Book 3, 130

Stakes

Venica wanted to say something, but she didn’t dare to open her mouth. She could already tell that Richard was determined to act, but she worried for his safety. After all, the Archerons weren’t like the Mensas. There wasn’t a single saint on the island save for Fuschia, while the Mensa island had at least one level 20 overseer.

Richard didn’t seem enraged, nor did he shout. All this while, he had been extremely calm. Yet, for some reason, the fiery girl felt extremely scared of him right now. It was an indescribable feeling, one she could not explain.

“The next time something like this happens,” Richard suddenly spoke up, “don’t shoulder it on your own. Remember to tell me.”

She bit her lip and hesitated, “But...”

“I know,” he smiled. “You’re an Archeron, you want to work alone. That’s fine, but wait until you’ve really grown up.”

Gangdor and Richard had built a powerful bond over their time in Faust. When the brute appeared, he even had an enchanted box on his back with some unknown items inside. Fuschia, on the other hand, seemed completely bewildered.

When they walked out of the teleportation formation, Richard suddenly remembered something and asked Venica, “By the way, how old is Young Mensa, and how strong is he?”

She thought it over for a bit, “He should be 21 this year, a level 14 mage.”

Richard nodded, “Not half bad. This should be a little interesting!”

A short while later, they were at the top floor of the inn next to the duelling arena. Young Mensa had already booked out the entire floor, his friends and followers everywhere. It wasn’t just Mensas here; Richard recognised Foster, Lunor’s student, amongst the faces, and there was also the young Micah from the Schumpeter Family.

He scanned through the area, stroking his short moustache as he smiled, “Everyone who has a beef with me is here, huh.”

Nobody noticed Gangdor’s eyes flashing. He had followed Richard for a long time, and knew the meaning behind all of his master’s subconscious movements. Touching the moustache was an indication of killing intent.

Richard’s own gaze landed on Wennington. His brother’s body was covered with blood as he lay fainted on the ground, a youth with an icy expression having a foot on his head. He didn’t need a detection spell to know that this was Duke Mensa’s youngest son; the brand new injury to his nose was enough.

He moved forward until he was five metres away before crossing his arms, “Enough. I’m here now, so retract that leg. There’s already a fair number of people here and none of them are fools; you’re only stepping on old Mensa’s face.”

Young Mensa’s expression immediately steeled. Richard’s reaction was completely out of his expectations, leaving him at a loss. He eventually retracted his leg and smirked, “Who knew your mouth was even more amazing than your runes. If you want to end up in a better state than he did, you’d best learn to curb your tongue.”

“I’m actually best at killing,” Richard laughed, “I’ll let you try yourself later!”

Young Mensa’s eyes immediately brimmed with bloodlust.

Basically every great family in Faust had a representative in this inn. It seemed like the Mensas were determined to make a huge fuss over this. However, not everyone here was planning to watch the drama; there were also many on Richard’s side, like Nyris and Agamemnon.

However, Nyris looked terrible, glaring at a youth opposite him, “Third Brother, why are you here?”

The young man in ordinary clothing was his older brother, the Emperor’s third son. He flashed a cold smile in Nyris’ direction, “If you can come, why can’t I?”

Nyris looked around and turned even paler, “Did you incite all of this?”

The Third Prince rolled his shoulders, “Don’t say that, I can’t take on such a heavy responsibility. This is a conflict between the Mensa youth and that little Archeron. I was just passing by, so I came here to take a look. See, Second Brother is here as well.”

Nyris’ eyes narrowed as he looked at where the Third Prince had pointed. Just as he had said, a fair and plump youth who looked rather ordinary was in the corner, seeming completely harmless as he seated himself on a chair from who-knew-where. Seeing Nyris’ gaze fall upon him, the corners of his mouth drew back into a dazzling smile. This youth had no presence at all, causing practically everyone to subconsciously overlook him. Only when the Third Prince pointed him out did Nyris notice that there was someone sitting in the corner.

However, this plump youth caused even Agamemnon to grow serious. This was Neil, Emperor Philip’s second son and the prince with an absolute lead in the race for the throne. The Second Prince was the one was most similar to the Emperor, not only in appearance but also in temperament. If someone felt he would be easy to bully, that person would be left not far from death. Nobody had seen Neil act in the past year, but one year ago a saint who hadn’t known his identity had clashed with him in a tavern over a woman. That saint had been left gravely injured. The only conclusion one could draw was that being a saint was far from enough to adequately describe Neil’s strength.

With three princes present, things grew extremely complicated. With Flowsand, Noelene, and Jacqueline here as well, the two great powers of the royal family and the Church of the Eternal Dragon were both present. At least on the surface, things would have to follow Faust’s rules.

Young Mensa crossed his arms and kicked Wennington towards Richard, stating arrogantly, “I can give this fellow to you first, deal with the aftermath. However, he humiliated me and must agree to my request for a duel. I’m not going to cancel it, be prepared to receive a corpse.”

Richard started the Mensa youth in the eyes and suddenly smiled, “Why go through all this trouble? You want me, no? Then just get to the point. I’ll duel you.”

A chilly glint appeared in Young Mensa’s eyes, revealing a bit of delight which he immediately suppressed, “These are your words.”

A tall youth behind him sneered, “Even if you want a duel, it’ll have to wait till this one is over.”

Richard looked at the fellow as though he was an idiot, not caring for any courtesy as he directly cast a detection spell on him. This was so rude the tall youth grew furious, wanting to say something, but Richard interrupted him, “So, a level 12 mage. Fine, tell me your relationship with old Mensa; if you’re close enough, I can consider duelling you for warmup. If you aren’t, then just bloody scram! What’s worthless scum like you doing here, making all this noise?”

Richard’s words grew more scathing the more he spoke, causing the youth to take half a step backwards involuntarily. He immediately realised what had happened, turning purple, but with so many nobles around he had to maintain a minimal amount of poise. Still, his voice held an unconcealable tremor within it, “I am Duke Mensa’s grandnephew, son of Viscount Redpine. I am a titled knight, is that enough?”

Richard immediately nodded, “Of course! As long as you have Mensa blood in you, that’s good enough. Let’s duel in a bit.”

The young man froze. He hadn’t expected to fight Richard; with both being level 12, it was hard to tell who would win. The Archerons and Mensas had a blood feud between them, but that was with Gaton and the Duke. The other Mensas didn’t have enough of a bad relationship with Alice, Sauron, and the rest that the were willing to initiate a war. This youth didn’t want to die for Young Mensa; after all, he still had a great future as a potential grand mage.

Richard took in the hesitance of the young man and immediately burst into laughter, saying loudly, “Seems like the so-called honour and courage of the Mensas means only having the guts to duel people of a lower level!”

A dozen Mensa youths instantly paled, the Duke’s son’s eyes looking to spit fire. Richard’s statement was a resounding slap to all their faces; if they did not retaliate, even the Duke would not be able to raise his head from the shame.

“Frodo, agree to it!” Young Mensa shouted sternly.

The young man called Frodo looked just as terrible as the rest. He had only wanted to show off a bit to get further in life; who knew that Richard would drag him down so easily. He wasn’t stupid and knew that Richard would use him to establish his prowess.

Richard’s gaze finally landed on Young Mensa and he smiled slightly, “Next is what happens between us. If you wish for a duel with me, it’s not enough to just let Wennington go.”

Young Mensa’s gaze grew cold, “What other requirements do you have?” He had realised a battle of words would be pointless, so he decided to get straight to the point. Frodo was likely not a match for Richard, but at least he would reveal Richard’s strength and use up a part of his mana.

Richard’s gaze went past him to land on an exceptionally beautiful young lady in the crowd. She had a lavish arrogance to her temperament, but still was as cold as ice. Her beauty would shine through even in a horde of pretty girls, an aspect in which she even exceeded Flowsand slightly. Of course, that did not mean she could compare to Flowsand’s aura.

The young lady’s ivory-like skin and idol-like features were famed in Faust, and Richard had heard of them before. He gave her a slight bow and smiled, “This must be the beautiful Lady Rosie, yes?

“Very well!” his gaze landed on Young Mensa, “If you want a battle to the death with me, it’s quite simple. Add her to the stakes; if I win, Rosie must strip for me.”