ALL NOVEL Chapter 24.2 – Teaching Lessons To a Foolish Man
Nebula’s heart pounded in her chest, the beats echoing like a war drum as she watched the events unfold with mounting dread. The noble grand ballroom had transformed into an arena of tension and threats, filled with gossiping nobles, hungry for drama.
Chandeliers above cast a soft, flickering glow over the polished marble floors. But its warm light did nothing to soothe the cold grip of fear that clenched her heart.
She stared at Iskandaar, her fiancé, standing tall and resolute in the center of the room. This can't be happening… she thought, her mind racing. He’s not Luciel’s opponent.
Just a month ago, Iskandaar was a sickly, fragile young man with barely enough strength to hold a sword. The last time she had seen him, he was at Level 12—so now, he was maybe Level 15, at most. His only experience with fighting was likely limited to some brawls or spars. Nothing that could prepare him for what was to come.
In contrast, Luciel, her stepbrother, was a prodigy. At the age of 18, he had already achieved Level 18, a remarkable feat even among the noble elite. She wished that was all. Luciel wasn’t just strong, he was a natural-born leader, having led a successful campaign against a band of rogue knights who had been terrorizing the borderlands.
His victories had earned him accolades and respect, and Nebula knew that his prowess with a sword was unmatched by anyone of his age. He was used to battles.
This isn’t a duel—it’s a death sentence, Nebula realized, dread filling every corner of her being. He’ll kill him… She looked around the room, hoping for someone to intervene, but instead, she saw only anticipation in the eyes of the gathered nobles. They were eager to see blood, to witness the spectacle of Luciel dismantling the "trash" of the Romani family.
None of them knew that Iskandaar had awakened mana and the system, and yet they wished to see him fight. Did they have a shred of humanity left in them? No, it makes sense. Iskandaar’s image has been tainted by the words thrown by that Baron’s son earlier. They would love to see him getting taught a lesson. To them, he was just a weakling, a cripple who needed to be reminded of his place.
Nebula herself was unsure how much of those words were true, so she didn’t know if she should defend him… No, if not for him, she should defend him for her own reputation. But…
Whispers spread through the crowd like wildfire. Some questioned whether Luciel should even accept the duel, given how lopsided it was. Wouldn’t such an easy win tarnish Luciel’s reputation as a rising star in the Carlstein family? But the facts still persisted, Iskandaar was the one who challenged Luciel to a duel.
None of them seemed to consider Iskandaar a legitimate threat. They were rather worried about how weak Iskandaar was.
“This is not good,” Nebula muttered under her breath as her hands clenched into fists. She should do something—say something—otherwise, things could go terribly wrong. But the words wouldn’t come. She was paralyzed, caught between her fear for Iskandaar’s life and the knowledge that any interference could make things worse.
They’d call her a harlot, drowning in the love of a trash, among many worse things.
“Hey-” still, she opened her mouth to shout. But her voice was drowned by the cough of a lady walking down the stairs.
“Ahem,” Evelina Carlstein, her stepmother, descended the staircase with a fan covering her mouth. Her eyes, however, gleamed with malicious delight. Shit, Nebula’s heart sank as Evelina spoke, her voice carrying across the ballroom like a dark melody.
“What are you guys waiting for? Since two young men with boiling blood want to have a go, let the duel proceed,” Evelina said, her tone sweet and dripping with honeyed poison.
The gathered nobles parted respectfully, acknowledging her authority. Luciel looked up at her, a grin spreading across his face as she nodded approvingly. If he wasn’t sure so far, he was sure now. It was all the encouragement he needed.
…..
Nebula’s heart wavered as she watched Luciel’s grin toward Iskandaar. They were now facing each other in the middle of the ballroom, surrounded by dozens of nobles in a circle whose eyes gleamed with morbid curiosity. The atmosphere was charged with tension, the kind that crackled in the air before a storm. Nebula could barely breathe.
Two servants approached, carrying a pair of wooden swords. They were meant for training, blunt enough to avoid killing. Nebula knew how dangerous a blunt weapon could be in the hands of someone who knew how to use it. It could still kill, if one intended for it. Nebula’s dread deepened. Were they trying to cripple Iskandaar?
But then, something unexpected happened.
As the servant handed him the wooden sword, Iskandaar looked at it for a moment before letting it drop to the floor. Nebula blinked. The sound of the sword clattering against the marble echoed through the room, drawing gasps and shocked murmurs from the crowd.
One noble couldn’t contain his laughter. “Is he giving up already?!” he mocked, his voice dripping with disdain.
Lilian, standing among the crowd now, near Nebula, let out a scoff, her voice cutting through the noise like a blade. “Why would he give up, you dumbass? They haven't even started. He doesn’t need a sword, that’s why he dropped it.”
The nobles exchanged confused glances, and even Nebula was taken aback by the maid’s confidence. What does she mean? Nebula wondered, her fear mixing with curiosity. Why would he not need a sword?
The overseer of the duel, a young noble who served in the military, frowned at that. He was a noble who worked as a soldier in the border wall, and he had stepped ahead to volunteer as the overseer. He looked at Luciel and spoke with a formal tone. “Are you comfortable with your opponent using his hands, my lord?”
Luciel’s smirk didn’t waver. “It’s fine,” he said, his voice oozing arrogance. “If he’s too weak for the sword, I can always switch to fighting with my hands too.”
The overseer nodded, then began outlining the rules of the duel. “The duel will continue until one party is incapacitated or yields. The victor will have the right to demand one concession from the loser, and they’ve both revealed what they want.”
As the overseer spoke, Iskandaar calmly rolled up his sleeves, revealing forearms that were far more muscular than Nebula remembered. Not only that, the veins on his arms were pumped, as if he was already warmed up. His movements were deliberate, almost relaxed as if this were just another chore for him. The contrast between his calm demeanor and Luciel’s overconfidence was stark.
What was going on? Does he have some tricks up his sleeves?
With the rules set, the overseer stepped back and raised a hand. Nebula watched with sweat dripping from her brows, as the man brought his hand down. “The duel starts now!”
Luciel wasted no time. He surged forward with a burst of speed, and his wooden sword sliced through the air like a whistle. He executed a textbook-perfect move, the swordsmanship skill of the Carlstein nobility. A dangerous stab aimed for Iskandaar’s neck, he fully expected to destroy his vocals in one swift motion.
But instead of the satisfying sound of wood against flesh, Luciel’s sword met something far more unyielding.
Iskandaar had caught the sword with his bare hand.
The ballroom fell deathly silent as everyone watched in disbelief. Luciel’s eyes widened in shock as he realized what had just happened. Iskandaar stood there, unflinching, as golden eyes dug into Luciel’s skull. His hand gripped the wooden blade with such force that it began to splinter. The pressure increased, and with a sharp crack, the sword shattered, pieces of wood scattering across the floor.
“Level 18?”
Nebula’s breath caught in her throat. What… what’s happening?
“What a disgrace.”
The moment those words left his mouth, the air got heavy as Iskandaar’s mana suffocated the room. Mana invaded the room and surrounded Iskandaar’s body.
A loud sound deafened the room. No one dared to talk as Iskandaar’s fist slammed into Luciel.
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