I Became a Ruined Character in a Dark Fantasy-Chapter 727

One of Ian’s brows rose slightly.

Olaf kept his lips pressed tight as their gazes locked.

"Huh."

"Has he lost his mind?"

Gasps rippled across the walls. The kneeling soldiers now stared up at Olaf in open shock.

That was when the corner of Ian’s mouth curled faintly. "Hmm..."

Before Ian could finish his low exhale, the princess’s voice cut in. "What exactly do you mean by that? Are you suggesting a trial by duel, here and now?"

"Stand back, Your Highness." Olaf tore his gaze from Ian with visible effort and looked down at Seras, his brow furrowed. "This is a sacred tradition of the North."

Seras’s expression tightened further.

Olaf did not wait for her reply. He shifted his gaze again—not to Ian, but past him, toward the army behind.

The barbarians who had been kneeling were lifting their heads one by one, staring up at him.

Their eyes were unreadable—shock, curiosity, something fiercer. The heat of the steel circlet on his head seemed to grow stronger, perhaps because of them.

"Archduke, I respect the traditions of the North," said Seras. "However, you are still bound by Imperial law. Especially in a case like—"

"How do you wish to challenge me?" A flat voice cut her off. It was Ian Hope.

Olaf’s eyes snapped back to him as though drawn by force.

"Agent of the Saint!" Seras turned in alarm.

Ian glanced at her and calmly said, "The Great Warrior is obliged to accept a challenge. And since Karha is already watching, I believe Imperial law must be set aside for the moment."

Only then did Seras’s eyes widen as she looked back at Olaf.

However, Olaf did not spare her a glance.

So you felt it too.

He swallowed dryly, meeting Ian’s dark gaze once more.

"I’ll ask you once more. How do you wish to challenge me?" Ian asked.

"...Bare hands." Olaf forced the words out a beat too late, jaw clenched tight. "I challenge you with bare hands."

It was the form that gave him the highest chance of victory. Ian would not be able to use the holy sword he had mentioned—or the golden shield said to have been bestowed by the Platinum Dragon.

If he drew fully upon the power of his bloodline, then even against a demigod, he would have a chance.

As expected, Ian Hope nodded without a hint of hesitation.

"I accept. Come down."

"Ooooo!"

"A sacred duel!"

Several barbarian warriors sprang to their feet as if launched, shouting at the top of their lungs.

"Superhuman of the North!"

"A duel! A duel!"

Roars and cheers swept through the entire Crimson Legion in an instant. The barbarians howled on their feet, their faces blazing with excitement and anticipation.

Savages....

Though he clicked his tongue, Olaf’s heart was pounding just as fiercely. Whether it was stirred by their cries or by the growing heat of the steel circlet on his head, he could not tell. Perhaps it was simply the blood of the North coursing through his veins in response. In truth, it no longer mattered.

"Open the gates." Olaf turned to the side and gave the order.

Torvien, who had been looking at him with an expression markedly different from before, nodded.

"Yes, Your Grace!"

He spun around at once and rushed down from the wall with his adjutant and several soldiers in tow.

Olaf then scanned the soldiers lining the ramparts.

"Your Grace...."

"Superhuman of the North...."

The eyes of the men still kneeling on one knee had changed as well. They looked up at him with something new in their gaze.

It was the very look he had always desired, yet now, it brought him no joy.

Damn it.

It meant he had made a reckless choice.

The die had already been cast, and there was no other path left. Victory in a duel against a demigod who had already carved countless feats into history was the only way he would survive this.

"Eternal Battle!"

"Ooooooo!"

From beyond the wall below, the barbarians howled as if celebrating a festival. Olaf glanced toward them, then turned fully, clenching his sweat-damp fist even tighter.

"Good heavens... to witness a Great Warrior’s duel in my lifetime...."

Though Olaf did not hear it, it was not only the barbarians who were stirred.

"The archduke and the demigod... fighting barehanded."

"To think His Grace would make such a decision befitting a true Northerner...."

"Is it not a choice made to preserve his dignity?"

The garrison soldiers, who had risen unsteadily to their feet, were murmuring among themselves, and even the generals and commanders wore stunned expressions as they exchanged words.

"I know it’s disloyal to think this, but I cannot help it...."

"You’re not the only one. Don’t worry."

The excitement and anticipation that had begun with the barbarians were spreading like a fever.

Of course, not everyone was swept up in it.

"Agent of the Saint. I know you are aware of this, but you must not kill him," said Seras as she looked at Ian.

Ian leaped lightly down from Moro’s saddle, unfastening the divine sword at his waist and giving a small shrug. "That may not be entirely up to me. If he refuses to concede defeat, the rules require that we fight until one of us dies."

He secured the detached divine sword to the side of Moro’s saddle. Moro snorted, stirred by the roaring crowd.

"He must be judged under Imperial law. Otherwise, he will be no different from a martyr."

"Well, perhaps that is what he wanted from the start."

"What?"

At Ian’s quiet remark, Seras frowned a beat too late. Phaden, Asme, and even Alex were now watching him closely.

"It is already too late for that. And with Karha watching, I cannot exactly hold back." Ian flicked his hands lightly as if brushing off dust and shrugged again.

Seras’s lips parted, but no words came out.

From the side, Cherwyn said, "You are correct, Agent of the Saint. You must fight with all you have."

Still seated in her saddle, she turned to Seras. "And even if it is recorded as martyrdom, nothing will truly change. The archduke’s misdeeds will be preserved in history without omission. In the eyes of later generations, it will be seen as nothing more than the price he paid for his deeds."

Seras pressed her lips together, unable to offer a rebuttal. Cherwyn’s cool smile lingered as her gaze shifted back to Ian.

"Though it would be preferable if he could be made to concede defeat."

"That sounds like you’re telling me to inflict enough pain to leave him no choice," replied Ian, letting out a scoff.

Cherwyn did not deny it. "I believe you are more than capable."

"Well, I will consider it." Ian shrugged lightly, then swept his gaze over the princess’s group and the two generals standing nearby.

"In any case, everyone should withdraw now. We need space for the duel."

Mev, receiving his look last, immediately turned around.

"Everyone, fall back! Any who interferes in this sacred duel shall incur the wrath of the heavens!" Her voice rang out like thunder, and the barbarians’ roaring subsided at once.

"You heard her! Spread out!"

"Make as much room as possible!"

Instead, a different kind of commotion began.

"Move the wagons first! We cannot have them smashed—take them to the rear!"

"All of you, grab hold! Lift and carry!"

Only diligent at times like this.

Meanwhile, Gelud and Harald bowed their heads briefly and turned their mounts around first. It was obvious they were looking forward to the duel. Nila, carrying Seras, moved to follow them without delay.

"Agent of the Saint. Still, if possible, please don’t kill him. No matter how I think about it, that would be better for us—" Seras’ lingering words trailed off as she was carried farther away.

Phaden and the rest of her group followed, as did Cherwyn, who cast Ian a meaningful look before turning.

Snort—

Moro exhaled sharply and moved as well, quickening its pace to draw alongside Nila.

"Do not concern yourself with what Her Highness or the Saintess says."

A low whisper came from behind just then. Thesaya, her hood pulled low, had drawn up alongside Mev with a gentle tug of her reins.

"Just kill him. Make it so painful he won’t even have the sense to surrender. Understood?"

A cruel, almost playful smile curved her lips. She, too, had accumulated her share of resentment toward Olaf.

However, the reason one corner of Ian’s mouth twisted was not because of that.

They’re all convinced I’ll win easily.

They even seemed to regard Olaf's challenge as nothing more than a desperate attempt to maintain his dignity.

Yet Ian did not see it that way. The archduke clearly had something he trusted in. His insistence on fighting barehanded could not be unrelated to that.

And Ian had already suspected, long ago, that Olaf was hiding some measure of strength.

If he truly is a direct descendant of Karha, what then? Does he possess monstrous strength?

As Ian turned the thought over, Thesaya narrowed her eyes. "Why are you not saying anything? Are you actually planning to let him live?"

"You heard what I said. That depends on him, not me." Ian answered flatly and looked toward Mev.

She nodded and reached out, taking hold of Thesaya’s reins.

"That is enough, Thesaya. We should withdraw and give Ian time to prepare."

"Transform into your draconic form, Ian. Crush his skull in a single blow," Thesaya added, even as she obediently followed Mev.

Ian began loosening his wrists and ankles, letting out another faint scoff.

"If only it were that simple."

He had already sensed the familiar pulse of divinity emanating from the steel circlet resting upon the archduke’s bald head, confirming that Karha was watching.

If I activate the Avatar of Platinum, that butcher will no doubt bless the archduke in response. And likely with overwhelming force.

Based on experience, the odds were more than high. He had seen something similar when he once traversed the snowfields to rally the barbarians.

If that happened again, the fight would escalate into something far larger and more dangerous. There was every chance that someone on either side could be caught in the aftermath and be injured—or killed.

I won’t let it end like that after coming this far.

That was one reason Ian, unlike the others, had not relaxed his guard.

Of course, even knowing all of this, he had accepted the archduke’s proposal without hesitation, not simply because he was confident he would win. He did not want to miss the chance to beat the man down with his own hands.

If it’s a blood-soaked brawl you want, then I’ll gladly give it to you, you battle-crazed butcher.

Ian began loosening each muscle in his body, methodically working through every joint and fiber. Fortunately, nothing ached or felt stiff. The injuries he had sustained earlier had fully healed by the time he arrived here.

Rumble—

At that moment, the massive gates, which had remained tightly shut, rose.

Almost simultaneously, a quest window appeared before Ian’s eyes.

[Atonement’s Punishment.]

His brow twitched. The title and the content bore little connection to one another. The quest was simple—defeat the archduke in a duel. Nothing more.

"He’s coming out!"

"Ooooo!"

Exclamations rose from behind him, where silence had settled. The legionnaires had already finished clearing the area and now stood far back, forming a wide semicircle.

Not only the priests but even the mages watched with gleaming eyes.

The soldiers on the wall were no different. They leaned forward, holding their breath as they looked down.

Step—step—

Olaf emerged fully from the gate and began walking forward, his cloak billowing behind him. His gaze never left Ian, who stood alone at the center of the open ground.

"Perhaps I sensed it from the very first moment we met," he said abruptly, just as Ian closed the quest window and slowly turned his head toward him.

"That a day like this would come, Ian Hope."

"No." Ian faced him fully. "It might not have come at all, Olaf. I have never once coveted your seat."

Olaf’s eyes flickered as he continued walking.

Ian straightened his posture and met his gaze evenly. "Not even now."

"...Yes. Perhaps that’s true." Olaf replied.

There was no mockery in it. Instead, a bitter smile tugged faintly at the corner of his beard-covered mouth. Perhaps he believed that Ian had no reason to lie at this point.

The smile vanished as quickly as it had appeared. "But I will not regret it. My sins will be washed away in battle, as befits a son of the North."

Stopping at a proper distance, Olaf seized the clasp of his fur-lined cloak and tore it free in a single motion. He flung the heavy cloak aside and lifted his chin.

"Karha—bear witness!"

He stomped one foot down and raised his thick, clenched arms to either side.

To Ian, he looked like a fat bear rearing back to roar, made all the more so by the black fur garments he wore.

"Your descendant shall settle matters with your Great Warrior!"

That was when Ian realized it was not merely a declaration.

A faint haze spread across Olaf’s, tinged with a subdued crimson glow.

He’s going all out from the start.

Ian tightened his fists and adjusted his stance.

It resembled the Blessing of Battle, yet it was not Karha’s blessing. Tension surged through him as his concentration, intuition, and heightened senses snapped fully into place.

Swoosh—

Because of that, Ian could tell that the haze was emanating from within the archduke himself, while Karha’s divinity remained faintly gathered around the steel circuit.

"Ooooooo!"

With a howl that sounded half like a roar, Olaf locked eyes with him. He lowered his stance for a heartbeat and then launched forward.

Boom—

Earth exploded upward behind the archduke as he launched forward like a cannonball.

So it really is monstrous strength.

Ian dashed forward to meet him head-on.