Chapter 162: Hound Of Red Water

"Do you take us for fools, Sir Belthon?" Berman asked.

Belthon furrowed his brows as he looked at him and answered, "I do not understand what you are trying to say, Sir Berman."

Berman’s hand slowly moved toward the hilt of his sword, and his expression hardened as he added, "Are you telling me that an Adept was able to exchange blows with an Exalted Expert like you?"

The moment those words left his mouth, the atmosphere around them changed.

Belthon’s eyes narrowed, and the muscles in his jaw tightened. "Are you questioning my judgment?"

"I am questioning your answer," Berman replied coldly.

Belthon’s brows furrowed even further, while the air between the two knights seemed to tremble beneath the sharpness of their gazes. Neither man moved, yet the tension between them was enough to make several spectators step back instinctively.

Elias remained silent as he watched them.

Berman was not entirely wrong to be surprised.

Elias had been known throughout the west as the Trash of the Crimson Ducal Clan, and according to the information surrounding him, he should have possessed little more than beginner-level swordsmanship. Yet today, he had exchanged dozens of blows with an Exalted knight and had demonstrated enough skill to make the crowd question everything they had previously heard about him.

Perhaps the Crimson Ducal Clan had provided Berman’s master with incorrect information, just as they had forced him to oversee Kilmir while knowing perfectly well that his true objective was the duke’s bastard.

However, none of that mattered anymore.

Today, his master intended to use the city’s own laws to remove the stain from the west.

Elias slowly pushed himself upright and brushed the dust from his armor. His eyes remained on Berman as the knight finally unsheathed his sword with a soft metallic click.

"It is pretty obvious that he is an Advanced swordsman," Berman declared.

The crowd immediately erupted into murmurs.

"Advanced?"

"But Sir Belthon said he was an Adept!"

"How could Lord Elias be Advanced?"

Belthon’s expression darkened as he looked toward Berman.

"Are you saying that I cannot tell the difference between an Adept and an Advanced swordsman?" he asked, his voice carrying across the training ground.

"Anyone can make mistakes, Sir Belthon," Berman replied.

Belthon stared at him for several seconds before slowly nodding.

"Right..." he said, and a cold smile appeared on his face. "Which you just did by calling Lord Elias an Advanced swordsman. Do you accept your mistake?"

Berman shook his head.

"So much drama over a bastard," he muttered. "It seems you have forgotten who I am."

A faint smile appeared on Belthon’s lips.

"Is it even possible to forget the Hound of Red Water?" he asked.

Berman’s eyes sharpened.

"Then let me show you how I received that name!"

The instant his words ended, Berman shot forward.

His boots slammed against the stone as his body accelerated, and crimson Aura suddenly danced along the edge and surface of his sword. The same crimson light flickered across his eyes, making his gaze appear almost predatory.

Belthon immediately raised his own sword.

Clang!

The two blades collided with enough force to send a shockwave through the surrounding air, and several spectators stumbled backward.

Belthon’s boots scraped across the stone, but he quickly stabilized himself and swung toward Berman’s neck.

Berman tilted his head aside, allowing the blade to pass within inches of his skin, and immediately countered with a horizontal slash toward Belthon’s abdomen.

Belthon lowered his sword and caught the attack.

The impact forced his arms downward, but he twisted his wrists and redirected Berman’s blade before thrusting toward his chest.

Berman stepped sideways.

The sword passed beside his torso, and he immediately drove his elbow toward Belthon’s face.

Belthon raised his arm and blocked the strike, but Berman used the opening to rotate his body and swing his sword toward Belthon’s thigh.

Belthon jumped backward.

The Aura-coated blade cut through empty air, and the stone beneath it cracked from the force.

The crowd watched in stunned silence as the two knights continued exchanging blows.

Clang!

Clang!

Clang!

Their swords moved faster and faster, crimson Aura flashing with every collision as sparks scattered across the training ground.

Belthon swung downward toward Berman’s shoulder, but Berman caught the attack and pushed the blade aside before stepping inside Belthon’s guard.

His sword immediately thrust toward Belthon’s stomach.

Belthon twisted his waist, allowing the blade to scrape against his armor instead of piercing through it, and then slammed his shoulder into Berman’s chest.

Berman staggered backward.

Belthon pursued him, swinging toward his neck, but Berman ducked beneath the attack and swept his sword toward Belthon’s legs.

Belthon jumped.

Before he could land properly, Berman was already moving.

His sword came down from above, forcing Belthon to raise his own weapon with both hands.

The collision shook the ground beneath them.

Belthon’s knees bent from the impact, and Berman pressed forward with greater strength.

"You are stronger than I expected," Belthon grunted.

"And you are slower than I expected," Berman replied.

Belthon’s eyes sharpened as he suddenly twisted his sword and knocked Berman’s weapon aside.

He stepped forward and swung toward Berman’s ribs.

Berman blocked.

Their swords locked together, and both men pushed against each other, Aura surging along their blades as neither was willing to yield.

For several seconds, they remained evenly matched.

However, Elias noticed the difference.

Belthon’s swordsmanship was refined, but Berman was more experienced, more aggressive, and slightly stronger. Every exchange forced Belthon to give ground, and although he continued defending himself without hesitation, the pressure was gradually increasing.

Berman suddenly disengaged and stepped to the side.

Belthon followed his movement.

Then Berman’s leg whipped forward.

His boot slammed directly into Belthon’s abdomen.

"Guh!"

Belthon’s body was launched backward, and he crashed into the ground near the spectators before rolling several times across the stone.

The crowd recoiled in fear.

"Sir Belthon!"

"What just happened?"

"Stay back!"

His gaze moved toward the place where Belthon had fallen, and he mumbled, "Who is that?"

A man wearing a black robe had stepped out from among the spectators.

Elias’s pupils contracted.

The man stood silently behind the crowd, his face hidden beneath the hood of his robe.

Meanwhile, Belthon slowly pushed himself up.

He wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth and tightened his grip around his sword.

"I am not finished," he said as he rose to his feet.

Berman turned toward him, his sword still coated in crimson Aura.

But just as Belthon took a step forward, he heard something.

Click.

His body froze.

A second sound followed immediately afterward.

SKRZH!

The sound of metal tearing apart echoed across the training ground.

Belthon’s eyes widened.

Pain suddenly coursed through his entire body.

He looked down.

A curved blade, shaped like a scythe, had pierced straight through his back.

"SIR BELTHON!" Elias shouted, his expression horrified.