"Now then… entertain me."
If the guy wasn't an emperor or someone at the Overlord rank, he would have probably cursed a dozen of times by now.
But he knew he couldn't.
So, he focused on his opponents.
The attention seeking prince of the Sylvenia. The guy wasn't respected much in his homeland due to being a swordsman… so when he suddenly got too much of it in the Empire, it went straight to his head.
His rank was Intermediate Adept Rank.
With Alden being a minor rank higher. But with [Monarch of Mana] suppressing his mana fluctuations, he appeared similar to Zarien on the surface.
So yeah, he had an obvious advantage in this fight.
Not that he would've lost otherwise.
Alden was confident he could've defeated Zarien even back when he was just at Apprentice Rank.
The reason was simple.
The so-called Future Swordmaster of Sylvenia hadn't grown into that title yet.
Right now, he was just an arrogant brat.
Even in the novel, he only managed to take Lucien's arm because he was corrupted by demonic mana.
So Alden didn't really care.
Heck, he hadn't even taken his sword out.
Didn't feel the need to.
"Begin." The voice of the emperor echoed again.
Zarien shot forward, hands gripping a greatsword.
With a sharp swish, the blade cut through the air with practiced ease.
Alden didn't bother with anything elaborate. He tilted his body slightly, letting the sword pass harmlessly by.
He could see dozens of them. Tons of chances to counter. But he didn't move just yet.
He didn't want to shatter Zarien's already fragile ego more than necessary.
Better to let the guy swing a few more times. Then end it.
Zarien smirked like he'd just pulled off some master-level swordplay, turning the blade mid-swing to arc horizontally toward Alden's ribs
But Alden had seen that coming from miles away. He ducked.
The greatsword whooshed past, barely missing the tips of his hair.
He still lacks experience.
Seeing the missed attack, Zarien started to grow impatient.
His movements lost their rhythm. His strikes turned wild—each swing wider and less controlled than the last.
He couldn't understand it.
Why was that boy able to dodge so effortlessly?
To him, Alden seemed like just another clueless idiot—someone who didn't know when to bow.
Sure, he was a disciple of an Overlord… but that didn't mean much to Zarien.
In his eyes, Alden had no backing, no influence. Just a borrowed title.
And Zarien had calculated everything.
He knew that with a proper excuse like a public insult, he could challenge him formally.
A duel bound by honor, recognized by the Empire. One that even his father, the King of Sylvenia, couldn't interfere with. Nor could Jeremy Voidforge.
This was supposed to be his moment. A lesson delivered in front of every important guest in the Empire.
A way to humiliate Alden without breaking a single rule.
Why was it falling apart?
Alden watched another wild swing from Zarien coming his way.
Tch… it's getting boring now.
I should just end it.
Alden dodged, eyes calm, waiting for the perfect moment… the perfect strike.
He wasn't planning to go all out. No need to injure the guy too badly and create more headaches for himself.
Sure—he was Jeremy's disciple. Most powerful figures wouldn't dare mess with him directly.
He didn't want to leave even the smallest opening for trouble
A breath escaped Zarien's lips as he backed off, chest heaving.
His pride had taken more damage than his stamina.
And then, with a sneer, he shouted across the field, "What's the matter, rat? Do you know nothing but dodging?"
Alden's eyes slowly lifted.
Red irises glowed with a flash of annoyance.
Why can't any of these bastards be original for once?
Is "rat" the only insult they know?
You'd think royalty would have a better vocabulary.
He let out a breath, calm… and measured…
And then muttered to himself,
The moment Zarien lunged again, sword raised recklessly, Alden moved.
One step forward—clean and controlled.
His fist shot out like lightning. A slim layer of mana covered his hands perfectly.
Perfect form. Perfect aim.
It slammed straight into Zarien's gut.
A loud and reverberating crack echoed through the dome as Zarien's body bent around Alden's fist, all air knocked out of him in a single instant.
His eyes widened. Sword slipped from his fingers.
Zarien's body flew backward like a broken puppet, crashing hard into the mana dome with a dull thud.
Still, the mana dome didn't even budge.
Well it was created by an Overlord ranked individual after all.
Alden exhaled, brushing imaginary dust off his sleeves.
So much for the future Swordmaster.
The banquet hall, once filled with whispers, now fell silent—quiet as a dead rat.
No one spoke. No one moved.
They had expected the duel to go either way… but none of them had expected this.
Zarien, the seventh prince of Sylvenia defeated by a single punch.
Regardless of what the elves believed, the truth was undeniable: Zarien was one of the strongest of his generation in the Elven Empire.
He never stood a chance.
Alden's gaze shifted toward the Emperor—still sitting on his goddamn throne like he owned the world.
Well, technically, he did own fifteen or twenty percent of the world.
His face remained as passive as ever.
Cold. Knowing. Almost amused.
Like a man who had just confirmed a theory.
And Alden didn't like being anyone's experiment.
He turned to look at Zarien.
The elf lay slumped against the edge of the dome, completely unconscious.
Did he die or something?
A slow clap echoed through the hall as the mana dome dissolved into particles.
A few elven guests rushed toward Zarien, their eyes burning with hostility as they glared at Alden.
Alden just shrugged, his gaze shifting toward the Emperor, who was now making his way over.
The Emperor was smiling now—
And this time, it wasn't cold.
And that, folks, is how you shut down a future Swordmaster with one well-timed punch and zero wasted breath.
Zarien won't be swinging that sword anytime soon.
What did you think of Alden's attitude in this chapter? Calm? Arrogant? Deserved? Let me know below—your comments fuel the next punch.
See you in the next one