Chapter Twenty-One: Brothers’ Duel

The large red figure gestured for Sosa to begin, but Sosa shook his head and said, "You first."

This was the correct strategy. Given the vast disparity in strength, attacking first would be suicide, but was defensive play any better? The outcome would likely be the same either way.

After all, he was just a mortal pretty boy. Even if he was Michael's chosen one, how could he possibly compare to me?

The demonic test subject took a step forward and was already before Sosa. He threw another punch, though he dared not kill Sosa, so the strike was more like swatting a fly.

A glimmer shone in Sosa's eyes. He evaded the blow, and his slender sword pierced the demon’s wrist. He then flipped, landing on the enemy’s arm. The demon let out a roar of pain and rage, reaching out with its other hand to grab him, but Sosa performed a backflip, landing squarely on the demon's shoulder.

I stared in disbelief.

This boy had not only undergone the Ranger modification, but it had been a resounding success, making him impossibly light, as if he could take flight at any moment. And the blade in his hand was sharper even than Mjolnir—what kind of metal was that?

If he defeated the demonic test subject so easily, where would that leave me?

I shouted, "He’s on your shoulder! Squash him!"

Michael and Legan stared at me, and I immediately corrected myself: "Go, Sosa!"

The demon made a grand movement, spinning its body to shake Sosa off. Sosa lost his balance and tumbled backward. I shouted internally, "That’s it! While he’s off-balance, land a solid punch and end the fight!"

In a flash, Sosa pulled a special bomb from his coat, stuck it to the demon's shoulder, and leaped away. A burst of fire and a deafening roar followed, accompanied by the demon’s howling. Sosa skated in a circle, coming to a stop ten meters away.

I yelled, "Isn't that a foul? He’s using explosives!"

Chris said, "A minor foul. One warning."

I retorted angrily, "I was disqualified just for making a gesture, but he only gets a warning? What good is a warning?"

Chris replied, "He is still in the middle of a fight; you were humiliating an opponent after the fight had ended. The situations are different. If he were to throw a bomb at his opponent after the fight, do you think I wouldn't disqualify him?"

I wanted to argue further, but Michael laughed and said, "Are you jealous?" Then he cheered, "Well done, Sosa!"

The biggest problem now was that I was indeed very jealous, but I couldn't make it too obvious. The middle ground was to shut my mouth immediately.

The demonic test subject charged out of the flames, pursuing Sosa ferociously, but Sosa moved like a rabbit and drifted like a startled swan, maneuvering with extraordinarily graceful and swift movements. The demon could not catch him but was repeatedly cut by his blade. Finally, Mazon sighed, "That’s enough, Cyrion. Enough."

Cyrion, no longer impulsive, reverted to his human form. Covered in wounds, he offered Sosa an elegant bow and said, "I concede. My skills are inferior; I yield." Sosa reached out a hand to help Cyrion up, and the two shared a smile, as if all grievances were cast aside.

I felt a deep aversion to this hypocritical display of etiquette. They were enemies who had just engaged in a bitter, hateful battle, yet they were shaking hands after the victory? When did we become such duplicitous creatures? If it were me... I probably would have been disqualified again.

This is how the world ruthlessly persecutes a person of true temperament.

Chris said, "In that case, this round goes to Sosa. Congratulations, brave child. The only one left is Narle, son of Marquis Legan. Do you wish to challenge Sosa?"

Another exceptionally handsome youth appeared on the stage. His skin was slightly darker than Sosa’s, but his long hair, obsidian eyes, and slender, lithe physique were enough to stir the imagination. I remembered some ancient penalty where the sentence started at three years and went up to the death penalty...

Wait? Why was I thinking that? Is it true that one who touches pitch gets dirty? Had the pure-hearted me been infected by that filthy mask?

Narle nodded and said, "Sosa." Sosa looked at Narle with a smile and said, "Narle."

It seemed they had known each other for a long time.

I sighed and said, "Brother Legan, I never would have expected this."

Legan looked at me coldly and said, "Expected what?"

I said, "Michael I could understand, but I didn't expect you to have a taste for this as well."

Legan took out a small knife and began to trim his nails, but as he trimmed, they grew longer and sharper. A chill went through me. I looked at Michael, who smiled at me, revealing sharp fangs. His mouth was so red—red as if he had just finished drinking blood...

I decided to retreat to Maxwell’s side.

Maxwell acknowledged me with a nod, his bearing like an ancient Egyptian pharaoh or a Middle Eastern king. He said, "Mr. Longinus, it is truly a pity. I did not expect you to lose."

I said, "I don't personally feel it's a pity. Not choosing me is the nobility's loss."

Maxwell laughed, "Indeed. Sosa and Narle, the two most gifted youths in the Black Coffin—they are truly lovable and worthy of admiration."

I said, "The most gifted youths?"

Shouldn't that be me? Oh, wait, I’m no longer a youth.

I asked, "Perhaps I am ill-informed, but have they been famous for a long time?"

Maxwell replied, "Among us vampires, they are well-known. The intelligence, talent, willpower, and breeding of these two youths are all outstanding. Archon Missouri once coveted them, wanting to snatch them from Michael and Legan to make them his own progeny, but unfortunately, his wish was never realized."

So, Legan killed the former Archon, perhaps not just to avenge his brother? If Betty knew this hidden detail, I wondered what kind of lingering, tangled, cheesy, and embarrassing story she would write. Of course, it would more likely lead to a death sentence, so it was better not to tell her.

I asked, "Did they undergo the Valkyrie Legion's modifications?"

Maxwell said, "Yes, they underwent the most advanced experimental improvements, even better than those of the noble lady."

"Will there be any rejection when they eventually become vampires?"

"It is currently unclear. I am not well-versed in the technical aspects."

On stage, Narle and Sosa had discarded their weapons. Sosa said, "Let’s make a bet, Nari (his nickname). Whoever loses treats the winner to a year’s supply of Taco ice cream."

Narle laughed, "The winner will become a noble. Will they still have the appetite for ice cream?"

Sosa said, "Then the winner will treat the loser instead." As soon as he finished speaking, he struck suddenly, lunging forward with a boxing stance to hit Narle’s face. Narle dodged sideways, his body nimbly flipping, and countered with a kick like a cat, hitting Sosa in the stomach. The latter drifted away like a butterfly, dissipating most of the force.

They were both young and vigorous, favoring offense over defense, preferring to gamble and take risks. Even if they had to take a hit, they wanted to gain the upper hand and make their opponent suffer in turn. Moreover, their martial arts were mastered to perfection; every movement was elegant and agile. It was truly an enjoyable and spirited duel.

Sosa used Western boxing combined with some freestyle fighting techniques—balanced in attack and defense, nimble yet powerful. Narle was like an elegant feline; his movements were fluid and uncanny, always launching unexpected counterattacks, full of threats and variations.

At times, Sosa would land a punch or kick on Narle, only to be immediately thrown by a heavy shoulder toss. After taking a hit, their expressions would show annoyance, yet also great delight. Their fighting spirit only grew higher. They were by no means fighting for their lives, but rather playing like friends who had grown up together.

They began to sprint across walls and ceilings, chasing each other, using the soft curtains for leverage as if they were weightless. They were so immersed that they forgot about the elders and nobles present. It was precisely because they were so absorbed that they offered us such a brilliant performance.

They were human, after all. An hour of intense offense and defense left them exhausted. Suddenly, they closed in and grappled, their beautiful bodies intertwined. Sweat made their skin glisten, and the collision of muscles made a sound like drumbeats—like freshly cooked, tender, and juicy medium-rare steak. It was longing, it was hunger; it made me feel like a poor, starving vagrant, tempted to take risks just for a full meal...

Maxwell said, "Mr. Longinus, are you unwell?"

I wiped away my drool, retracted my smile, and said, "Unwell? I’m not unwell, I’m perfectly fine. It’s just too hot in this theater."

Maxwell said, "But if it were too hot, you should be sweating, not..."

My nose felt cold, and a nosebleed began to fall. I sighed and said, "See? Isn't that caused by the heat?"

Maxwell smiled, "Whatever you say." He sighed again, "Young, beautiful boys are always a feast for the eyes. I can understand Missouri. Looking at such outstanding flowers, anyone would want to keep them for themselves, to see what kind of fruit they will bear, to taste if their blood is as sweet as honey..."

His smile made me realize he was a vampire too. There were few normal people in this room. I quickly bade him farewell, and he nodded in return.

Come to think of it, I was a well-known handsome lad in the village when I was young. It was fortunate that this group of vampires hadn't seen me then, otherwise, I wouldn't have escaped my fate, and my purity wouldn't have been guaranteed. After all, entering the palace is like entering the deep sea.

On stage, Narle crossed his legs, locking Sosa’s neck and grabbing one of his arms. Sosa was out of strength but stubbornly refused to concede. Narle shouted, "Give up!"

Sosa struggled to shout, "Never!"

Narle sighed and released Sosa. Sosa reached back, but grasped at nothing. Narle stepped aside and said, "You can't win against me because you were depleted in the previous fight. Admit defeat; you still have the year after next."

Sosa smiled and said, "What about that year’s supply of ice cream?"

Narle smiled and said, "With all these lords here, hearing everything clearly, I wouldn't dare to welch on the deal."

They walked toward each other and clasped hands. If it were me, I would have used a "monkey stealing the peach" move right then and there to turn defeat into victory, but unfortunately, this high-minded duel did not permit such fierce, lethal strikes.

Christina said, "Narle, son of Legan, is the winner!"

Everyone clapped heartily. Legan said to Michael, "My apologies, brother."

Michael sighed, "It’s fine, brother. Everything is fine."