Chapter 84: Duel, Prelude, or a Reunion of Comrades?

“I will defeat them, but I will not kill them. The balance between us cannot be broken so easily.”

The Blood Knight slowly closed his eyes. He pushed the heavy stack of Kazimierz gold coins back across the polished mahogany table, the metallic clinking echoing in the sterile room. “Please exchange these for medicine. Distribute it to the Infected.”

He relied on selling his dignity to the Commerce Union, trading his pride and his blood for the bare minimum required to keep his people alive. It was a humiliating, suffocating limitation, yet it was the only reason countless Infected in the slums still drew breath.

The Radiant Knight’s ideals were beautiful, noble, and blindingly bright—but he saw no end to her path. Under that grand vision where the Infected and ordinary citizens coexisted as equals, how much Infected blood would need to be spilled to pave the way?

He also knew the bitter truth of his own existence. The moment he lost his commercial value, no second Infected would be allowed to take his place. No other Infected with his level of combat talent would ever willingly remain in this glittering cesspool called Kazimierz.

But he could not let go. He knew his methods were shortsighted, a mere band-aid over a rotting wound, yet he had no other choice.

The Commerce Union spokesperson awkwardly retracted his hand from the coins, his expression twisting into a vicious sneer. “If you lose, you know the price, right?”

The Blood Knight gently touched the jagged Originium crystals protruding from the back of his hand. In the cold reflection of the room’s glass, he seemed to see the admiring, desperate gazes of his fellow bottom-dwellers looking up at him.

“…I know.”

He and Margaret Nearl actually shared the exact same dream. But their paths had diverged too sharply, forcing them into this grand arena to wield their blades against one another.

“So, class, in this specific tactical scenario, do you remember standard operating procedure?”

You tapped rhythmically on the PRTS terminal, perfectly imitating the sound of a strict teacher smacking a chalkboard with a wooden pointer back in your past life.

Like the ultimate honors student, Nearl immediately raised her hand, her posture perfectly straight. “We tie them up and bring them back to serve as operators for Rhodes Island!”

Patriot sat silently for a moment, the massive Wendigo carefully considering the tactical variables before adding his addendum. “In combat, if the enemy’s armor can be breached, we breach it. Upon achieving victory, we ignore the media fallout. Secure the targets immediately to prevent escape, and leave the remaining political maneuvering to the Doctor.”

You clapped your hands in absolute satisfaction. “Textbook answers! Ten points to Gryffindor!”

As a reward, you handed each of them a massive, dripping skewer of extra-spicy milk-skin fish-balls. You had specifically commissioned Jaye to make these, pushing the poor Ursus student’s culinary patience to the absolute limit—to the point where he looked ready to slap you with his sashimi knife even if it meant forfeiting his daily wages.

Nearl took a tiny, polite bite, immediately felt the nuclear spice level assault her tastebuds, and smoothly hid the skewer behind her back with an awkward, strained smile. Patriot, relying entirely on his severely dulled sense of taste, simply sat there and honestly crunched through the blazing hot fish-balls one by one, completely unfazed.

Down in the lower districts, Exusiai and Texas had been lying low for hours. Finally, the signal arrived on their encrypted channel. This time, the supply distribution point wasn’t just handing out basic rations and medicine. Tucked inside every single package was a quiet, dangerous message:

If you are willing to take a chance and trust Rhodes Island, please walk onto the streets this evening and light the fireworks we have provided.

The Infected citizens who received the whispered words didn’t even react. They kept their heads down, numbly clutching their meager supplies, and hurried away into the damp alleys. They cowered in the shadows, acting as if they hadn’t heard a single syllable.

Exusiai watched them go, her halo dimming slightly with unease. “Doctor’s plan… is this really going to work? They look terrified.”

Texas leaned against a brick wall, unhurriedly biting down on a chocolate Pocky stick. “I seem to recall a certain Sankta loudly declaring her absolute trust in him earlier today. Why are you getting cold feet now?”

“That’s totally different!” Exusiai protested, waving her hands.

“How is it different?” Texas adjusted her collar, her wolf ears twitching in the cold wind. “Even if I occasionally doubt his moral character, I would never dare to doubt his competence.”

Kazimierz, Grand Arena, 12:00 PM.

Weather: Sunny, with a high chance of a localized meteor shower.

The stadium was packed to the brim, a roaring ocean of screaming fans and flashing neon advertisements. High above the chaos, the Rhodes Island operators had already quietly slipped on their tactical headsets.

“Testing, testing, one two. Sound check. Is my mic peaking?” You casually stroked the head of the Blood Demon girl standing beside you, still entirely relaxed enough to crack a joke while the entire city held its breath.

“Doctor, are you really secure in your position over there?” The Radiant Knight’s voice crackled through the earpiece, laced with genuine worry. No matter how many times she reviewed his master plan, she found it incredibly difficult to digest his sheer, unadulterated radicalism.

“Just focus on your match, Margaret. Once the final buzzer sounds, everything else will already be over.” You didn’t bother explaining further. With a flick of your finger, you temporarily muted the arena-side communication channel and manually patched in a highly encrypted, ‘wild’ signal.

“Well, well. I thought you wouldn’t need me anymore. Why the sudden obsession with Kazimierz? Planning to build a munitions factory here?”

A sarcastic, explosive female voice flooded the strange channel. Although the tone was sharp enough to cut glass, anyone familiar with her could easily tell that the mercenary on the other end was actually in a fantastic mood.

“Did I ever say I wanted to build a factory here?” you replied dryly.

Wis’adel merely scoffed, completely ignoring your defense as she pivoted to a much more interesting topic. “That dorky golden knight hasn’t swung a sword in a real fight for how many years now? Is he still reliable? If he’s going to choke, just say the word and I’ll blow a hole in the wall and come over.”

“Wis’adel, before you attempt to question my competence, I suggest you learn to speak the continental common language properly. Your dialect with that thick Sarkaz flavor is truly grating on the ears.” Młynar’s voice cut into the channel, cool, familiar, and utterly unapologetic.

“Still more useful than you!” Wis’adel fired back instantly, proving exactly why she was a comrade who had once fought side-by-side with him in hellish warzones. “Before the Nachzehrer overclocked his Arts, your biggest contribution to the squad was acting as a shiny meat-shield to attract aggro for me from those old geezers!”

Młynar was not to be outdone. “I still vividly remember your tactical posture when facing diffusion-type Originium Arts. You were crying for your parents alongside your equally incompetent Revenants. Unfortunately, I had to stand fifty meters away just to prevent any stray sparks from your explosives putting you in a medical bed for half a month.”

“Młynar, you— [Sarkaz profanity]!”

You hurriedly slammed the transmit button, interrupting the two super-heavyweights before they could escalate from verbal abuse to actual friendly fire. “Everyone, can we please resolve our domestic disputes in private? Broadcasting this over a tactical channel is terrible for team unity, don’t you think?”

“Shut up!” Wis’adel snapped.

“Please keep quiet,” Młynar added coldly.

You winced, a phantom toothache flaring up in your jaw. ‘Hiss… Back in the old days, I used to command a full twelve-man squad of these absolute lunatics at the same time, and I somehow kept them from murdering each other? How the hell did I even survive?’

Fortunately, the deafening roar of the arena speakers saved you from further abuse. The commentary desk had lit up, and Big-Mouth Mob was practically screaming into his microphone, whipping the crowd into a frenzy.

“Ladies and gentlemen, today’s highly anticipated matchup is finally here!”

“In the red corner… The Nightmare Knight and the Blood Knight! Versus—”

The audience’s cheers threatened to shatter the reinforced glass of the VIP booths, pushing the atmosphere to its absolute peak.

“The Delivery Knight and The Radiant Knight!!!”

You slumped slightly in your chair, suddenly regretting your naming choices. ‘Delivery Knight’ was way too formal. You should have named them the Racial Knight. If that was too politically sensitive for Kazimierz television, Gender Knight would have worked. Orientation Knight wouldn’t have been bad either.

“Get ready to move,” you murmured, slowly pulling your hand away from the Blood Demon girl’s hair. You glanced sideways at her, your tone shifting into something dangerously soft. “Leuduka, you’ll protect me, right?”

The Blood Demon flashed a sharp, tsundere smile, her crimson eyes gleaming in the dim light of the observation deck. “Tch. Of course, Doctor.”

Down in the blinding light of the Grand Arena, the battle finally erupted. Patriot’s massive, scarred shield collided heavily with the Blood Knight’s twin axes, sending a shockwave of displaced air rippling across the stadium. A split second later, The Radiant Knight’s newly forged spear clashed violently against the Nightmare Knight’s dark blade, showering the sands in golden sparks.

Infected versus Infected. Pegasus versus Nightmare.

Both sides carried the crushing weight of their own absolute reasons to win. Neither would yield a single inch.

Meanwhile, miles away from the roaring crowds, a tired, stoic Uncle had already arrived at the ground floor of the Commerce Union headquarters, his golden sword resting loosely in his grip.

The corporate executives upstairs stared at their security monitors, first in utter disbelief, and then in sheer, unadulterated panic as they realized exactly what his arrival meant.

“Kill him! Kill him right now!” a director shrieked into his radio.

In the shadows of the high-vaulted ceiling, a Darksteel assassin of the Armorless Union silently drew his heavy composite bow, locking the crosshairs onto Młynar’s chest. He was just about to release the bowstring when a blur of black and gold slammed onto the gantry beside him.

‘I’m not late, am I?’

Ch’en stood silently in the gloom, her hand resting on the hilt of Chi Xiao, standing shoulder to shoulder with Młynar’s advance.

Back in the arena booth, you watched the tactical feeds align perfectly across your terminal. Your comedic facade vanished, replaced by the freezing, calculated gaze of the Ghost of Babel. You pressed the comms button one last time.

“Don’t leave a single one behind.”

[Rhodes’s Note:

Enjoying the operation so far, Doctor?

(This daily grind literally pays the landship’s rent! 🙇‍♂️):

Massive thanks for reading and supporting the operation!]