The Young Master's "Momentum" and Scheme to Break the Deadlock

Inside a private room at the Canary Club, as Leon issued one command after another, the lackeys who had been uneasy or excited over news of the duel seemed to be infused with fresh energy. Though they didn't understand, they carried out his orders without hesitation. For a long time, they had followed Leon not only because they feared the power of the Hohenzollern Family, but because they had grown accustomed to obeying his unquestionable commands. At that moment, the calmness in Leon's tone and his absolute sense of control made them obey even more instinctively than his former temper and arrogance ever had.

Fili took several quick-witted men and immediately went to arrange for a notary and messengers. Jerome and Barton led the rest, dispersing into every street and alley of the Imperial Capital like drops of water vanishing into the sea, spreading the news like mad.

Leon remained alone in the now-empty private room, having already waved away the attendants. He walked to the enormous glass window and looked down at Nightingale Street, which was beginning to grow noisy below. This was the Imperial Capital's pleasure district. It was still quiet during the day, but at night it became a blaze of lights and luxury, lined with casinos, theaters, and high-end brothels. It had also been the original owner's main haunt.

Under the sunlight, the street had lost some of its suggestive allure and gained a more genuine air of everyday life. As he watched pedestrians struggling to make a living and peddlers shouting their wares, the sense of unreality still lingered in his heart, but urgency had overwhelmed everything else.

"Public, fair, impartial..." he murmured, weighing the significance of those words in this world. Among nobles, especially young nobles, so-called Honor Duels often became mere formalities or excuses for settling private grudges. It was rare for matters to escalate to the point of inviting a notary and publicly announcing the duel. That meant there was no room for compromise; victory or defeat would be magnified, directly affecting both personal and family reputation.

This move seemed to have driven him into a corner, but in truth, he was seeking survival amid danger. He was dragging a contest from the shadows into the open, using rules and public opinion to create uncertainty. Andre Stewart was upright and valued honor. Under everyone's watchful eyes, he would be more constrained by the rules of a "fair duel." He would most likely refrain from excessively vicious methods or anything intended purely to torture and kill. That would limit the danger of the duel to some extent.

Second, once the news spread, Aunt Margaret would surely hear of it. Though she had said she wouldn't interfere, if his life were truly in danger, given her status and relationship with the Hohenzollern Family, she would never simply stand by. That gave him an invisible layer of insurance. Of course, the cost might be harsher punishment and greater disappointment afterward, but that was still better than being beaten to death on the spot.

Finally, and most importantly, he needed time—and a public stage. The original owner's image as the "Imperial Capital's number one young menace" was deeply ingrained. Changing it would never be easy. This duel was both a crisis and an opportunity. If he could respond in a way no one expected, then even if he couldn't "win," as long as he didn't "lose" too badly, or even showed a few traits different from before, he might begin to change how people viewed him.

"I can't beat him by force. I'll have to outthink him..." Leon's gaze sharpened. He sat back down on the sofa, closed his eyes, and began carefully searching through the original owner's vast, chaotic fragments of memory for every scrap of information related to Andre Stewart, duels, and even this world's system of martial power.

Though the original owner had been a wastrel, he was still born into the Hohenzollern Family. From an early age, he had absorbed a basic understanding of knightly combat and the use of battle aura, even if his own training had been poor. As for Andre, beyond the information provided by his lackeys, the original owner's memories seemed to contain several brief encounters with him... He was a youth as hard as stone, with undisguised contempt for noble playboys in his eyes.

Time passed little by little. Leon's brow alternately furrowed and relaxed. A vague, bold, even somewhat crazy plan gradually took shape in his mind. Its chance of success was low, and it was extraordinarily risky, but under the current circumstances, it was the only path he could think of that might break the deadlock.

It depended on his precise grasp of Andre's character, on clever use of the duel's rules, and even more on a little... luck, as well as whatever unknown potential he might possess as a transmigrator.

Near noon, Leon rose and straightened his slightly wrinkled robe. Fili came running back, panting heavily.

"Young... Young Master! It's all taken care of!" Fili wiped the sweat from his forehead, his face flushed with excitement. "Old Harvey, that stubborn old notary, didn't want to come at first. I invoked your name and stuffed him a large bag of gold coins before he reluctantly agreed! The letter to Deputy Commander Stewart has also been sent by fast rider! The whole Imperial Capital is talking about the duel now! At the casinos, the odds are overwhelmingly in Andre's favor!"

Leon nodded, unsurprised by the result. Old Harvey was famous throughout the Imperial Capital for sticking rigidly to principle. Having him serve as notary best demonstrated "impartiality." Sending a letter to the Deputy Commander was both a statement of intent and a form of pressure—look how open and honorable I am. If your son went too far, it wouldn't reflect well on you either.

"Let's go," Leon said calmly, taking the lead toward the door.

"Young Master, your sword..." Fili hurriedly reminded him. How could one duel without a weapon?

Leon paused, only then remembering that. The original owner did have an ornate jeweled sword, a gift from the Northern Frontier. It was said to have come from a Gilbert Family workshop and was of exceptional quality, but the original owner had barely used it. It was purely for display.

"No need." Leon shook his head, a strange gleam flashing through his eyes. "Today, I might not need a sword."

Fili's mouth fell open, convinced he had misheard. No sword? Then what would he use to duel? His fists? With the Young Master's meager battle aura, would he really clash head-on with Andre's fists, each as big as sandbags?

Leon offered no explanation and headed downstairs. Outside the club, a vast crowd had already gathered. Aside from the core lackeys from before, there were many noble youths who had come to watch the excitement, idlers, and people with shifting gazes who were clearly spies from various factions. The moment Leon emerged, a low buzz of discussion swept through the crowd.

"Look! The Hohenzollern brat is out!"

"He actually dares to go?"

"Hmph, putting on an act. He's probably already figured out how to beg for mercy."

"Look at him—he didn't even bring a sword. What is he planning?"

All kinds of gazes—contemptuous, curious, gleeful—fell upon Leon. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to ignore the noise, and straightened his back. At this moment, he had to play the role of "Leon von Hohenzollern" well. He couldn't show even a trace of cowardice.

"Move!" Leon waved his hand and headed toward the Old Knight Training Ground in the western outskirts, surrounded by his lackeys.

The procession swaggered through the streets, drawing sidelong glances as pedestrians hurriedly moved aside. It looked like some bizarre parade. News spread through the Imperial Capital as though it had grown wings, and more and more people streamed toward the western outskirts. What might once have been a small-scale conflict had completely turned into a public spectacle.

The Old Knight Training Ground lay in the western district of the Imperial Capital, near the city wall. It had once been used to train recruits, but after a new training ground was built, this one gradually fell into disuse. Still, its grounds were broad and level, making it a popular place to settle private grievances.

By the time Leon's group arrived, the training ground was already packed three layers deep with people. There were richly dressed nobles, mercenaries in leather armor, ordinary citizens, and even peddlers who had set up small stalls selling snacks and drinks. It was as lively as a festival celebration.

At the center of the grounds stood a tall young man in a somewhat worn but impeccably pressed knight's training uniform. With his arms folded, he stood there like an iron tower. He had short brown hair, a stern face, and eyes as sharp as an eagle's. A steady, powerful aura faintly radiated from his body. It was Andre Stewart. A simple-looking but exceptionally well-maintained longsword hung at his waist.

The moment he saw Leon arrive, Andre's gaze locked onto him. His eyes were filled with undisguised fighting spirit and... a trace of disgust. The crowd automatically parted to form a path, and everyone's attention focused on Leon.

Leon could feel countless gazes prickling against his back like needles. He took a deep breath, pushed through the crowd, and walked alone toward the center of the field. Fili and the others remained anxiously at the edge of the crowd.

Just then, an elderly man in a black robe, with white hair and beard and a stern, old-fashioned expression, stepped to the edge of the field with a young assistant. He stopped beside a large flat stone. It was Old Harvey, the notary. He took out parchment and a quill, preparing to record the proceedings. His presence lent the duel an even more formal and solemn atmosphere.

"Leon von Hohenzollern," Andre said in a loud voice, carrying the crisp force of a soldier, "you finally came. I thought you'd hide your head like a turtle again, just as you always have!"

A low ripple of laughter rose from the crowd.

Leon stopped ten paces away from Andre and looked at him calmly, showing no anger at his words. "Since I came, I won't run. Andre Stewart, before Mr. Harvey, the notary, and all these witnesses, I'll ask you once more: do you insist on this duel? You can still stop now."

Andre snorted coldly, anger at being insulted appearing on his face. "Stop? You insulted my family's honor. How could I stop? Today, I'll make you pay for your wild words! Draw your sword!"

But Leon shook his head and did something that left everyone dumbfounded. Not only did he not draw a sword, he slowly raised both hands to show that he was unarmed.

"Andre," Leon's voice carried clearly across the entire training ground, "I admit that I drank too much at the tavern the night before last. I spoke without restraint and offended the honor of the Stuart Family. Here, I apologize to you and your family."

The entire crowd erupted in uproar!

An apology? That arrogant Hohenzollern brat who had never bowed his head was apologizing in public? Had the sun risen in the west?

Andre was stunned as well. The anger on his face froze, as he clearly hadn't expected Leon to pull such a move. But then he became even angrier, believing it was Leon's scheme to escape the duel through an apology. "You know how to apologize now? Too late! Honor must be washed clean with blood! Draw your sword!"

Leon still didn't draw his sword. Instead, he stepped forward several paces, narrowing the distance between himself and Andre. His eyes met Andre's with sincerity—or at least, they appeared sincere. "Andre, my apology is heartfelt. Deputy Commander Stewart's integrity is known throughout the Empire. It was my fault for behaving disgracefully while drunk. But precisely because of that, I believe this duel is unfair."

"Unfair?" Andre frowned.

"Yes." Leon pointed to Andre's sword, then to his own empty hands. "You, Andre Stewart, are a powerhouse about to advance to High Knight, with superb swordsmanship. I, Leon von Hohenzollern, am merely an Intermediate Knight with shallow battle aura who has neglected his training—a worthless fool known throughout the Imperial Capital."

His open admission that he was a "worthless fool" once again left the spectators stunned.

"In a duel like this, even if you win, what will people say?" Leon's voice carried a guiding undertone. "They'll say that you, Andre, relied on your superior strength to bully the weak. Is that the honor you want? Is that the honor the Stuart Family wants?"

Andre's expression shifted. He was upright, but he wasn't stupid. Leon's words had struck directly at his deepest concern. He wanted to defend his honor through a duel, but he had no desire to bear the reputation of bullying the weak.

"Then what do you want?" Andre asked in a deep voice, his tone no longer as fierce as before.

Leon felt slightly reassured, knowing his words had worked. He drew a deep breath and revealed the core of his crazy plan.

"Since this is an Honor Duel, it should be conducted under relatively fair conditions. I propose we change the method."

"Neither of us will use weapons. We'll rely only on our fists, feet, and battle aura."

"And I'll only defend. I won't attack."

"I'll give you three chances. As long as you can make my feet move or force me to admit defeat within three attacks, I lose. I, Leon von Hohenzollern, will kneel before you and the Stuart Family in public to apologize, and I'll pay one thousand gold coins in compensation!"

"But if, after three attacks, I'm still standing here..." Leon swept his gaze over the crowd before returning it to Andre's face. His voice wasn't loud, but every word was perfectly clear. "Then this matter ends here, and all past grievances are forgotten. And you must publicly acknowledge that I, Leon von Hohenzollern, am not a completely worthless fool. At the very least, I have the courage to take responsibility!"

"So, Andre Stewart, do you dare accept this wager?"

As his words fell, the entire Old Knight Training Ground sank into dead silence.

Everyone was stunned by Leon's earth-shattering proposal.

Defend without attacking? Take three blows? This was even crazier and more unbelievable than a direct duel! It was practically handing victory to his opponent. The only difference was that he might lose with a little more dignity.

Andre's face was filled with uncertainty as well. He stared fixedly at Leon, trying to find any trace of a scheme in his eyes. But the young menace who had once only known how to shout and bluster now had an unusually calm gaze, even carrying a kind of... composure Andre had never seen before.

This wager gave Andre an enormous advantage. He was practically invincible. As long as he forced Leon back within three moves, he would win everything. Leon's condition was merely that the matter be dropped and that he receive a verbal "acknowledgment." No matter how one looked at it, Leon was the one at a disadvantage.

Yet Leon's words had indeed struck at Andre's concern for "fairness" and "reputation." Before so many witnesses, defeating an opponent who wouldn't fight back and was far weaker than him truly wouldn't be much of a glorious victory.

Old Harvey, the notary, furrowed his brows as well, seemingly weighing whether this wager conformed to the ancient traditions of dueling.

After that brief silence, the crowd burst into even louder discussion. Some mocked Leon for overestimating himself, some admired his courage—though they still thought him foolish—and others wondered what he could possibly be relying on.

Andre looked at the young menace before him, who now seemed like a stranger, then at the dense crowd of spectators around them and the expressionless notary. He took a deep breath. In the end, a knight's pride and absolute confidence in his own strength overwhelmed that flicker of doubt.

An Intermediate Knight—even if he only defended, how long could he last? Before an absolute gap in strength, any trick was useless!

"Fine!" Andre's voice boomed like thunder across the training ground. "Leon von Hohenzollern, I accept your wager! We'll do as you say! If I can't make you move even an inch within three moves, then I, Andre Stewart, will concede wholeheartedly!"

He abruptly removed the sword from his waist and tossed it to a companion at the edge of the field. Then he rolled his wrists, his knuckles cracking sharply. A far more concentrated and powerful wave of battle aura began to radiate from his body, stirring the dust on the ground.

"You'd better pray that your bones are as hard as your mouth!"

As Leon watched Andre's aura rise without end, his heart began pounding uncontrollably, and his palms were slick with cold sweat.

The first step of the plan had succeeded.

But the most dangerous moment was only just beginning. He had to withstand three merciless attacks without moving or admitting defeat.

He slowly lowered his stance and planted his feet, taking the most common defensive posture from the Hohenzollern Family's basic battle aura technique. A thin, dark-golden battle aura surfaced over his body with difficulty, forming a faint halo. Unlike the flashy, restless feeling from the original owner's memories, his eyes were focused now, and he poured all his concentration into defense.

His first trial of life and death after transmigrating had begun in a manner no one could have foreseen.