The nobles were not surprised by Morne's proposal.

Although most of their territories were far from the Royal Capital, everyone knew this king was obsessed with martial strength.

Unlike the flowery small talk at other noble banquets, any banquet hosted by Morne always had one fixed segment.

A martial display.

Therefore, when Morne announced it, the nobles were not shocked. On the contrary, every one of them looked eager.

Morne had always been known for generosity.

Fine armor and weapons, treasured horses that could cover a thousand miles in a day, these were merely ordinary rewards.

If he enjoyed himself enough, he might even bestow a precious Combat Technique.

That was a secret skill capable of allowing ordinary people to step into the transcendent domain.

For minor nobles like Darco's Collins family, their ancestors had only passed down one Combat Technique through the generations.

Even great families with deep foundations could count the Combat Techniques they possessed on one hand.

To every noble present, Combat Techniques were treasures that could not be bought with money.

Better yet, if one could take first place in the martial display, one might even earn the king's favor.

This was a rare opportunity.

The nobles exchanged excited looks and had already begun calculating which attendant they should send into the competition.

Darco was naturally no exception.

With an animated expression, he described to Roland just how generous Morne's rewards were. At the end, still not fully satisfied, he licked his lips and asked in a low voice, "What do you think, Roland? Interested in going up for a match?"

"Hm..."

Roland swallowed the food in his mouth and raised a brow without committing either way.

"Let's watch first."

The temptation of a Combat Technique was indeed hard to resist.

Back when his strength had not yet broken through mortal limits, he had relied on [Cleave] to slay Kobolds far stronger than himself.

However, although his overall strength had now firmly entered the transcendent domain and, in theory, he could fight anyone short of a true transcendent professional, the banquet hall was filled with nobles, and they had brought many attendants. It was hard to guarantee that no unusually gifted expert was hidden among them.

So Roland planned to observe first before deciding.

While the two were speaking, Colin had already directed the attendants to clear the tables and chairs from the center of the hall, opening a spacious area.

King Morne stood boldly in the middle of the space, his gaze sweeping around.

"What? No one dares to be first?"

"Your Majesty."

The moment his words fell, a deep voice came from the crowd.

Roland followed the sound and saw a burly man step out. Standing behind him was Baron Marshall, who had insulted Darco at the inn that day.

The man stopped two steps away from Morne and bowed deeply.

"I am willing to offer Your Majesty the first martial display."

"Good!"

Morne laughed and forcefully patted his thick shoulder.

"What is your name?"

Seeing Morne take the initiative to ask his name, the man's face flushed, and he said loudly, "Reporting to Your Majesty, I am Brant."

"Brant? Good name!"

Morne lightly punched Brant's solid chest and nodded in satisfaction, then looked around.

"Who else is coming up?"

With the first person brave enough to step forward, the other nobles no longer held back.

Soon, another sturdy attendant stepped into the cleared space.

"Good! Very good!"

Looking at the attendants around him eager to try, Morne nodded in satisfaction and turned to order, "Colin! Bring some weapons!"

Naturally, no one attending the king's banquet could bring weapons inside.

Before long, a line of Sea Pearl Hall attendants carried up a weapon rack, on which various training weapons were neatly arranged.

Unsharpened longswords, blunt-headed battleaxes, clubs wrapped in soft cloth, everything was included.

"Then..."

Seeing that the two had each chosen weapons, Morne stepped back to the edge of the field and waved a large hand.

"Begin!"

At the king's command, Brant and his opponent clashed.

The hum of colliding metal was especially piercing in the noisy hall.

To everyone's surprise, although the two were similar in build and age, Brant's combat skill was clearly superior.

After a clever block, he followed the momentum and advanced. His sword edge slid past his opponent's wrist like a swimming dragon.

The sturdy attendant panicked and swung his sword to respond, but in the next moment, Brant changed moves.

"Clang!"

With the collision of weapons, the sturdy attendant staggered backward.

"Thank you for the match."

Only after Brant withdrew his sword and saluted did the attendant come back to himself as though waking from a dream.

Looking at the lonely iron sword on the ground, his face turned red, and he withdrew from the field in embarrassment.

"Good! Excellent!"

Morne clapped hard, his loud laughter echoing through the hall.

"Quick, quick! Someone else come up!"

The next matches practically became Brant's personal performance.

Three attendants went up in succession, yet all lost within ten moves.

Brant's sword momentum was like a violent storm, yet also flowed smoothly. Every exchange drew cries of surprise from the nobles.

"Bang!"

The battleaxe of the sixteenth opponent was knocked flying and slammed heavily into the weapon rack.

Brant stood with his sword lowered, his breathing not even disturbed.

The attendants at the edge of the field had gone from eager to reverent, and for a time, no one dared step forward again.

"Good lad! Your skill really isn't bad!"

Brant clearly had not expected the other nobles' attendants to be so weak. Added to King Morne's repeated praise, he stood proudly in the center of the field, and contempt began showing in his eyes.

Everyone around naturally saw this posture clearly.

Although Morne said nothing, the other attendants' faces had already flushed red.

Darco clicked his tongue and turned toward his friend, who was still eating with his head lowered, asking helplessly in a low voice, "What do you think, Roland? Are you confident you can beat him?"

Hearing the question, Roland unhurriedly drained a mouthful of wine and sent the food in his mouth down into his stomach. Only then did he turn his gaze back toward the field.

He had carefully observed every match between Brant and the other attendants just now.

Although Brant's combat technique was skilled and his physical condition quite outstanding, he was still somewhat inferior compared to Roland.

As long as the other man had no trump card capable of reversing the situation, Roland would not even need to use any active traits. With physical strength alone, he could easily win.

Right as he was about to answer Darco, Morne's loud voice rang through the hall again.

The old king slapped the dining table. Seeing that no one else was stepping forward, he shouted in dissatisfaction, "What? No one dares answer the challenge?"

When no one responded, he simply began naming people.

"Baron Cork, Baron Tarlo, Baron Tain..."

The nobles named reacted differently.

Some bowed in apology, while others waved their hands in fear.

They had already sent their strongest attendants, and all had lost to Brant.

Now, facing the king's urging, they could only grit their teeth and decline, while all their gazes turned toward Marshall at the same time.

The baron was leisurely stroking his mustache, his face full of smug satisfaction.

"How dull..."

Morne shook his head, his interest fading. Just as he was about to announce the end of the competition, Baron Marshall suddenly stepped forward and bowed.

"Your Majesty, at today's banquet, it seems some people are... not very sociable."

As he spoke, he glanced meaningfully toward Darco in the corner, contempt and some indescribable resentment interwoven in his eyes.

"Oh?"

Morne lazily yawned and looked around as he asked, "Which family's attendant has not gone up yet?"

Roland caught Marshall's complicated gaze, and suspicion rose in his heart.

This baron's hostility toward Darco seemed not merely rooted in prejudice against his background. Could he have some old grudge with Baron Forsling?

Darco naturally also heard the implication in Marshall's words and gritted his teeth, whispering, "That old bastard! Roland, that Brant really does have some skill. You don't need to..."

Although Roland had not answered directly before, based on Darco's judgment, Brant's strength was indeed not to be underestimated.

At least, he was much stronger than every guard in the estate.

Just as Darco was trying to dissuade his friend, Marshall spoke first.

"Your Majesty, as I observed, it seems the Collins..."

Before his words fully fell, a clear voice rang out from the crowd.

"Your Majesty, please allow me to enter the match!"

Roland lightly patted Darco's shoulder and gave him a reassuring look, then calmly parted the crowd and walked toward the center of the field.

This sudden development drew everyone's gaze to the young man.

The nobles first marveled at Roland's handsome appearance and elegant bearing, but when they saw his young face clearly, they all shook their heads.

By common sense, Brant, who was in the prime of life, should far surpass this young man, who looked barely in his early twenties, in both combat experience and physical quality.

King Morne, however, narrowed his eyes thoughtfully and jerked his chin toward the weapon rack.

"Go choose your weapon."

"As you command."

After bowing, Roland walked to the weapon rack.

With the enhancement of the [Steel Heart Resonance] trait, after only a light touch of his fingertips, he selected a suitable weapon. Then he walked to stand opposite Brant, holding the sword upright.

"Begin!"

At Morne's command, Brant launched the first attack like a tiger, his longsword carrying a sound of tearing air as it went straight for Roland's throat.

Looking at Roland, who remained completely still before him, Brant's mouth curved with mockery.

"Just a brat still wet behind the ears..."

He sneered inwardly.

"He probably can't even hold a sword steady."

Yet the instant this thought crossed his mind, his expression froze.

"Clang!"

A piercing metallic collision exploded.

Brant only felt the web of his hand go numb, and the longsword in his grip flew out.

The iron sword drew a blinding silver light through the air before striking the marble floor with a clang that made his eardrums ache.

The entire banquet hall fell into dead silence.

At the sight, the burly figure who had always followed beside Morne, his whole body covered in fine plate armor, raised his hand and rested it on the sword hilt at his waist.

Because the battle ended far too quickly, the nobles present had no time to react.

They stood frozen in place as though a Hold spell had been cast on them.

Some still held wine cups, the amber liquid trembling faintly inside. Others' pupils had contracted, their bodies leaning forward, their luxurious silk formalwear rustling from the movement.

The entire banquet hall fell into an eerie stillness, so quiet that even breathing could be heard clearly.

"Heavenly Father above..."

"What... just happened?"

"That young man's swordsmanship is unbelievable! I didn't even see his movement clearly..."

Fragmented whispers spread like ripples, and the frozen air began to move again.

The noble young ladies all covered their faces with etiquette fans, yet could not hide the strange light in their eyes. A few even had flushed cheeks, and their breathing behind the fans had quickened.

"Bang!"

Baron Marshall's face darkened as his silver-inlaid cane struck the marble floor heavily.

The dull impact made the dazed Brant shudder all over.

The attendant in the prime of his life lowered his head and stared blankly at his mangled right hand.

Crimson beads of blood dripped from his fingertips, blooming into glaring flowers of blood across the marble floor.

"Drip... drip..."

Every tiny sound struck Brant's pride like a heavy hammer.

He mechanically raised his head and, for the first time, truly looked at his opponent's face.

That sharply defined face still carried traces of youth. He was clearly only around twenty.

"Impossible... one move... it only took one move..."

Brant's dry Adam's apple bobbed, and the light in his eyes scattered.

It was as though some belief that had supported him for many years was collapsing like sand.

"Thank you for the match."

Seeing Brant remain motionless, Roland frowned slightly, somewhat puzzled.

That match had been won so easily not only because Roland's strength far surpassed the other man's, but also largely because Brant had underestimated him.

If Brant had gone all out from the beginning, perhaps...

Roland pondered briefly and quickly reached a conclusion.

"In that case, it would have taken at least four or five strikes to win."

Fortunately, Brant could not read minds. Otherwise, if he had heard Roland's inner monologue, his already unstable mentality might have collapsed on the spot.

"Thank... thank you for the match..."

Brant bowed slightly in a daze, barely completing the salute, then staggered out of the field.

Only then did King Morne begin clapping hard.

"Clap, clap, clap!"

As the crisp applause echoed, the old king drained the ale in his hand and looked at Roland with appreciation.

"Good lad! Not bad swordsmanship! How old are you this year?"

"Reporting to Your Majesty, seventeen."

"Seventeen?"

Before Morne could continue asking, the surrounding nobles had already cried out in surprise.

They had all seen Brant's strength clearly.

His physical condition was formidable, his swordsmanship exquisite, and between each move, one could even glimpse traces of the Border Legion's military swordsmanship. Added to his rich practical experience, he was clearly a veteran who had served at the border for many years.

Yet such an experienced powerhouse had failed to withstand even one move before losing to this young man.

More shocking still, he was only seventeen.

Looking at Roland's upright figure and handsome face, unusual light appeared in many nobles' eyes.

Noticing that Roland had not given a surname, King Morne furrowed his brow slightly.

"You... are of commoner birth?"

"Reporting to Your Majesty, that is correct."

Roland answered respectfully.

"Tsk..."

Hearing this answer, Morne was clearly stunned for a moment. Then regret appeared in his eyes.

Earlier, seeing Roland's handsome appearance and elegant bearing, he had thought this was a noble child of the Collins family entering the match. Unexpectedly, he really was only an attendant.

"What a pity..."

Recalling Roland's stunning strike just now, Morne sighed lightly, then raised his voice and asked, "Then... who else wants to step forward and challenge Roland?"

The nobles below exchanged glances. No one answered.

Their finest attendants could barely handle Brant, let alone the unfathomable Roland before them.

At this moment, everyone's thoughts had long since left the martial display. Instead, they were secretly calculating how to recruit this young man named Roland.

Even if he was only a commoner who could not cultivate a knight breathing method, possessing such strength at this age meant that even if he could not become a transcendent professional in the future, he would certainly become a powerhouse capable of holding his own.

Feeling the heated gazes from all around, Roland rolled his shoulders in discomfort.

Seeing that none of the nobles answered, King Morne clicked his tongue, still wanting more.

"All right, in that case, I announce..."

Right as the old king was about to declare the result of the martial display, the burly man behind him stepped forward and said in a low voice, "Your Majesty, please allow me to exchange a few moves with him."

"Oh?"

Morne raised a brow, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes smoothing slightly with a teasing smile.

"What, Gundar? Saw a good seedling and got an itch?"

"Yes."

Facing the king's teasing, Gundar nodded lightly.

The heavy helmet produced a crisp metallic collision with his movement.

"Even if he cannot cultivate a knight breathing method, as long as he trains in the legion for a few years, his future accomplishments will still be limitless."

"Fine..."

Morne casually waved a hand.

"But you have to ask whether the young man is willing first. Fighting someone like you, not wetting one's pants is already impressive."

"Thank you, Your Majesty."

Gundar nodded, then strode toward Roland.

The pitch-black plate armor gleamed with cold, dim light beneath the candlelight. Every step seemed to carry invisible pressure.

"Roland, is it?"

"Yes..."

As Gundar approached, every hair on Roland's body stood on end. An almost instinctive shudder spread from his spine through his entire body.

He took a deep breath, forcefully suppressed the restlessness in his heart, bowed slightly, and raised his head to ask, "May I ask who you are..."

Gundar did not answer directly. Instead, he walked to the weapon rack, casually picked up an unsharpened iron sword, then turned around. A low voice came from beneath the helmet.

"You may call me by my name... Gundar."

"Gundar?"

The moment this name appeared, the nobles who had still been maintaining their restraint instantly grew restless.

In the Golden Valley Kingdom, this name carried enormous weight.

The commander of the Black Iron Wings, the foremost of the kingdom's three great legions.

When the northern Orcs invaded ten years ago, it was he who led the Black Iron Wings in a death defense of the Steel Fortress. In a desperate situation where arrows were exhausted and the walls had collapsed, he held the gate alone with a greatsword for three days and three nights.

Most shocking of all, in the final counterattack, before countless witnesses, he split the Orc tribe's war priest, a professional who had likewise stepped into the transcendent domain, in half along with his totem.

After that battle, the border Orc tribes still spread the terrifying legend of the "Black Iron Death."

And now, this legendary figure stood before Roland, the unsharpened iron sword casually planted against the ground.

At the sight, the nobles' whispers grew louder.

"'Iron Wall' is actually stepping into the field personally..."

"The last time we saw Lord Gundar take action was during the Blood Moon Rebellion, wasn't it?"

"This boy is lucky. To receive guidance from a powerhouse of this level..."

But those who truly understood shook their heads in secret.

The gap between a transcendent professional and an ordinary person was even greater than the gap between an adult and a child.

Even if Gundar did not use his full strength, this match was destined to be one-sided.

Roland's brows tightened amid the nobles' whispers.

"Transcendent professional... Knight..."

He silently repeated this title in his heart, and his fingers tightened around his sword.

Although he had long heard of Knights' fame from various rumors, this was the first time he had faced such a transcendent powerhouse directly.

He could clearly feel that merely standing there, the other man was like an insurmountable mountain.

Gundar paid no attention to the surrounding discussions. His low voice emerged from beneath the helmet.

"I will fight you with only ten percent of my strength. If you can defeat me..."

He paused briefly, and the heavy armor produced a metallic scrape.

"Aside from His Majesty's reward, I will additionally teach you one Combat Technique."

Roland nodded almost without hesitation.

He was not ignorant of his own limits.

On the contrary, he knew very well the gap between himself and a transcendent occupation.

But this was ultimately only a martial display. It was neither a life-and-death battle nor a duel of grudges.

With Gundar's reputation, he could not possibly strike heavily against an unknown nobody like him.

If that was the case, why not try?

If he lost, there would be no loss at all, and he would instead gain a rare experience.

But if he won, he would receive a Combat Technique.

No matter how he calculated it, this was a bargain.

With that thought, Roland breathed out. His slightly bowed body straightened like a sharp sword.

"Please instruct me, my lord."

"Very good."

Seeing that this young man had not been cowed by his reputation, appreciation entered Gundar's eyes.

Before his words had fully faded, that body in heavy black armor advanced before Roland like a phantom.

This speed completely defied the heaviness that suit of armor should have possessed.

"So fast!"

Roland's pupils contracted, and he instinctively raised his sword horizontally to block.

"Clang!"

Amid the piercing clash of metal, Roland felt a tremendous force like a mountain travel along the sword.

His whole body flew backward like a kite with its string cut, the soles of his boots scraping two long white marks across the marble floor.

"Damn it! This is a transcendent professional's ten percent strength?"

Roland's arms were numb, and the webbing between his thumb and forefinger burned with pain.

He gritted his teeth hard and forcibly swallowed the metallic taste rising in his throat.

Gundar, meanwhile, lowered his head and looked at his own palm.

"Still used too much force?"

After helplessly shaking his head, his gaze returned to Roland, and the corner of his mouth behind the visor lifted faintly.

To take that strike and remain unharmed, this young man's strength was truly a pleasant surprise.

"Now..."

The Black Iron Knight pointed his longsword diagonally toward the ground, his armor producing steady, rhythmic sounds with his breathing.

"It's your turn to attack."

"Understood..."

Roland took a deep breath, and sharp light burst from his eyes.

In an instant, his entire aura changed.

[Focus] trait activated!

[Fighting Spirit] trait activated!