The Sovereign System.

"Aye, you have a silver tongue, I'll give you that," William stated, a malicious grin spreading beneath his thick black beard. "I can see why the General would send you here as his proxy."

The big man's eyes bore into Luke, making him feel vulnerable, as if he were standing on the edge of a bear's den where a single misstep could mean having his throat torn apart.

"But you see, negotiation isn't always done through words, Commander," he said conversationally, holding out his left hand toward one of the soldiers. Without a word, the soldier handed him a spear and bowed before stepping back.

With the spear in hand, William looked even more menacing. The tension in the room thickened under his palpable pressure.

"The tongue can only get one so far," he said, inspecting the spear in his large hand. "In this world, words mean nothing without strength!" William roared, slamming the butt of the spear onto the ground.

Luke paled, feeling the meeting take yet another turn for the worse. His throat went dry, and the persistent itch on his scalp returned.

'This is bad. None of us are a match for this man, who served under Viscount Nero for over thirty years,' he thought, fidgeting slightly under William's intense scrutiny. Even with the twenty years of spear experience he'd gained as a reward from the system, Luke doubted he could hold his own against him for long.

'Kayson might have a chance since I enhanced his stats, but we're all unarmed.' He thought, feeling a sense of anxiety. What came next caught Luke by surprise. William threw the spear to him. He caught it absentmindedly, unsure of its meaning.

"Show me, Commander," William demanded. "Do you have an iron fist to rival that silver tongue of yours? Or are you just another shit-scared noble who hides behind their soldiers when things get tough?" He spat, his expression fierce and unforgiving.

Before anyone could respond, William gestured to the soldier on his right. "You will duel with Ryder here. Should you lose, you'll leave with a thousand men and five carriages. But if you win," he said, his grin widening, "you'll have my full cooperation, Commander."

A brief silence filled the room before Kayson made a move to step forward. Luke raised a hand, stopping him. "I accept your terms," he replied confidently.

"Excellent!" the City Lord exclaimed, clapping his hands together. "Let us move to the courtyard. All this talk has left me thirsty."

He turned toward the door, ordering the butler to bring refreshments for his guests. Luke and the others lingered a moment before following him out of earshot.

"Luke, what are you doing?!" Kayson whispered harshly, his concern evident. "You should have let me fight in your stead."

Luke shook his head. "You heard the City Lord. He challenged me directly. If you had stepped up, I'd have been no different from the shit-scared nobles he despises."

"But you can't win. I've seen your skill with a spear, Luke. There's no way you can fight an actual soldier. You need to forfeit now, or you could be gravely injured—or worse," Kayson urged.

"He's right, Commander. Your tactics might be sharp, but even I can see that you're no match for that man," Lieutenant Commander Stoddard added.

Luke shook his head. He might have agreed with them yesterday—might not have even agreed to the duel in the first place—if it weren't for the system rewards he had recently received.

"So, you think we should just settle for the original offer of a thousand troops and five thousand pounds of grain?" he asked, his voice sharp. "We have twenty thousand men fighting right now, and you're worried about a single person?"

"Five thousand pounds of grain would barely give our soldiers a single meal, not to mention how little impact a thousand soldiers would have on the sieging enemy." He paused, letting out a small sigh. "If we fail to defend Xiu Fortress, thousands will die, and our own lives will be forfeit even if we were to make it back to Clayton City alive."

His words were harsh but truthful. Both Kayson and Stoddard fell silent for the remainder of the walk, their expressions grim. A solemn atmosphere descended over the group.

As they stepped outside, they were greeted by a spacious garden and a stone-tiled courtyard. Maids watered the flowers, and soldiers patrolled the grounds, seemingly oblivious to the bloodshed raging to the east.

Luke couldn't blame them. If given the choice, he'd rather live a sheltered but peaceful life, away from the military.

"Come, sit, and enjoy some refreshments, dear guests," William said loudly, gesturing toward a round table beneath a parasol fashioned from bamboo and animal hide.

Luke's throat was parched, and he didn't pass up the chance to drink, though he dared not sit. He feared losing his nerve and not being able to rise again.

He grabbed the nearest cup and downed its contents in one gulp, only to realize moments later that it was ale, not water. The bitter taste tugged at his tongue, but it washed away some of his anxiety.

William let out a booming laugh. "Seems we're not so different after all, Commander. I, too, enjoy an ale before going into battle."

'Did you drink before killing Viscount Nero?' Luke thought, biting his tongue to keep the words from escaping. He felt no emotional attachment to this body's father, but it was hard to sit in the presence of such a treacherous scum—a man who had betrayed his friend.

As if sensing Luke's hostility, William ran a hand through his thick beard and changed the subject. "I've been wondering—how did you get those scars on your face?" he asked, his tone almost curious.

"Birth defect," Luke replied coldly.

"Ah, I see. Well, you don't need good looks if you've got big balls," William said offhandedly, chuckling. "Shall we begin?"

Luke didn't bother to reply. Instead, he walked to the center of the courtyard and stood in the open space, adopting a forward-facing stance he'd learned during Master Boyd's lessons.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kayson and Stoddard watching with visible concern. He ignored them, focusing his attention entirely on Ryder, the soldier he was about to face.

Ryder's disdain was palpable as he casually retrieved his spear and strode into the courtyard. He moved with a relaxed confidence, the kind that came from years of experience.

From a single glance, Luke could tell the man was a veteran. Ryder's powerful upper body and firm stance spoke of years of experience and familiarity with the spear.

The two stood twenty feet apart, locking eyes. William rose from his seat, his booming voice cutting through the tense silence without any fanfare. "Begin!"

Luke held his ground, hesitant to make the first move. He wanted to gauge Ryder's approach, to feel out his opponent's rhythm. Ryder's posture remained loose, almost nonchalant, as if this were a mere training session rather than a serious duel. He began circling to Luke's left, his movements measured and deliberate, his stance unwavering.

Luke licked his lips, gripping the spear tightly. Ryder was like a coiled viper, ready to strike at any moment.

The soldier feinted low before launching a sudden, aggressive thrust toward Luke's chest. The attack was so fast and precise that the hairs on Luke's neck stood on end. His arms moved instinctively, deflecting the strike with the shaft of his spear.

The impact sent a sharp vibration through his hands, nearly causing him to lose his grip on the weapon. But before he could recover, Ryder spun swiftly, following up with a horizontal sweep aimed at Luke's knees.

Luke's eyes widened as the spear tip sliced through the air toward him. Realizing the imminent danger, he jumped back, narrowly avoiding the attack. His landing, however, was unsteady, and he stumbled to one knee.

William's laughter boomed across the courtyard, mocking and harsh. Luke didn't need to look to know its source.

Gritting his teeth, Luke pushed himself back to his feet. He tightened his grip on the spear and refocused his mind, studying Ryder with renewed determination.

'I can't keep getting caught off guard. I see the moves. I understand them. I just need to concentrate,' he thought, trying to calm his racing mind.

Ryder's grin widened as he rushed forward, unleashing a barrage of rapid thrusts aimed at Luke's head and torso. The strikes came relentlessly, forcing Luke to shift his body and block as best he could. Each deflection sent tremors up his arms, his muscles burning from the effort.

Step by step, Ryder drove him backward until Luke's retreat came to an abrupt halt. His back pressed against the thick hedge of the garden, leaving him with nowhere else to go.

Ryder laughed again, confident and cruel. He moved his arm as if to thrust at Luke's left shoulder, but it was a feint. Luke, relying on instinct, was already raising his spear to block when he saw Ryder pivot. The real attack came toward his right side.

Time seemed to slow as Luke realized he couldn't stop the strike. Gritting his teeth, he leaned back into the stiff hedge, trying to create as much distance as possible and minimize the damage.

The spear tip bit into his side, sending a flash of pain through his body. The wound was shallow, thanks to his quick reaction, but it still burned fiercely.

Through the haze of pain, Luke saw his chance. Summoning every ounce of his strength, he surged forward, grabbing Ryder's robe with his free hand. With a swift, practiced motion, he lowered his body and executed a shoulder throw, hurling Ryder into the hedge where he had been trapped moments ago.

The move must have caught the soldier completely off guard; he didn't counter at all. Ryder hit the bush like a sack of potatoes, landing awkwardly on his back.

Luke seized the moment to create some distance, retreating to the center of the courtyard. This time, he heard two sets of laughter from the table—Kayson and Stoddard, unable to contain their amusement.

But Luke didn't have the luxury to relish his small victory. The move had been risky, nearly costing him dearly. If not for his quick thinking, the fight might have ended very differently.

Ryder scrambled out of the shrubbery, snatching his spear from the ground. His face burned red with fury, his anger palpable. He looked humiliated, and it was clear he was enraged at being made to look foolish in front of his commander.

'This is my chance,' Luke thought, licking his dry lips once more.

He knew anger clouded judgment, and Ryder's underestimation of him might just tip the scales in Luke's favor—or so he hoped.

"You're fucking dead," Ryder bellowed, charging forward with a powerful thrust aimed at Luke's chest.

This was the opening Luke had been waiting for. He sidestepped deftly, hooking the shaft of Ryder's spear with his own and yanking it to the side. Ryder staggered, his balance thrown off.

Luke didn't hesitate. He drew his arm back and drove a lightning-fast thrust toward Ryder's neck.

The spear tip stopped just an inch from its mark.

The courtyard fell silent, the two combatants frozen. Their heavy breathing was the only sound. Shock and confusion were etched on Ryder's face, as if he couldn't comprehend how he'd been bested.

The stillness was broken by slow, deliberate clapping. The sound echoed eerily in the quiet courtyard. Luke turned his head to see William approaching, his footsteps measured. His expression was unreadable, but his flushed face betrayed the anger simmering beneath the surface.

"It seems you have the skills to back up your words," William said, his tone clipped. "It is getting late. I will provide you with a place to stay for the night. You can ride out tomorrow morning with my troops."

The barely contained fury in William's voice sent a chill through Luke. He bowed quickly, not wanting to linger and risk provoking the man further. He left the courtyard without a word, Kayson and Stoddard joining him moments later, both grinning from ear to ear.

"Let's leave before things get ugly," Luke muttered, cutting off whatever they had been about to say.

The trio followed the butler back toward the building. As they walked, the distant sound of screams reached their ears. Luke's steps faltered, a shudder running down his spine.