The next morning.
"Ha—ahh!"
Yawning, Duke stumbled out of his bedroom and into the washroom to freshen up. He had only returned at dawn after a long night of discussion with Jarvan III and the others.
When he revealed Morgana's veil, Barrett had nearly fainted on the spot.
As a devout clergyman, Barrett's reverence for the Winged Guardians was absolute. Yet the moment Duke produced Morgana's veil, the man seemed utterly possessed.
The three of them had bombarded Duke with questions, wringing every detail they could about Morgana. Afterwards, they gazed at the veil with a mixture of awe and devotion.
Duke himself found it baffling. How had he never noticed how superstitious these men were? Normally they acted so sharp and pragmatic, but the moment anything touched on gods or legends, they lost all composure.
"Superstition really does ruin people," Duke muttered.
He shook his head at the reflection in the mirror, rinsed his mouth, and stepped out of the washroom.
His thoughts drifted back to the night before. The abolition of the Mage Ban had already been tentatively decided; all that remained was to announce it on an auspicious day.
They would also seek Morgana's counsel, even inviting her to attend in person.
The chosen day was none other than the closing ceremony of the Grand Tournament.
On that day, the champion would be crowned, and countless spectators would gather from every corner of the land to witness history. Announcing it then would be the perfect timing.
After coming downstairs, Duke found Vayne and Lux preparing breakfast for him. He ate leisurely at the dining table before heading out to the courtyard to practice his morning exercises and meditate.
Whether because his body was approaching the level of an Ascended, or because his soul had reached the stage of purification, Duke's cultivation of the Force advanced at an astonishing pace.
He raised his palm, holding up a leaf with invisible power, letting it rise and fall, never escaping his control.
Force Push—one of the most basic applications of the Force. For beginners, it was both the simplest attack and the most fundamental technique. By pushing or pulling objects, even the air itself, one could affect foes at a distance.
The leaf danced in Duke's palm as if it were alive. To Lux, who sat watching nearby, it looked like sorcery. She could sense no flow of magic from him, yet the leaf still fluttered and turned in his hand.
Her admiration for Duke deepened.
Duke's eyes narrowed. He shifted the direction of his push from multiple angles, compressing the leaf. With a sharp crack, it was crushed into powder in his palm.
"Mm. Looks like I could do the same to a person—press them into pulp."
He brushed the fragments from his hand just as a carriage pulled up outside. From it stepped two men. One was a staff member of the Grand Tournament, here to deliver the next duel's schedule.
By this stage, contestants who had reached the top thirty-two no longer needed to run about. Officials would bring updates directly to them—a small reward for their hard work.
But it was the man accompanying the official that made Duke narrow his eyes. He had seen this man just last night. By all rights, he should be preparing for tomorrow's duel. So why was he here?
"Master Duke, this is the schedule for your next match," the official said, handing over the notice. Then, rubbing his hands nervously, he asked, "Could I trouble you for an autograph?"
He produced a strip of fine leather, eyes shining with admiration.
"I really admire your fighting style—calm as a mountain, fierce as thunder. Please, a signature!"
Duke gave a helpless smile. Did he already have fanatics?
But a simple autograph felt too plain. Better to give him something memorable.
"Wait here a moment," Duke said.
He went back inside, fetched his camera, returned to the courtyard, and posed with the man for a photo. Handing over the picture, Duke said, "Thank you for your support. Here, take this."
The official trembled with excitement at the photograph, bowing deeply before hurrying away, clutching it like a treasure.
Once he left, Duke turned his gaze to the man who had come with him.
"Well then, Mister Sebastian, what brings you here?"
Indeed—it was none other than the father of the Unrivaled Duelist, Fiora Laurent.
"Master Duke, forgive my intrusion," Sebastian said with a courteous smile. "But I come with a bold request, one I wish to discuss in detail."
Duke waved him inside. "Lux, tea."
"Yes, Teacher!"
As Lux went to prepare tea, Duke gestured toward the house. "Please, Sebastian."
"Much obliged."
They went into the study—no drawing room was ready, so the study would do.
"Have a seat," Duke offered, taking out a cigar. "Would you like one?"
"No, thank you," Sebastian declined with a polite wave. "As a duelist, I must keep absolute control over my body. And with age… well, I can no longer take such indulgences."
"Then I won't be polite," Duke said, clipping and lighting one for himself. His eyes studied Sebastian. "So then, what brings you here today? Speak plainly."
Sebastian's expression turned heavy. "I wonder, Master Duke… do you know what transpired last night?"
"You mean your daughter's broken engagement with the Crownguard family?" Duke shrugged. "I was there."
"Then I'll be direct. I want your most advanced exoskeleton armor—for tomorrow's duel."
Duke raised a brow. Now this was interesting.
In the original tale, after Fiora annulled the engagement, High Marshal Tianna Crownguard appointed a duelist to represent her family. She chose a veteran of the Dauntless Vanguard, against whom Sebastian had no chance.
The Laurent family was destined for disgrace. Fiora herself would be shamed and exiled.
Faced with this, Sebastian had chosen a desperate path: poisoning.
Yes—he had tried to drug his opponent, dulling his senses and slowing his reactions to seize victory. And he was caught red-handed.
Evidence and culprit, all in one. No escape.
Duke found it laughable. A patriarch, a man of stature, stooping to such underhanded tricks? Not only stooping—but getting caught? Was the Laurent family nothing but comic relief, Fiora aside?
But now, things were changing.
Sebastian had come to Duke, not to cheat, but to buy exoskeleton armor—seeking strength, not poison.
And Duke remembered what Cecelia had once told him: the Laurent family's eldest son had won a duel using one of these suits. That armor had been from the very first batch sold to Demacia by Piltover.
This was the butterfly effect of Duke's arrival.
What Duke didn't yet know was that last night, when Vayne returned home by carriage, she happened to cross paths with the Laurents' coach. That encounter had shifted Sebastian's course, altering everything.
Sebastian noticed Duke's expression and grew uneasy. "Is there… a problem? If it's a matter of money, please rest assured—I will not disappoint you."
"No, no," Duke waved a hand. "Not about money. I'm just curious—why come to me?"
Sebastian gave a rueful smile. "My eldest son once won a duel with your exoskeleton. I even scolded him for relying on such a thing. Yet now, it seems I must do the same if I wish to prevail."
"I see," Duke nodded slowly, his mind already calculating.
Tomorrow's death duel would draw countless eyes. Sebastian's defeat was certain. But if Duke's armor carried him to victory?
It would be the perfect advertisement.
An aging duelist, past his prime, defeating a Dauntless Vanguard with the aid of exoskeleton armor—what better proof of its value?
It would open the doors of Demacia's high society once again.
From any angle, this was profit without loss.
Duke smiled at Sebastian. "Since you've chosen me, and chosen the exoskeleton, I'll do everything in my power to help you win."
He raised one finger, his smile turning sly. "But… I have one condition."
"A condition?" Sebastian's heart sank at the look on Duke's face, but for the sake of his family, for Fiora, he could not refuse.
"Please, speak."
End of chapter....
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