to harness their mysterious abilities... or rose to heights of unimaginable strength.

Zain had definitely once belonged to the former path. His Blood Crest granted him an extraordinary ability—the power to create codes that could reshape reality itself.

Yet, looking at him now, Zain seemed... ordinary.

While others around him had reached the Master Zone, he remained stuck in the Essence Zone. Something didn't add up, but Renard pushed his questions aside—that was a mystery for the future.

"Hmm... are you sure about this choice?" Roderick's concerned voice cut through Renard's thoughts.

"He's the weakest candidate we have."

"That's fine," Renard replied firmly. "I want him."

Roderick's eyes narrowed with suspicion. 'Had someone leaked information about Zain's Unique Crest to the young noble? If so, Renard was probably thinking he'd discovered some hidden genius.' The thought made Roderick smile inwardly.

'What a fool!'

True, Zain had awakened a Unique Blood-crest, but using it was an entirely different matter. He couldn't tap into any abilities related to his Blood Crest—calling him useless wouldn't be far from the truth.

Despite his relentless hard work, the limitation of being unable to use his abilities and Blood Crest remained an insurmountable wall.

Anyway, it worked in Roderick's favor, so he kept these thoughts to himself.

If Renard wanted to waste a choice, so be it.

Without further argument, he let Renard make his second choice. This time, the young noble selected Sara, the strongest Bloodhound present—a woman who had reached the peak of the Master realm.

With that, Roderick bid farewell to Renard and went on his way—almost as if running away from an annoying friend.

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Zain watched the proceedings with growing bewilderment.

The noble brat had chosen both extremes—the weakest and the strongest Bloodhounds available. The reasoning seemed obvious enough.

Unique Blood Crests were rare treasures, and those who possessed them were either celebrated as masters or dismissed as failures. The young lord must be interested in his crest, just like the Southern Lord had been.

'He's going to be disappointed,' Zain thought glumly as he followed the young lord and his elderly knight. Despite his unremarkable appearance, the old man carried himself with quiet dignity.

Their destination turned out to be a private training ground, a luxurious space rarely used by Lord Augustus himself.

Both Zain and Sara exchanged surprised glances, wondering what the young master had in mind.

"You," Renard pointed at Sara.

"It's Sara, young master," she corrected him, her tone was respectful but with an edge that suggested she didn't appreciate being addressed so casually.

"Right, Sara. You'll be in charge of my sister's protection," Renard declared, then turned to the elderly knight.

"Gerald will explain the details. Stay by my sister's side at all times. I won't accept even a single hair on her head being harmed."

Sara masked her irritation at being ordered around by a child, but recalling the vice master's instructions, she decided to endure it.

Besides, guarding a young girl seemed simple enough. "I will do my absolute best, young master."

She would soon learn to regret those words.

Gerald led Sara away to meet Aria, leaving Renard and Zain alone in the training area. The silence stretched between them until Renard broke it.

"Zain."

"Huh... yes!" Zain was startled, realizing belatedly that he'd never introduced himself.

How did the young lord know his name? Before he could dwell on it, he noticed his lack of proper honorifics.

'Here it comes,' he thought, bracing himself for the typical noble tantrum about respect and status.

"Pick up the sword, let's have a spar."

But the words that came out of Renard's mouth were unexpected, which made Zain freeze in place. He simply stood there, blinking in confusion until Renard's voice snapped him back to reality.

"Hey, Zain. Didn't you hear what I just said?"

"Yes... young master, but..."

"Just pick up a sword already."

Renard walked to the other side of the training hall and stood ready with a sword that seemed too large for his frame.

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The Festival of Warriors

The territory of Draemir buzzed with excitement. Warriors from distant lands had gathered for the annual festival, a tradition held on Lord Augustus's birthday.

This year marked his sixty-second, and word of a grand celebration had spread far and wide, drawing masters of blade and art alike. They came seeking glory in combat and the promised rewards of victory.

Yet despite this auspicious day, Lord Augustus sat troubled in his office, his weathered fingers drumming against the documents scattered across his desk. The festival's preparations, which should have brought him joy, only deepened the lines on his face.

"Should we call off the festival, Kasim?" he asked the man beside him.

Kasim cut an impressive figure in his gleaming armor, twin daggers hanging at his waist.

"Are you worried about the young master, my Lord?" Kasim's question struck directly at the heart of Augustus's concerns.

"Isn't that a given?" Augustus sighed, his shoulders heavy with the weight of responsibility.

"They are my kin, Kasim."

His grandchildren, Renard and Aria, were still too young. Neither had awakened their Blood Crests yet, and they had barely survived an assassination attempt.

The emotional trauma must have been immense. Hosting a festival now seemed almost cruel. Worse, it would give their enemies another chance to strike. The thought made his stomach churn.

"I don't know about the young miss, but Young Master Renard looked anything but depressed," Kasim observed thoughtfully. "It's almost as if he is determined to do something."

Augustus nodded, remembering how intensely Renard had been training lately. The boy seemed fixated on some unknown goal, a fact that both worried and impressed him.

"That child..." Augustus shook his head slowly. "I don't know what happened in Tiara or on the way here, but he seems mature beyond his years."

Everything about Renard's recent behavior—from his calculated interactions with the Blood Hounds to his measured decisions—made Augustus wonder if this was truly the same grandson he had known before.

"He is an unfortunate child, let's—"

A sharp knock interrupted Augustus's words. Before he could respond, a panicked voice called through the door.

"My lord... there is a problem, Young Master Renard is hurt!"

The words had barely registered before Augustus burst from his chair, sending it crashing backwards. The heavy door thundered open under his palm as he rushed into the hallway.

"Where is he?" His voice boomed through the corridor, making the maid jump in shock.

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