The Grand Duke's Son Is A Heretic-Chapter 291

"You’re some strong, shining armor knight! Come on, man, let’s have a fight!"

"Yeah, just look at these dabs!" the bulky man grinned, raising his massive biceps as if they were steel cannons. The veins bulged like twisted ropes, his chest puffed like a drum.

A roar of laughter followed, and in seconds, more people crowded around. The street filled with onlookers shouting, clapping, some even throwing coins on the ground. The tension shifted from curiosity to brewing chaos.

"Come on, one match! One little brawl!"

"You afraid of breaking a nail, Knight Lady?"

Ariana tightened her grip on her sword. Her brows furrowed, not from insult, but from the sinister presence she had sensed behind her. She turned briefly and caught a glimpse—a pair of bloodshot eyes glaring at her from within the crowd, eyes that didn’t shine with mischief but with the promise of violence.

She forced her breath steady, ignoring the chill riding up her spine. She wasn’t here for brawls, not today. This city was known for one thing

.The Baptism of Might, a rarerumored elixir to enhance the physical body beyond known limits. Last year, it was snatched by a lunatic who turned himself into a near-indestructible monster.

And now, she was walking into another mob of madmen. As the jeers grew louder and the heat of the crowd surged, she raised her sword slightly—her patience hanging by a thread.

But before steel met bone, a thunderous voice cut through the air.

"Enough!"

The roar made the entire avenue still. Heads turned as a platoon of armored guards pushed forward, forcing people aside without hesitation. One man even tumbled into a barrel, others yelped as shields shoved them out of the way.

"Clear the road! This is disgraceful! Show some courtesy, you uncultured lot!" barked the lead soldier.

Behind them strode a tall, broad man clad in crimson-stitched armor, his silver-plated pauldron gleaming under the sun. His presence was imposing, his moustache curled in nobility. The man dismounted with practiced grace and approached Ariana with a knight’s salute.

"I am Baron James of the Eastern Estate. This city falls under my domain," he declared firmly, his voice both commanding and proud.

Ariana blinked, momentarily frozen. Her shoulders stiffened. "I... I’m not the lord. He is."

She gestured awkwardly toward Kael, and the baron followed her line of sight. When his eyes landed on the young man beside her, he staggered back a step, his face contorting with a mix of shock and terror.

"What the f—?!"

Then, realization dawned. His expression snapped into something wild, and before anyone could blink, he jumped from his saddle and fell hard to his knees, slamming his palms against the dirt.

"Your Highness!" he cried. "This humble one greets the Lord of Lords!"

Gasps echoed through the crowd. People who had been hollering challenges seconds ago now stared, mouths wide, heads twisting between Kael and James like confused chickens.

Kael looked left. Looked right. He raised a hand, unsure what to say.

"Uh... that’s... please get up, Lord James," he offered politely, a little taken aback.

But James flinched at the words. His entire body trembled. "Lord James? No... no, I’m not worthy to be called a lord by you, Grand Duke! In front of your might, I’m but dust!"

Kael opened his mouth again, but froze. "...Grand Duke?"

The title rippled through the crowd like a gust of wind. Whispers followed. Some murmured in awe, others backed away a step, unsure whether to bow or run.

Kael finally exhaled. "There’s a misunderstanding. I’m not the Grand Duke. I’m his son. Kael."

James paused. Then his head slowly tilted up, studying Kael’s features closely. The resemblance was obvious—the angular face, the dark silver hair—but the eyes... they weren’t the storm-filled abyss of his father’s.

"...Ah," James let out a long breath, his shoulders loosening. "Young Master Kael."

Kael nodded.

James let out a half-laugh, half-cough, but his cheeks had flushed a deep crimson.

Realization hit him like a battering ram—he’d just knelt in the dirt and worshipped the wrong man. Mortification settled on his face, his teeth grinding together as he muttered, "Damn..."

The soldiers behind him tried to keep straight faces. They failed miserably.

Kael cleared his throat, expression caught between amusement and embarrassment. "Well... glad to be in your city, Baron."

James looked like he wanted to dig a hole and bury himself on the spot.

Kael coughed, trying to clear the thick embarrassment still hanging in the air. "Lord James... what’s going on? Why are these people so eager to fight us?"

Baron James straightened up, still visibly nervous, and answered with a stiff tone. "Sir Kael, it’s our tradition. Being under the grace of the God of War, we believe the more battles we fight and win, the stronger we become. It’s part of the Church’s blessing. Every victory adds to your spirit, your might—there’s even a chance to absorb a portion of the defeated one’s strength."

Kael frowned. "So... they thought we came to fight?"

James nodded gravely. "Indeed. You arrived with an impressive entourage. They assumed you were here to challenge the Blessed."

Kael went quiet, recalling the stories. Those blessed by the God of War bore a unique sigil—etched onto their body after their first divine battle. The sigil grew more intricate with every challenge overcome. The more deadly the fight, the more brilliant and empowering the mark became. Even someone with no talent could ascend to greatness if they had the courage—or madness—to keep walking the edge of life and death.

And that was the catch. You didn’t grow stronger beating the weak. You had to clash blades with people who could kill you. Constantly risking your life just to move forward.

Masochists. That’s what Kael had called them, and now he felt more justified thank ever.

Soon, the crowd dispersed under the guards’ order, and James led the group toward his estate. The city roads bent between thick stone houses and open training grounds. The sound of fists hitting wood and clashing steel rang from every corner.

As they rode, Kael looked over. "Do you have any bad blood with my father?"

James visibly stiffened at the question. His jaw clenched, but he shook his head quickly.

However, a sharp voice cut in from the carriage, laced with amusement.

"He was beaten very badly by your father."

Kael blinked in surprise, turning to see Emilia’s face as she peeked out from behind the curtain, resting her chin against the windowpane.

James gasped as if struck by lightning. "Lady Emilia?! Is it truly you?!"

He leapt forward in excitement and nearly tripped in his boots.

"I—by the Heavens! I can’t believe I get to see you again after all these years. After hearing you fell ill, I was heartbroken. I wished to visit, truly I did, but I was forbidden."

Kael’s face twitched. "Why are you acting like that?"

James stood tall, placing a fist to his chest proudly. "You might not know, Sir Kael, but back then... the entire Empire was in uproar over Lady Emilia. Princes and nobles from across the continent proposed to her—even the Northern Crown sent envoys. She was considered the Flower of the Age."

Kael tilted his head. He looked at Emilia, then back at James, not disrespectfully but with genuine confusion. "She’s beautiful, sure... but not that stunning."

In his heart, only one person held the candle of perfection—his beloved. Even his mother fell short.

James caught the look in Kael’s eyes and narrowed his own in disdain. "Don’t you dare belittle Lady Emilia. Her face might appear withered now, but back then—here, look at this!"

Without hesitation, he pulled open his pouch and fished out a sealed, folded cloth. From within it, he produced a worn, but clearly preserved picture. He handed it to Kael with reverence.

Kael’s fingers twitched as he took it.

The image left him frozen. 𝓯𝙧𝙚𝒆𝙬𝙚𝒃𝙣𝙤𝒗𝓮𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢

It was... dazzling. The young woman in the photo had flowing purple-blue hair, shimmering with a gentle glow. Her smile—bright, tender, with a trace of arrogance—looked like it had been carved by divine light itself. Her eyes held power, clarity, and a beauty that stabbed at your chest.

Kael’s hands trembled slightly. Then his gaze shot toward James, filled with rising fury.

’Why the hell is this bastard carrying my mother’s photo?’

Even Emilia was speechless for a moment, her mouth parting as she stared at the image.

Kael’s killing intent surged without warning, and he shouted, "Explain!"

His voice cracked like thunder through the air. Even the trees nearby seemed to shake. The soldiers flinched. For a moment, no one could tell if it was Kael who had spoken—or Ruth himself. The aura was identical. Cold. Suffocating.

James jolted, quickly shoving the photo back into his pouch and stammering. "S-Sir Kael! Everyone had this! All of us suitors—when we failed to earn Lady Emilia’s hand—we carried her image as... as a memento of our devotion!"

Kael glared at him. "If Father finds out—"

He didn’t even finish. Would Ruth really care? He might... or he might kill someone just to make a point.

Before Kael could dwell on it further, James answered in a hushed, reverent voice. "He knew. That’s why I was beaten."

"What?!"

James nodded, face pale as he recalled. "It happened years ago. I... I was drunk. I stood in the plaza and shouted that I would defeat every noble in the Empire and claim Lady Emilia’s hand. I said she was already my wife in spirit."

Kael’s jaw clenched. "And?"

James swallowed. "The Grand Duke must’ve heard. He came alone. No soldiers. No warnings. He broke through the estate gate and beat me. One-sided. It was so brutal I couldn’t walk for a week."

"And just when I thought it was over... he found the photo."

Emilia’s face flushed slightly, her eyes lowering.

James continued in a broken whisper. "That man beat me for ten straight days. Every bone in my body was shattered. And when he finished with me—he went across the Empire, visiting every noble who carried a copy. He beat all of them. Even the Duke of Cerlon, who only carried the picture by mistake."

Kael’s face was now pale. "He did what?"

"And not just the Empire. The Grand Duke invaded Night Star Kingdom. Beat up the current King. Then moved to two other Kingdoms and challenged their entire court."

Kael turned slowly to look back into the carriage.

Emilia’s cheeks were pink, her hands gently pressed over her lips. Her eyes sparkled—not with shame, but profound admiration.

Kael stared at her.

"...Are you blushing?"

Emilia didn’t answer but snorted and moved back inside cursing.

’That dog man really did it?’

Kael sighed, dragging a hand down his face. "My old man... is terrifying."