~Where Calmness Is Sharper Than Anger~
The banquet intensified.
Laughter flowed. Glasses rose. Music swelled like the slow breathing of the hall.
But beneath that civility—
Tension coiled.
Those who observed Kel earlier now watched subtly. Not all noble eyes hold curiosity—some hold wounded pride.
Politically, Kel had proven sharp.
Socially, graceful.
Tonight he'd avoided humiliation.
But there were nobles who believed that dignity must be tested twice.
Words are one thing. Steel is another.
And so—
It began.
The Provocation
A figure broke from a group near the central floor. A young nobleman, tall, blond, wearing silver-plated ceremonial armor. His family crest – House Vaelthorn, known for producing dueling champions.
He approached Kel.
Not with politeness.
Not even with pretense.
But with audacity.
"Kel von Rosenfeld," he announced, loud enough to steal attention. "Rumors speak of your recovery."
Several heads turned.
Ah. This again.
Kel shifted his eyes toward the challenger.
"Lord Vaelthorn," he greeted mildly.
"Indeed," the young noble said with a self-assured smirk. "I am Dorian Vaelthorn."
He stepped closer.
"I would see whether those rumors are grounded in steel—or only in words."
A hush rippled.
A social confrontation.
Reactions Around
"He's challenging Kel to a duel? Here?"
"That's reckless…"
"Or calculated. If Kel embarrasses himself in combat, everything tonight was mere performance."
"Kel has no aura—he might collapse."
"His father is here…"
"That's what makes it dangerous."
Kel exhaled softly.
He wants to prove that words cannot hide weakness.
…Good.
He lifted his gaze and replied with preserved calm.
"If a demonstration is what you seek," Kel said softly, "I will accompany you."
Dorian smiled—triumphant.
The nobles began moving toward the dueling arena outside.
Kel finished his drink.
It seems the night grows more instructive.
Duke Arcturus Watches
Up on the balcony, his father remained still.
He neither allowed nor disallowed.
He watches whether Kel understands the weight of stepping forward.
Kel glanced up briefly.
No emotion from his father.
So the outcome alone matters.
The Dueling Grounds
Torches circled the arena, casting violent shadows on snow-dusted stone.
Guests surrounded in a wide ring. Some excited. Some analytical. Some waiting to see blood.
Kel removed his coat.
He stood in a dark silk undershirt, sleeves rolled just enough to allow movement.
Not a duelist's attire.
But his posture…
Flawless.
Dorian drew his practice blade (real steel, aura-sealed).
Kel accepted a standard wooden practice sword.
The crowd murmured.
"He's using wood?"
"It's suicide…"
"…Unless he already calculated that even steel won't matter."
Kel stood with one hand behind his back.
Sword lowered.
Expression unchanged.
Dorian narrowed his eyes.
"You do not even raise your blade?"
"I do," Kel replied.
"Just not yet."
And the duel began.
⚔ First Exchange — Momentum Test
Dorian lunged forward swiftly, blade slicing toward Kel's shoulder. His style, aggressive, sharp, meant to overpower from the start.
Kel stepped aside—not dashed.
Just a step.
Minimal movement.
Wooden sword angled upward.
Tap.
He struck Dorian's wrist lightly.
No harm.
But enough to shift control.
Dorian's eyes widened.
"His timing—"
Don't overpower him. Let him escalate.
He resumed his idle posture.
Dorian scowled.
"Mockery?" he hissed.
Kel regarded him calmly.
"Instruction."
The crowd murmured.
Second Exchange — Intent Test
Dorian launched three rapid strikes—sharp, precise, trained. Kel moved barely enough.
Each motion surgical.
Each defense cost exactly one breath, one shift.
Crowd silent.
Even nobles not fond of Kel began leaning forward.
Kel's eyes half-lidded.
Do not reveal full form.
Do not show mastery.
Just control outcome.
He touched Dorian's blade twice.
Once at arc.
Once at pivot.
And again—
Tap.
Wooden sword to chest.
Dorian was forced a step back.
Breath caught.
Kel lowered his weapon.
"You're fast," Kel said.
"Too fast to think."
A sting.
Third Exchange — Aura Break
Frustration ignited.
Dorian snarled.
"You talk too freely," he growled.
And then—
He released aura.
Crimson-blue energy flared around him.
"Dorian, no—!" someone gasped.
"This was meant to be non-aura—!"
But Dorian's eyes burned.
"Let's see if the cursed heir can still stand when real blades clash!"
He lunged—
Aura blazing, blade descending with killing force.
Kel remained still.
Inside—
I cannot use aura visibly.
But for one moment…
I can allow a whisper.
He inhaled slowly.
Essence of Breath.
A faint pulse.
Deep.
Not at arms.
Not at heart.
Root chakra.
In that instant—
He accelerated subtly.
Not visibly.
Just enough.
One step.
One strike.
His wooden sword traced a perfect arc.
No sound.
No aura flare.
Just momentum.
Precise.
Controlled.
It touched Dorian's wrist.
And—
The aura faltered.
His grip broke.
The sword fell.
Before anyone registered—
Kel tapped his chest again.
Once more.
Direct.
Dorian gasped—
And fell to one knee.
The duel—
Was over.
Silence.
No cheers.
No outrage.
Just a moment of pure realization.
"He… used no aura?"
"Dorian used spirit force—Kel did not."
"Then how…"
"His posture… his breathing… it was too controlled…"
Dorian stared up, wide-eyed.
"You… how—"
Kel stepped back.
Lowered his blade.
Expression calm. No pride.
"I did nothing impressive," he said quietly.
"You revealed too much."
And walked past him.
Balcony Reactions
Prince Adrian's eyes sharpened.
Aura fluctuation… suppressed perfectly.
He breakthrough without awakening publicly.
The duke remained expressionless.
But for a moment—
His finger tapped the railing.
Once.
A sign.
Acknowledgment.
Kel's Final Thought
Calmness… is only dangerous to those who confuse it with surrender.
He put his coat back on.
The night wind brushed across the arena.
Rage is loud.
Will is silent.
And silence tonight… drew blood.