“A man with blue hair.”
As Seoric Al Gorphant burst in, the atmosphere became thick with silence.
Ulan looked at him curiously, while Count Deorg also stared at Seoric without a word. A strange hush hung over the room for a while.
“I’ve heard the situation.”
Seoric’s lips moved, deep voice accompanying.
“But this way of retaliation isn’t right. Regain your composure and think rationally.”
His tone was calm, yet the Count’s expression remained unchanged. After a moment of exhaling, he dryly replied.
“This isn’t retaliation.”
“…What?”
“It’s a formally requested duel.”
A duel. Seoric chuckled softly.
It was obvious that the pretty words wrapped around the duel masked a different motive.
So, he playfully asked, “What’s the duel for?”
“To restore the honor of my son, who tarnished the name of Deorg, as Deorg’s master.”
The response was, of course, just more nonsense.
A knight should restore their own tarnished honor, right? So, ultimately, he likely planned to fight for revenge.
After finishing that thought, Seoric was about to retort. But then, the Count suddenly burst into laughter.
“Originally, I was going to use this as a pretext to push for the duel. But since Sir Seoric has arrived, I might as well be honest.”
“What? What do you mean…?”
“Honestly, I couldn’t care less about Himel’s honor being lost.”
With that sudden reply, the room fell silent once more.
This answer essentially negated the Count’s own reason for the duel.
Seoric, confused, furrowed his brow.
“Then why…”
“May I ask you a few questions?”
But he was cut off before he could finish.
Because the Count asked the first question.
“Do you think someone at the Expert level could unilaterally overpower someone who has reached the level of High-ranking Knight?”
“It depends on the situation…”
“Then do you think they could break a sword with their bare hands and close the distance so fast that no one could recognize it?”
“….”
Seoric didn’t reply.
No matter how expert one was, it was impossible to break a sword with bare hands.
And closing the distance unnoticed was the same. This was not a matter of being an Expert; it was about the Master’s Domain.
“What are you trying to say?”
There must be a reason for the sudden question.
When Seoric asked back, the Count looked up at the sky in silence, then muttered.
“I shattered a wall eight years ago.”
As if recalling a long-lost memory.
His eyes were filled with a distant gaze.
“Stepping over the corpses of cultists, I barely reached the Master’s level. It was the pinnacle of feelings.”
This, Seoric could agree with.
He, too, could never forget the moment he first stepped into the Master’s Domain. It was arguably the most exhilarating moment of his life.
But in that moment, the Count’s complexion darkened.
“…But that was all.”
His eyes were filled with a weary resignation.
With a voice stripped of all emotion, the Count gave a self-deprecating smile.
“Since reaching the Master’s level, I haven’t enjoyed a fight in its entirety ever again. It felt like the driving force that had supported me was forcibly taken away.”
The Ashen Syndrome.
This symptom is a kind of curse that typically hits those who have just reached the Master’s level.
It arises when they can no longer feel the thrill of fighting strong opponents, growing, and dancing on the edge of life and death.
At first, they feel negative emotions.
Disappointment, emptiness, loss, and so on.
And then they experience extreme lethargy. Ultimately, they resign to reality, accepting it as it is, while their emotions gradually fade away.
It leaves them as nothing but ashes.
Thus, it was named the Ashen Syndrome.
Of course, some may argue that if they can’t fight strong opponents, why not just spar with other Masters?
To be blunt, that was impossible.
“My power has grown stronger, but shackles have also attached themselves to me.”
Fighting against other Masters is strictly prohibited by law. Sparring or dueling, not to mention minor squabbles, was all forbidden.
Who would want their strategic weapon to get scratched?
“I fully understand your feelings. I went through the same period myself.”
Seoric nodded.
He too had experienced the Ashen Syndrome, yearning for battles against strong opponents.
“But that’s merely a fleeting time. If you also acknowledge and accept reality, you won’t feel troubled anymore.”
“No. I’m okay now.”
As Seoric’s advice continued, the Count abruptly shook his head. With a surprisingly relieved expression, he answered.
“An exception has appeared.”
“Hmm? An exception?”
“A Master who belongs to neutral forces, not tied to the Empire or any other nation.”
The Count’s gaze glimmered.
His eyes were directed toward Ulan, who was yawning from across the room. Realizing this instantly, Seoric frowned.
“But that barbarian is an Expert…”
“No, he’s a Master.”
The Count interrupted and replied.
His voice was filled with strong conviction.
He explained the reason for his certainty while looking at Seoric’s puzzled expression.
“If he were truly an Expert, he wouldn’t have been able to run over to you without reacting at all when you barged in.”
“…!”
At that moment, Seoric’s eyes widened.
It was just as the Count said.
If he were an Expert, he wouldn’t have recognized the boundary and rushed in. He would have only stopped after realizing Seoric’s presence.
‘But…’
That barbarian wasn’t like that. Ulan instantly halted as soon as Seoric burst in, as if he had sensed his domain.
An uneasy, trembling gaze.
Then the Count smirked.
With a triumphant smile.
The Count gripped his sword tightly.
“He is in the same domain as us.”
Only those in the same Master’s Domain can perceive each other’s domains.
Realizing this fundamental truth too late, Seoric quickly turned to Berge and asked.
“Your Excellency, is what Istan said true?”
“….”
No answer came.
Yet they didn’t deny it. Berge merely wore a flustered expression, as if he had just been poked in a sore spot.
The moment this realization hit.
Seoric’s gaze transformed.
“Ha, ha.”
His dignified demeanor vanished in an instant.
Soon, a combative grin blossomed on his lips.
The willingness and ambition that had been suppressed for years swelled up and danced in him like a wild horse ready to run.
And then, at that moment.
“I’m bored to death.”
A voice shattered the tension.
Ulan let out a long yawn, scratching his head and squinting his eyes.
“So, are you going to fight or not?”
Of course, they should fight.
He wanted to shout that out right away.
But every situation has its procedures. Especially if the place wasn’t a battlefield.
The Count stared intently at Berge.
Not just him. Seoric too looked at him, as if silently asking for something. With a deep sigh, Berge spoke up.
“I hoped to avoid this meeting.”
He had sensed that something like this would happen.
Though the lack of concern for Himel’s honor was surprising, the outcome of a duel hadn’t changed, and he sighed once more.
“Your Excellency, I request as well.”
Seoric politely bowed his head.
His eyes shone with resolve.
“Please allow the duel between the two.”
“….”
Berge had planned to keep Ulan as insurance, but the moment he realized he was a Master, his attitude changed.
He now sensed that there was no stopping this.
“Don’t do anything reckless.”
“Of course not.”
The Count nodded eagerly.
But the warnings weren’t over yet.
“A small wound is fine, but there can be no incidents where body parts are severed.”
“I promise.”
“Swear it on your noble house.”
“I swear.”
No hesitation in the reply.
Seoric chimed in.
“It’s fine. I’ll be here.”
With a confident look.
He smiled.
“I’ll be watching, and if the situation looks dangerous, I’ll intervene immediately.”
With a sincere response.
Seoric’s expression transformed into one filled with longing for battle. Berge sighed repeatedly.
‘These guys, seriously.’
Masters are nothing but battle-crazy maniacs. With a distressed expression, Berge finally parted his tightly sealed lips.
“Alright then. I permit the duel.”
As soon as the permission was granted.
A blockade order was immediately issued across the vicinity.
To prevent foreign professors or students from witnessing the duel and spreading unnecessary rumors.
When the unofficial duel was about to begin.
Suddenly, the Count’s gaze fell upon Ulan. Watching him look towards the forest a little distance away, the Count tilted his head curiously.
“Is there something in that forest?”
“Nothing at all.”
After lightly shaking his head.
Ulan suddenly spoke up.
“I’ll impose a condition for the duel.”
“A condition?”
“If I win, you will cleanse the honor that trash has tarnished.”
“What does that mean?”
“That guy insulted my friend’s honor.”
Ulan explained what happened during the selection match.
About the cowardly and vile words spoken by Himel. A little later, the Count’s expression gradually hardened as he listened to the story.
Not long after.
“I understand. As a parent, I must apologize for poorly raising my child.”
After all the explanations ended.
The Count nodded with a stern face.
“I promise. Regardless of the outcome of this duel, I will take responsibility for that kid’s mistakes.”
“Then that’s settled.”
Ulan fell silent.
No need to force a vow.
The Count’s gaze was different from Himel’s.
Those eyes were similar to Berge’s.
The eyes of a warrior. The gaze of someone who feels the weight of their words and actions, and carries responsibility.
Just after their conversation finished.
“We will now commence the duel.”
Finally, all preparations were complete.
The inspector acting as the judge looked at Ulan and the Count, continuing.
“Berge Erkazhan, Seoric Al Gorphant, Diplyn Cernio. These three will be the officiators of this duel. Do you agree?”
“I disagree.”
“I agree.”
Berge and Ulan responded simultaneously.
Soon after, a matter-of-fact voice followed.
“In this duel, taking the life of your opponent is forbidden. Moreover, if deemed dangerous at any moment, the officiators hold the right to stop the duel at any time.”
Finishing the formal explanation.
The inspector pulled out a silver coin from his pocket.
“The signal will be when the coin touches the ground.”
Both readied their postures.
Ulan gripped the axe made of blood stone, while the Count held his silver-glinting sword. In that moment, they each aimed their weapons at each other.
Clink!
The silver coin hit the ground.
And both vanished simultaneously.
(2)
Kaaaan!
The axe and sword collided fiercely.
Yet after just one strike, both quickly pulled back without concern for who was first. It wasn’t to avoid being engulfed by the other’s domain.
They had questions to ask.
It was the Count who opened his mouth first.
“I have one question.”
“What is it?”
“Are you not using that axe?”
His eyes were directed toward Ulan’s belt.
On it hung the axe, Gula. In response to this question, Ulan retorted with a stoic face.
“You haven’t drawn your sword, either.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? My sword is right here.”
The Count sliced through the air.
But that wasn’t what Ulan was implying. Thus, shaking his head, he carried on with the true intent of his earlier words.
“You’re clearly holding back your true strength.”
“……”
Suddenly, the Count’s mouth was shut tight.
Ulan silently stared at his sword.
It looked like an ordinary weapon at first glance.
But that sword was a magic weapon.
He figured it out the moment their weapons clashed. Gula, strapped to his waist, emitted a faint resonance.
‘And…’
For some unknown reason, the Count was suppressing, rather than enhancing, the power imbued in his sword with his spirit, or aura.
In other words, he was shackling himself.
That’s why Ulan used the blood stone axe instead of Gula to exchange blows with the Count. Meanwhile, just then, the Count fluttered his lips again.
“When did you realize?”
“Since the moment the weapons clashed.”
“Amazing. Who would have thought you could catch that.”
The Count chuckled with a grin.
Despite his tone suggesting strife, a smile spread across his face as if he couldn’t contain his joy.
“That’s a cursed sword.”
“Cursed sword?”
“Yes, it can freeze anyone who isn’t its master, draining their magic. That’s why I avoid using it outside of battle.”
And now, it was even less usable.
This duel came with various conditions. Under no circumstances could they take their opponent’s life or inflict serious injuries, so the Count suppressed the sword’s power.
“But it seems like you want to use it.”
Of course, that was only natural.
Going up against a Master, he wanted to fight with all his strength. However, the Count prioritized the vow over his ambition.
“There’s nothing to be done. I’ve already made my promise.”
Thus, the cursed sword was not unleashed.
The Count dismissed the notion with a firm grip on his sword.
Once more, he readied himself to match up with Ulan.
But then, Ulan suddenly tapped his left chest with his fist.
“I am here.”
“…What?”
“My heart beats here, and my arms and legs are attached to this body. Not over there.”
What on earth is this random talk?
The Count frowned, unable to guess Ulan’s intent.
“The right to my life rests solely with me. Only I can place it on the scales.”
“What are you trying to say…”
“The one you should be asking for permission is not over there from the beginning.”
His crimson gaze was directed outside the battlefield.
He was looking at the officiators gathered, particularly locking eyes with Professor Berge. At that moment, the Count’s gaze also landed in the same place.
“I won’t permit it.”
“…!”
The Count’s eyes widened.
For he finally understood the meaning behind those words. Ulan revealed a smile.
“Show me your sword.”
All of it!
As the fierce eagerness sparkled in his eyes, the Count’s gaze began to take on a similar hue. He wanted nothing more than to follow Ulan’s words right away.
However, a final hesitation held him back.
Did Ulan catch onto that?
He added another statement.
“You can rest easy.”
“About what?”
“I’m not weak enough to give up my arms or legs to you.”
The Count’s eyes widened.
A moment later, his mouth twisted into a grin, as if he could no longer contain himself.
“Whew, ahahaha!”
A great laughter that shook the duel arena.
It was certainly warranted. No one had ever dared to say such words to him since he became a Master.
If someone without the right had spoken like that, he would have deemed it an insult and beheaded them.
But…
‘That barbarian has the right.’
Having concluded that hearty laugh.
The Count shattered the shackles of hesitation.
Moreover, he discarded the final remnants of his mask. What remained was merely a swordsman mad for battle.
“If the duel ends, and you merely testify…”
If he could say that Ulan permitted it, instead of breaking his vows and promises, he would show Deorg’s sword right away.
Just as he was about to say that.
Ulan jumped in first.
“Anytime.”
With that brief answer, there was no further need for conversation.
The Count withdrew the aura he had been suppressing for so long, and instantly, the cursed sword unleashed its power.
Crack! Fwoooom!
The surrounding ground rapidly froze.
Seeing the blue blade that blasted forth cold frost, Ulan seized Gula. And immediately, he pushed his spirit to the limit.
An familiar sensation spread throughout his body.
His crimson hair and eyes were stained red in response to the spirit. With a face devoid of a smile, Ulan gazed at the Count.
Step!
As he took a step forward, his domain expanded.
At last, the moment the two domains clashed.
The real battle of the Masters began.
Chapter 18. The One Who Decides is Not You
![[TS] The End of Magical Girls Has Come](https://i3.wp.com/darkmtl.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/01/1737407792-8993-TS-The-end-of-magical-girls-has-come.png?resize=85,105 "[TS] The End of Magical Girls Has Come")
