A grand full-length mirror adorned with silver and bronze reflected the image of a man standing bare-chested. At first glance, it was an unremarkable physique—well-fed and muscular, with a medium build that was neither particularly imposing nor frail. Any average young man stripped to his waist might appear the same. Yet to Karnak, it was a sight that filled him with immense pride. "Wow, look at me. My body’s actually looking pretty good!" He flexed his biceps, grinning from ear to ear. Once an emaciated figure teetering between a dried fish and a sack of bones, his form had finally developed into something resembling a proper human. "Don’t you think I’ve bulked up quite a bit, Varos?" he asked, beaming at the results of his intense training. His loyal attendant, however, was quick to temper his master’s enthusiasm with a deadpan response. "After all that rolling around, any man would have bulked up . Heck, even a woman would’ve put on some muscle after all that effort. Especially with the amount of meat I’ve been feeding you." "Come on, I transformed this much in just a month. Can’t you at least compliment me a little?" "How out of shape must you have been for one month of effort to make such a difference? Get a hold of yourself for once, will you?" Karnak blinked. It was the usual insolent tone, but there was something different about it—an undertone of concern. Realizing the reason behind this change, Karnak gently patted Varos on the shoulder. "Don’t worry too much. It’ll work out." After all, Karnak was about to face Randolph in the trial by combat. It was only natural for Varos to feel anxious about what lay ahead. "How can I not worry?" Varos grumbled. No matter how thoroughly they’d prepared, the world was full of uncertainties, and plans often went awry. "If things go south, just use necromancy immediately. We can just kill everyone watching and run." "I’m telling you. That would just be repeating my past mistakes," Karnak said with a sigh. "Better that than dying right there. It won’t mean anything if you win the trial if your head is already lopped off." For most people, decapitation meant the end. Karnak, however, was different. Even in death, he could resurrect himself using necromancy, though it would mean losing his humanity and mortal senses. "Even if you run, you should run as a living man. We gave up everything to live like humans again, remember?" "Alright, alright," Karnak said. He turned his gaze toward the polished armor, sword, and shield arranged in the corner of the room. Varos had spared no effort in polishing and preparing these pieces for this day. Taking steady steps toward them, Karnak muttered resolutely, "Let’s go—to the arena." The temporary arena for the trial by combat had been set up on the northern plains, where the Temple of Alium stood. This borderland between Devantor and Zestrad was usually desolate, visited only by shepherds and the occasional priest. But today, it was teeming with people. Varos’s jaw dropped to the floor as he scanned the crow upon his arrival. "Wow, there are way more spectators here than I expected." On either side of the arena stood the people of Zestrad and Devantor, along with the priests of Alium presiding over the trial. The gathered crowd easily numbered over a hundred. As Karnak advanced in his gleaming armor, he spoke softly, "Well, it’s a trial deciding the fate of our land. Of course there’d be this many people." "You’re talking about it like it’s someone else’s problem," Varos grumbled, unable to hide the worry etched on his face. "Do you really think you’ll be able to escape, just in case?" "With this many people? Yeah, easily." Karnak’s calm, almost nonchalant response finally coaxed a sigh of relief from Varos. Karnak smirked faintly to himself. Well, it’s not exactly a lie. He was confident he could escape. Killing everyone, however? That was entirely out of the question. If I run, my identity will be exposed immediately. Living on the run as a necromancer, constantly pursued, was a life Karnak knew all too well. He understood perfectly well how that story would end. I have no choice but to win this fight. Amid the clamor of the crowd, Karnak stepped toward the entrance of the arena. With every step, the people of his domain murmured tearful prayers. "Oh, young master..." "May Alium protect our lord!" The most update n0vels are published on 𝓷𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓵·𝕗𝕚𝕣𝕖·𝙣𝙚𝙩 "Please, avenge our former lord!" The reaction was unexpectedly supportive. They didn’t see him as a dead man walking. On the contrary, they seemed to believe Karnak might actually stand a chance of winning. But to Karnak, it was laughable. It was illogical. How could a sheltered bookworm possibly defeat a seasoned knight after training in secret for a mere three months? I must’ve done a great job talking myself up. It made sense, though. If his original plan had been to rely on necromancy during the duel, those around him would have felt his confidence. And to think I didn’t even realize I was marching to my own doom. What a farce. Eventually, a priest emerged in the center of the arena. The middle-aged man raised his hand to silence the crowd. "Be silent in the presence of Alium’s authority!" The field quickly grew quiet. The trial was about to begin. "Both sides have contested the validity of the other’s claims. Under the great protection of Alium, the truth shall be revealed!" The priest’s voice boomed once more. "Karnak, lord of Zestrad and combatant in this trial, step forward and stand in the presence of the goddess!" Karnak strode into the arena. Clad in gleaming steel armor and carrying a shield emblazoned with the Zestrad crest, his appearance was surprisingly dignified. Cheers erupted from the Zestrad side. The priest’s voice rang out again. "Randolph, knight of Devantor and combatant in this trial, step forward and stand in the presence of the goddess!" Another round of cheers followed, this time from the Devantor side. Amid the thunderous applause, a towering man entered the arena. It was Randolph, dressed in nothing but his usual plain clothes. Unlike Karnak, Randolph bore neither armor nor shield. He carried only his favored greatsword strapped to his back. This, of course, had been agreed upon beforehand. Given the disparity in skill between the two combatants, this was the only way to ensure a semblance of fairness. Even so, Randolph clearly held the upper hand. His confident grin never left his face. The two men walked slowly toward each other, finally coming to a halt at the center of the arena. Raising a sacred relic of Alium, the priest spoke. "Combatants, do you swear to fight honorably in the name of Alium?" Drawing his sword and holding it upright before his helmet, Karnak responded firmly. "I swear, upon the honor of Zestrad!" Randolph did not draw his sword. Instead, he boldly declared, "I swear, upon the honor of Devantor!" The priest nodded and began to back away. "Under the blessing of the goddess, let the scales of justice tip where they may!" As the middle-aged priest exited the arena, his final shout echoed across the field. "Let the trial by combat begin!" Randolph unsheathed the sword slung across his back. The chilling sound of steel being drawn rang sharply in the air. It wasn’t particularly loud, but for some reason, it sent a shiver down the spine. Of course, Karnak wasn’t fazed in the slightest. He had prepared for this moment by having Varos repeatedly draw and sheathe swords back at the estate, making the same sounds galore. "Little brat of Zestrad," Randolph sneered, letting his sword hang loosely at his side. "I don’t know what you’ve been up to these past three months, but..." He took a casual step forward, and in the same breath, his blade lashed out toward Karnak’s shoulder. Karnak swiftly raised his shield to block. The sound of metal colliding echoed as Karnak was forced back a few steps, but he stayed on his feet. Randolph didn’t seem surprised that his attack was blocked. If anything, he would have been more shocked if it hadn’t been. It was a deliberately light blow, meant only to test the waters. "The path of the sword isn’t something you can grasp in a few months," Randolph quipped, his grin widening. He pressed the attack, and Karnak braced himself. Karnak managed to block Randolph’s strikes with his shield, counterattacking whenever he found an opening. Randolph, however, deftly evaded Karnak’s sluggish swings and responded with his own follow-up strikes. The sound of metal rang out in a continuous rhythm as the two exchanged blows. At a glance, it looked like an intense duel. The crowd on Zestrad’s side erupted in cheers. "The young master is holding his ground!" "He’s not the young master anymore—he’s our lord now!" Karnak himself felt a measure of relief. Good. The opening is unfolding just as Varos predicted. The attacks weren’t particularly fast or powerful. Randolph’s moves seemed more like a way to gauge his opponent’s skill. Even the paths of his strikes were predictable—easy enough to block if Karnak followed his training. For now, Karnak had only one job: to keep up appearances. He bellowed a thunderous battle cry, louder than ever before. "Hyaaah!" He poured every ounce of his will into his glare and posture, projecting an image of unwavering resolve and fearless determination. More strikes came his way. Randolph, now watching Karnak with curiosity, murmured to himself. "Not bad. There’s some fire in those eyes." Skill-wise, Karnak was nothing remarkable. He was pathetic. He wasn’t a proper knight. In fact, he barely measured up to a halfway competent soldier. But his attitude on the battlefield? That deserved some recognition. With this much spirit, I can at least defeat him in a way befitting a trial by combat. Randolph’s swordplay grew sharper. His strikes became heavier and more forceful, with a palpable pressure behind each blow. "Gah!" Karnak grunted as a particularly fierce attack bore down on him. He knew that attempting to block it with his shield would be like trying to stop a landslide with a plank. But Karnak didn’t panic. As though he had been waiting for this very moment, Karnak flung himself to the ground and rolled away, tumbling across the dirt. Randolph blinked, momentarily caught off guard. He hadn’t expected his opponent to dodge so... undignifiedly. In a real battle, this was where Randolph would simply run him through. He would end the fight on the spot. But this is a duel after all, Randolph thought, slightly bemused. Chasing him down like that feels... He waited for Karnak to get back on his feet. The moment Karnak was back on his feet, Randolph swung again— Again, Randolph’s blade sliced through empty air as Karnak rolled out of reach. Another strike followed— Randolph’s expression twisted between disbelief and irritation. Did this fool really think rolling around like a scared rabbit was a valid strategy? Did he honestly believe such antics would eventually create an opening? So he thinks he can mock a knight? Randolph’s demeanor shifted slightly. "I see... Looks like I’ll have to take this a bit more seriously." He moved from merely testing the waters to subtly raising the stakes. An experienced warrior would recognize that things were about to get real. But Karnak had no such experience. He couldn’t sense the change in his opponent’s intent. What he did have, however, was a loyal servant practically overflowing with combat expertise. "Young master!" Varos’s sharp cry rang out. It was their prearranged signal. Frankly, Karnak didn’t see what had changed. But if Varos said it was time, it was time. Suddenly, Karnak cast aside his shield. Randolph blinked in confusion. Did he lose his mind? What kind of idiot throws away his shield? Of course, from Randolph’s perspective, it didn’t matter whether Karnak had a shield or not. If Randolph wanted to, he could lop the young brat’s head off in an instant. But that was only true from Randolph’s perspective. From Karnak’s perspective, this was an utterly reckless move. Karnak tossed his shield to the side and took a proper stance. "I, too, will fight in earnest, Sir Randolph!" With both hands gripping his longsword, he aimed the blade squarely at his opponent. It was a stance Varos had drilled into his body over countless, grueling hours. Murmurs rippled through the ranks of the knights on the Deventor side. It wasn’t Zestrad’s swordsmanship. It was far more renowned—a style any knight in northern Eustil would immediately recognize. Randolph muttered in disbelief. "Delphiad swordsmanship?"