Ban Lamorak was on the verge of collapse.
Charlot Mecklenburg had entered the arena wielding a knight’s lance, leading Ban to believe this would be a traditional duel.
Then Charlot switched to a flashy rope dart, which Ban assumed to be a signature weapon from the Fars Empire.
When Charlot brandished a meteor hammer, Ban started to think this might be Charlot’s true hidden skill.
But when Charlot transitioned to dual swords, Ban could no longer be sure of anything.
Finally, when Charlot abandoned one of the vampiric rapiers, retaining only the unicorn griffon, Ban was entirely convinced that Charlot’s expertise extended far beyond what he had displayed thus far.
At this moment, Charlot declared, “The warm-up is over.” Ban Lamorak, instead of feeling pressured, let out a sigh of relief. “I thought as much,” he replied, raising his voice, “Come on, then!”
“Let’s have a battle to remember.”
Charlot swung his sword, carving seventeen precise circles in the air. The Blade of Emptiness solidified into seventeen radiant loops, which he then directed forward with a push of his sword.
Ban Lamorak had never encountered such an extraordinary swordsmanship technique before. He focused, preparing to counterattack. As he channeled his frost dragon battle energy, the ground beneath his feet gave way. His step broke through the thin ice layer, and he stumbled into the water. Hastily summoning his energy to stabilize himself, he was too late to recover fully, exposing a major opening.
Charlot smiled faintly, amplifying the Swiftstep Technique to its peak. With a thrust of the unicorn griffon, he pierced through Ban’s guard and pointed the weapon at his chest. “You’ve lost,” Charlot said calmly.
Ban Lamorak was stunned by how cleanly he had been defeated. Yet, he was resilient and didn’t try to make excuses about losing his footing due to the broken ice.
“You’ve won,” he muttered, turning his knight’s lance around and handing it to Charlot before walking away without another word.
Charlot reached out, catching the lance in one hand while glancing at the water below. Seven flaming hands, the manifestation of the Flame Dragon’s Hand, emerged from the river and merged back into his body.
This maneuver had been devised to counter Hughes but ended up being used against the youngest lion of Britain.
At the start of the fight, Charlot had noticed Ban Lamorak’s reliance on frost dragon battle energy to freeze the river’s surface and move freely across it. This inspired Charlot’s strategy. To avoid suspicion, he meticulously executed his plan, using the Flame Dragon’s Hand beneath the ice to melt the thicker layers and leave only a fragile crust.
If Charlot had used this technique at the beginning of their battle, it would have been ineffective. At their peak, both combat energy and battle energy would have easily countered the trick. However, after hundreds of exchanges spanning the entire morning, midday, and part of the afternoon, their energies were no longer at full strength.
Ban Lamorak, conserving his energy, had stopped allowing his energy to freeze the river as a precaution. This subtle detail became Charlot’s opportunity to seize Victory’s Goddess by the ankle.
Charlot raised the knight’s lance and the vampiric rapier high, prompting cheers from both riverbanks. Countless young women of Britain blew kisses at him to celebrate his triumph.
Charlot circled the Seventais River twice before returning to the shore. The first words he said to Dolores Soumet were, “Get me some dry clothes and shoes. I’m completely soaked, and it’s unbearable.”
Though Charlot could traverse the river’s surface with the Swiftstep Technique and Spider Technique, he couldn’t keep himself dry. By this point, both he and Ban Lamorak were thoroughly drenched. While Charlot didn’t know how Ban felt about it, he was eager to change into something dry.
Dolores gave him an amused look. “You’ve got a great physique,” she quipped.
“Stop with the nonsense,” Charlot retorted.
Dolores smirked. “Fine, then. Let me be blunt—why would I have men’s clothes prepared?”
Charlot was momentarily speechless. Among the three women in his group, Dolores, being a member of the Soumet family, was a highborn lady. While her father wasn’t an earl like Menielman Soumet’s, she was still a top-tier noblewoman and clearly not one to perform menial tasks.
Anastasia, though an illegitimate child, was the daughter of Baron Febollet and a pampered daughter of high society who had attended university.
Belisa, though of humbler origins, had been raised under the care of the Duchess of Mostar. As a lady-in-waiting, she had supervised others rather than performing such tasks herself.
At that moment, Julian Arsilo approached with a set of clothes. Charlot finally sighed in relief, boarded the Dark Luxury, and closed the carriage door. He drew the curtains, removed his wet clothing, dried off with a towel, and changed into a comfortable, dry outfit, instantly feeling rejuvenated.
When he stepped down from the carriage, a squad of royal knights in full armor approached. “Sir Charlot Mecklenburg,” they announced loudly, “His Majesty requests your presence.”
Charlot promptly stored the Dark Luxury, following the knights toward Britain Bridge.
Meeting the Ingrima Emperor Alfred Guillaume twice within a matter of days was a rare honor. Few among the empire’s highest nobility enjoyed such frequent audiences with the emperor.
Charlot, despite his time in the Fars Empire, had never seen Emperor Julius VI. He hadn’t even glimpsed the imperial palace gates, only encountering the emperor’s brother-in-law, the extravagantly generous Baron Febollet.
When Alfred Guillaume saw Charlot, he was overjoyed. He had a seat placed for Charlot beside him. “The post-duel performances,” he remarked, “are always the best part.”
“This time, the performers are from the royal troupe. The lead dancer is said to be a princess from the New Continent, with a stunning figure—and a husband,” the emperor added, inexplicably more animated when mentioning her marital status.
Charlot couldn’t understand why this detail excited the emperor, but he dutifully replied, “Your Majesty’s troupe must surely be the finest in the continent.”
Alfred Guillaume sighed. “Unfortunately, they all say that as emperor, I shouldn’t indulge in such entertainments. They won’t let me attend!”
“It’s only on occasions like this that I get to witness the troupe’s splendor.”
Charlot glanced at the surrounding nobles and officials and wisely decided to avoid commenting further.
Soon, over a dozen elaborately decorated boats glided down the Seventais River. The largest turned toward Britain Bridge, its companions anchoring it in place with grappling hooks.
Dozens of beautiful dancers emerged, performing with grace. However, their classical routines lacked the provocative allure of the dancers Charlot had seen on short video platforms. After a while, he found his interest waning.
Trapped beside the emperor, escaping midway through the performance was not an option.