Chapter 114: Self-Inflicted Humiliation
Those few words were uttered with such brazen arrogance that they already bore the air of a seasoned rustic warrior. After the mage spoke, he immediately ducked his head and hid behind Shaya.
Across from them, the black-armored warrior stepped forward. The crowd had initially worn expressions of anger, but as soon as Todoro finished speaking, everyone’s faces changed color.
Hastings?!
For every citizen of the Byzantine Empire, perhaps some did not know the Emperor’s name, but the name Hastings—surely even the deaf would recognize it!
If even Hastings was under this man’s command, could it be that the proud fellow sitting there with an air of supreme confidence was none other than the recently rumored fierce general who had wounded Hastings on the battlefield?
The arrogance of the black-armored warrior Afrekart and his companions immediately diminished. Everyone’s expressions shifted; Afrekart’s face paled and flushed in turns. He clutched his sword, uncertain whether to hold it horizontally, vertically, or to sheepishly withdraw it altogether.
What a joke! If even Hastings could be wounded, what was his own strength worth?
But for Shaya, these words scorched his pride like fire. Though he was somewhat shameless—(alas, poor Rabbit Ruur, Ox, Tiangong, Todoro, and the wrongfully slain Bonfret all harboring collective grievances)—there was still some dignity left in him.
Especially when Todoro mentioned that Hastings had been severely wounded and fled in panic before him, Shaya’s face flushed red as if scorched.
Indeed, it was true that Hastings was gravely injured and fled—though it seemed that it was actually Shaya himself who had done so.
He knew full well his own capabilities; if he ever truly faced Hastings, it would be Shaya who would flee in terror.
Moreover, with Hastings’ magnificent black steed’s speed, it was questionable whether even he could escape.
Yet Shaya’s expression, as seen by the others, was quite different: the legendary warrior who had defeated Hastings suddenly flushed with a radiant glow, an aura of commanding presence shining in his eyes.
As for his evasive gaze… it crackled with electric intensity!
Afrekart’s expression stiffened momentarily. He exhaled deeply, hesitated, but then hardened his resolve, grit his teeth, and raised his head proudly.
“So you are the famed warrior who defeated Odin’s war god Hastings… Yes, I have heard of you, Mr. Shaya! Though I admire your bravery, I am also a warrior, and I have the pride of a warrior! Since the challenge has already been issued, I will not retract it! Otherwise, neither I nor my warrior band would have any face to show in the future!”
Though he, too, had a hint of shamelessness (alas, poor Rabbit, Ox, Tiangong, Todoro, and the unjustly slain Bonfret sharing their collective grievances), he still possessed some dignity.
Especially with Todoro’s claim that Hastings fled wounded before him, Shaya’s face burned crimson like a monkey’s behind.
Yes. Hastings was indeed gravely wounded and fled in panic—but that was probably Shaya himself.
He was keenly aware of his own abilities; if he truly met Hastings, it would be Shaya who fled in panic. And with Hastings’ magnificent black horse’s speed, it was uncertain whether even he could escape.
Yet Shaya’s expression, as perceived by the others, was different: the legendary figure who defeated Hastings suddenly radiated a flush of vitality, his countenance brimming with commanding presence.
As for that evasive look… his eyes sparkled like bolts of lightning!
Afrekart’s face stiffened briefly. He sighed deeply, hesitated for a moment, but eventually hardened his resolve, gritted his teeth, and lifted his head proudly.
“So, you are the famed warrior who defeated Odin’s Hastings... Yes, I have heard your name, Mr. Shaya! Though I respect your valor, I am a warrior and have the dignity of one. Since the challenge has been issued, I will not withdraw it! Otherwise, my warrior band and I would have no face to show henceforth!”
Afrekart slowly swung his sword horizontally and gritted his teeth, “Though I admit I am no match for you, I will fight to the death to learn your divine skill! Please, enlighten me!”
With these words, the black-armored warrior bore an expression of grim resolve, as if marching toward the execution ground.
Shaya opened his mouth to speak, but before a word could escape, a cold sneer echoed in his mind, filled with disdain—it was Dora’s voice.
The female dragon’s mocking tone rang out: “Utterly shameless! If Hastings heard this, he’d surely laugh his teeth out. Hmph, this human warrior’s skill is no joke; though his fighting spirit is far from the peak, his swordsmanship is indeed sharp and fierce. If you truly fight him, unless it’s a desperate battle just for show, even if you win, you’d lose face badly.”
Shaya was stung by Dora’s ridicule but had no retort. Deep down, he knew the dragon spoke truth—for if not a desperate fight, while his Crimson Killing Aura might defeat Afrekart, the latter’s fighting spirit could pierce his dragon-blooded defenses. A clean victory was impossible without injury.
Moreover, Afrekart’s agility and swift, ruthless sword style were unlike the blunt, heavy attacks Shaya had faced in the army. Such an opponent was unfamiliar to him. Even wielding the Crimson Killing Aura, it was uncertain whether he could land a blow. A single misstep could mean defeat.
After all, the time he wounded Hastings was in a close-range ambush, with Bonfret as a decoy to distract Hastings, combined with Shaya’s strongest move, the Dragon Thorn—only then did he strike successfully.
Seeing Afrekart’s resolute challenge, Shaya’s mind hatched a mischievous plan.
He slowly rose, then turned step by step around the table. As he approached, he drew the fire fork from its sheath at his waist.
Shaya’s movements were slow and openly apparent, and Afrekart readied himself but stood his ground, eyes fixed unwaveringly on Shaya.
“You know I am a soldier,” Shaya said solemnly. His face was honest and simple, with an innocuous smile that made him seem harmless. Slowly, he raised the fire fork with a deliberately calm expression—Afrekart still did not move, confident this new hero of the Empire was not a cowardly sneak attacker.
Shaya had no intention of a sneak attack. His expression grave, he suddenly snapped his fingers hard against the fire fork. With a whoosh, the weapon emitted a sound like a dragon’s roar!
“As a soldier, I must uphold discipline, not fight frivolously, nor harm others recklessly,” Shaya sighed deliberately. “So, you want to spar with me. This request, I fear, I cannot fulfill... Well, so long as you can block one strike from my fork, you win. Watch carefully!”
Before Afrekart could respond, Shaya took a deep breath. Blood-red light flashed in his eyes as he slanted the fire fork downward in a sweeping arc.
His strike was not swift—in fact, it seemed deliberately slow and leisurely, the fire fork descending with a measured delay.
He had already said, “Block one strike from my fork, and you win.”
Moreover, the descending fire fork showed no intimidating aura, its movement sluggish and seemingly lacking force, hardly something to fear.
Afrekart had indeed fallen for the trap!
Almost instinctively, he raised his sword horizontally to block. His reflexes were quick—the blade instantly glowed with fighting spirit.
Had he dodged and counterattacked with his sharp, ruthless, swift swordplay, he might not have defeated Shaya, but he would have had some chance of victory. But by meeting the strike head-on, he had fallen perfectly into Shaya’s snare.
With a sharp hiss, Afrekart’s sword snapped cleanly in two. Though it was a fine steel blade, the tip broke easily. The fire fork’s strike, imbued with the sharp Crimson Killing Aura and Shaya’s formidable strength, sent a jolt of numbness through Afrekart’s arm. He staggered back several steps, then steadied himself.
Looking at the half-broken sword in his hand, then at the proudly standing Shaya—who had sheathed his fork and wore a faint, inscrutable smile—Afrekart’s face instantly turned ashen.
He had trained in martial arts for years but never imagined he could not even block a single strike from this opponent. Shock overwhelmed him, erasing all thoughts of dodging or his strength disadvantages. The impact of defeat flooded his mind.
“I... I lost!” he admitted, utterly disheartened.
At that moment, Afrekart’s spirit was crushed. He was a man of insight; he knew the weapon was sharp, but the clean, precise break was not due to the sword’s quality—it was a mysterious force! During that strike, he clearly felt an overwhelming, piercing power descend instantly, unstoppable, breaking through his fighting spirit.
He simply could not block it!
“I have brought this humiliation upon myself, with nothing to say!” Afrekart threw his sword to the ground in frustration, his mind blank. All ambition and pride vanished.
He had formed this warrior band, made a name for himself three years ago in the grand tournament of Osilia, and had trained hard since, hoping to achieve greater success. Yet, when meeting a true master, he was so easily defeated.
He turned to leave without a word, even planning to abandon going to Osjilia to avoid further embarrassment.
But after only two steps, Shaya called out sharply, “Wait!”
Afrekart turned, clenching his fists, his voice grave: “I admit my skill is inferior. I accept it wholeheartedly. But what do you want now? Do you intend to finish me off?”
After a pause, he gave a bitter smile. “Ah! I was foolish! After losing, how could I leave nothing behind?”
He spun back, glaring fiercely at Shaya. “I leave you my right hand; I will never wield a sword again! Are you satisfied?”
His words drew shocked gasps from his companions; some began to draw their swords, ready to swarm Shaya.
“Silence! Shut up, all of you!” Shaya suddenly shouted, glaring fiercely. “Are you crazy? What would I want with your hand? To roast and eat it?”
“Well then...” someone began.
Shaya chuckled softly, his smile sincere and warm. “When I saw you fighting earlier, your swordsmanship was indeed good, which is why I praised you. But honestly, your technique has many flaws. I see you are a tough man, a man of courage. If you’re willing, I could teach you a thing or two.”
He smiled expectantly, while in his mind Dora scoffed, “Shameless! Clearly just trying to steal his sword techniques, yet boldly claiming to guide him!”