All eyes turned sharply to King Hoon Doom, whose smug expression had faltered for the first time since the trial began.
He leaned toward his advisors, his confident demeanor cracking slightly. His gaze shifted to his daughter, Princess Chuli, who stood by his side with a sharp glint in her eyes.
“Father,” she whispered urgently, her voice barely audible amid the murmuring crowd, “according to our sources, this masked man is the one who received the War God’s inheritance. That’s why he chose Honour Justice. Losing the trial is one thing, but losing the Honour Justice fight? That would be a disgrace far worse than losing this trial.”
Hoon Doom’s eyes narrowed as he thought deeply. “So that’s the game he’s playing,” he muttered under his breath. “But we don’t have much choice now. Either we drop the Justice Call entirely and lose face, or we agree to this fight and risk the consequences.” He glanced at his daughter, his expression darkening.
“Don’t worry. Your seventh brother returned last week from his Royal Guards Abyssal training. And this masked fool has only just received the War God’s legacy. He’s still untested in true combat. Our chances of victory are strong.”
Princess Chuli nodded, but her gaze remained fixed on Kent with wariness.
“King Hoon Doom, we await your decision. Will you accept the Honour Justice Fight?” The main judge’s voice echoed throughout the chamber, drawing everyone’s attention.
A brief silence fell over the hall as Hoon Doom stared intently at Kent. Finally, with a slow, calculated nod, Hoon Doom straightened himself and spoke, his voice dripping with venom.
“We accept this challenge, Kent Hall. But you’ve just signed your own death warrant.”
“We’ll see who signs whose death warrant, Mr. Doom.” Kent’s eyes, barely visible beneath his mask, burned with icy anger.
A wave of excited shoutes erupted from the crowd, the spectators’ whispers turning into a cacophony of shouting voices. What had begun as a courtroom trial was now transforming into a spectacle—a fight under the ancient laws of Honour Justice.
The main judge, unmoved by the uproar, raised his hand to silence the crowd. His voice carried over the noise, commanding attention. “The Justice Call raised by the Doom family will now be decided by the Honour Justice Fight. Kent Hall will fight three of the Doom family’s best warriors, all at once. Fighters from both sides must register at the Royal Arena within the hour.
The battle will take place at sunset, in the presence of the Royal Guards. No talismans, forbidden treasures, or external resources are permitted.”
The judge paused briefly, letting his next words sink in.
“If Kent Hall wins, he shall walk free, and King Hoon Doom will be required to personally apologize before this court. If the Doom family wins, King Ragnar will kneel and apologize to the people of the Doom Nation.” The judge’s voice turned sharp as a blade. “Furthermore, the defeated Kent Hall will bear the mark of dishonor—a defeated dog’s head—branded upon his forehead for all to see.”
The crowd’s excitement turned to a mixture of gasps and shocked whispers. The punishment for losing was no mere embarrassment—it was a humiliation that would last a lifetime.
“Wait…”
Before the judge could finish his proclamation, Kent’s calm voice cut through the rising tension.
The judges turned their heads toward Kent, their expressions betraying their impatience. The main judge raised an eyebrow. “Yes? What is it now?”
Kent took a step forward. “I have a small request.”
All eyes turned onto Kent. Even King Ragnar stared at Kent in confusion.
After a brief pause, the judge spoke. “And what is this request?”
With a faint smile tugging at his lips, Kent glanced briefly at King Ragnar before addressing the court. “As it stands, my side suffers greater losses regardless of the outcome—whether in victory or defeat. So, I would like to raise the stakes.”
The judge’s eyes narrowed. “What do you propose?”
Kent smiled and said, “How about placing some wealth or resources as betting?”
Just as Kent said, King Hoon Doom began laughing loudly, following him, the Doom nation people made more mocking laughter. Before the judges spoke, King Hoon announced his interest.
“Respected Royal Judges,” Hoon Doom declared with exaggerated reverence, acting like wiping a tear from his eye. “We accept this absurd proposal. Whatever this masked fool places, the Doom family is ready to match it—and more.”
The judge nodded in acknowledgment and turned back toward Kent, who stood unfazed by the ridicule. “Speak, young man. What is your wager?”
Kent’s smile deepened, and he slowly reached up to his forehead, pressing his finger gently against it. In a flicker of light, a small, intricately detailed tower no larger than the palm of his hand materialized before him. He held it up for all to see before placing it gently on the table before the judges.
“This is the Treasure Trove Palace, I am betting this entire tower, along with all the treasures contained within it.” Kent announced.
The court fell silent for a moment before erupting into mocking laughter. King Hoon Doom’s booming laugh echoed louder than all the others, his voice thick with ridicule. “This? This tiny trinket is your grand wager? A child’s toy? You must be mad, Kent Hall.”
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The crowd, excited by their leader’s laughter, joined in, mocking Kent’s seemingly insignificant offering. Even some of the judges exchanged bemused glances.
Kent, still smiling, replied calmly. “Don’t judge a treasure by its appearance, King Doom.”
Before anyone could question his cryptic response, King Ragnar stepped forward, his imposing figure drawing the attention of the entire court. His voice rang out with authority. “In support of Kent Hall, I place a one-year revenue of my nation which we are paying to the Royal Family as Decade Tax.”
The crowd fell into a stunned silence. All amusement drained from the faces of the Doom family and their supporters. Even King Hoon Doom’s laughter died in his throat. The weight of Ragnar’s words disturbed the entire court.
The one-year revenue of the Frost nation wasn’t just a casual offering. Mana Stones, precious energy crystals, rare herbs, weapons of unimaginable power—all tied to the fate of a single battle. One nation can die or prosper with that much wealth.
Now the stakes were dead serious. But no one knows that, the small miniature treasure trove palace Kent placed as bet is more valuable than what King Ragnar proposed.
The mocking laughter had turned into a low, tense murmur. Whispers of shock and disbelief spread among both sides. This was no longer just a duel of honor—this was a battle for immense wealth and power.
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Thank You “@VoidStalker” for Inspiration Capsule -PeterPan 😉