Chapter 126: Warning in Blood

CH126 Warning in Blood

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Kurt’s eyes suddenly glowed with a familiar crimson hue.

Calm Madness.

A battle technique of the Fury bloodline—one that amplified combat instincts while suppressing pain and fear.

With a roar, Kurt charged, his greatsword raised in a downwards diagonal arc.

"Oh yeah? I’d like to see you try!" he bellowed.

He swung hard, aiming to cleave through Alex with a single blow.

But Alex didn’t respond with his rod.

No—he stepped in.

Rotating at the hips and pivoting on his lead foot, Alex unleashed a roundhouse kick that slammed into the hilt of Kurt’s greatsword. The timing was surgical.

Clang!

The sword was knocked off-course, halted mid-swing before it could descend fully.

The force of the impact nearly ripped it from Kurt’s hands, and while he managed to hold on, it cost him the momentum—and his focus.

That split second was all Alex needed.

Crack!

The metal rod lashed out horizontally, slamming across both of Kurt’s calves in one strike.

Kurt gritted his teeth and powered through the pain, forcing his greatsword down again in a desperate attempt to land a blow.

But Alex had already ducked low, letting the blade whistle just inches above his head. In the same motion, he executed a one-handed sweep in a flowing, samurai-style motion.

Smack!

It struck across both of Kurt’s legs once more—this time on his shin.

Kurt groaned, staggering.

Alex’s grip shifted seamlessly to a forehand, and the rod came sweeping back in a reverse arc, this time landing solidly against both thighs.

Thwack!

Another groan escaped Kurt’s lips.

Still crouched, Alex moved like a blur around his opponent’s side, striking at the back of his thigh, then slipping back in front to crack him on his shin bone with a flick of the rod.

Kurt reeled.

The crowd held its breath as Alex sidestepped fluidly in a crouched stance, his strikes alternating between thigh, shin, and calf in a relentless rhythm.

Kurt’s muscles spasmed, overwhelmed by pain.

’If I let this continue... he’ll cripple me,’ he realised.

Summoning a burst of desperation, Kurt lunged with a wild thrust.

Caught off guard, Alex barely managed to lean back and parry, but the impact disrupted his stance.

Seizing the moment, Kurt kicked forward, the thrust kick blasting Alex backwards.

But as he tried to press the advantage—

His legs froze.

The accumulated damage had taken its toll. The spasms robbed him of control.

That moment of hesitation was all Alex needed.

Alex landed on his feet, grimacing, but steady.

Kurt thrust his sword again, attempting to catch Alex off guard.

This time, Alex side-stepped, then stomped down on the blade as it hit the ground—its momentum and weight driving it partway into the earth.

The greatsword was stuck.

Before Kurt could recover, Alex brought his rod down hard on his wrist.

Smack!

Kurt cried out as pain forced him to release his grip—a humiliation no warrior wanted, and a shame no swordsman could bear.

Alex stepped in smoothly.

In one final, deliberate motion, the tip of his rod traced across Kurt’s neck, just above the jugular—a clear killing strike.

The entire arena froze.

Kurt, battered and defeated, dropped to his knees.

Kurt stared, wide-eyed, as his trembling fingers touched the side of his neck.

A thin, shallow cut traced a line across his skin—faint, but undeniably there.

With a blunt weapon.

’This...? This wound...’ his mind raced. ’It’s shallow, but—’

Had Alex been holding a proper sword...

Had Alex intended to kill him...

He would be dead.

Kurt’s pupils contracted. The implications of that single exchange crashed into his mind like a thunderbolt.

’He... let me live?’

Across from him, Alex showed no expression. No pride. No mockery.

Just cold, surgical detachment.

Without a word, he nudged Kurt’s sword by the hilt with his foot, then flipped it into the air—and caught it.

Then—

He threw it.

The massive Zweihander spun through the air before embedding itself deep into the dirt near the wall separating the arena floor from the audience.

The crowd gasped.

Kurt looked up at Alex, eyes filled with equal parts disbelief and humiliation. His legs remained planted, but it was clear to everyone watching—

He had been defeated.

If Alex pressed it now, the duel would be over. If Earl Drake acknowledged it, Kurt’s loss would be sealed.

But Alex wasn’t done.

"Such a gap in skill won’t provide enough entertainment for the crowd," he said, his voice emotionless. "Nor will it help you understand the real difference between us."

Kurt’s brows furrowed.

’What?’

Before he could speak, Alex turned toward his own weapon. With a casual flick of the wrist, he hurled his metal rod like a javelin.

Boom!

The rod struck the earth, piercing cleanly beside the embedded Zweihander.

The coliseum fell into stunned silence.

"I can tell," Alex said louder now, ensuring the entire arena could hear, "you’re better with your fists than with a sword."

His eyes narrowed, voice thick with contempt.

"I said I’d crush you at the things you believe you’re best at."

Then, looking down with absolute disdain, he added:

"Get your ass up. We’ll continue—barehanded."

"What...?" Kurt whispered, almost too quietly for himself to hear.

All around, the crowd rippled with stunned murmurs.

In the VIP gallery, Count Gordon burst into wild laughter.

"Hahaha! This boy—I like him!"

The others, save Earl Drake, looked equally shocked. Countess Megan pressed a hand to her chest. Baron Aiden’s jaw twitched.

Meanwhile, in another VIP stand across the arena, Joselin Holt practically exploded with fury.

"Get up, Kurt! Kill that lowborn! Rip him apart!" she screamed.

But Kurt didn’t hear her anymore.

His world had shrunk.

The crowd was gone.

The noise faded into static.

All he could see was Alex, standing tall, hands empty, looking down on him with scorn.

His humiliation ignited into something primal.

Kurt’s muscles tensed.

His jaw locked.

And then—his eyes darkened further, blood-red fading into something deeper, something bordering on abyssal.

But Alex wasn’t fazed.

He stepped forward, eyes still locked on Kurt.

"If you liked kneeling so much," he said flatly, "you should’ve bent the knee when I gave you the chance."

He paused.

"Now it’s too late."

Alex’s presence surged, as if every word carried the weight of a judgement passed.

"Now get up," he continued, his voice rising like thunder, "let me use you to educate every fool who thinks they can stand in my way."

His final words fell like a hammer.

"Intellect. Weapons. Or just my fists..."

"I will put all opposition down."

***