I Reincarnated as the Bastard Prince? Well, At least I'm OP!-Chapter 69: A duel

The moment Richard and I stepped into the training courtyard, the air shifted.

The clash of practice blades, the grunts of exertion, the hum of low-level combat magic—it all stopped

One by one, heads turned, and all eyes fell on us. The silence was so heavy I could feel it pressing against my skin.

I scanned the room. These students were warriors-in-training. Their bodies were honed for battle.

It didn't take me long to notice the stiff shoulders, cold glares, and whispers. Not a single one of them looked happy to see Richard.

A tall, muscular figure detached himself from the sparring line. He walked straight toward us, broad shoulders squared, every step like a fighter's grace.

He stopped in front of us, his arms crossed over a chest that seemed carved from stone.

"My name is Geralt," he said, his deep voice carrying easily across the courtyard. "The Shadow Fighter Society is for honourable men. So tell me, Richard… what are you doing here?"

Richard straightened his spine, his jaw tense. "I came back to rejoin my brethren."

Geralt let out a booming laugh, loud and cruel.

"You? Rejoin the society? Not going to happen. You were bested by a little boy—" He took a step closer, his presence intimidating, "—and instead of accepting your defeat with dignity, you abandoned the society and cowered in shame. After you left, I took over. I'm the new Captain of the Shadow Fighter Society."

I couldn't help but size him up.

His arms were thick with muscle, veins like ropes snaking across them, his torso broad and disciplined.

He had the body of someone who lived in the training yard. This was no spoiled noble; this was a fighter who had earned his place.

Every inch of him screamed strength.

He was probably seventeen years old. How impressive. His dedication was something to admire.

Richard clenched his teeth, his fists trembling slightly at his sides. "Well… I'm back. I've returned to train with my brothers. I don't need the captain title. I know I'm not worthy of it in the first place."

Geralt scoffed, not an ounce of sympathy in his tone. "Of course you weren't. The only reason you were made captain is because of your family's reputation as sword masters. Without that name behind you, you're weaker than anyone I've ever had the displeasure of fighting. All flash, no foundation. No heart."

I could feel Richard flinch beside me. He was hurt by the bitter truth and he knew it. He was weak by all standards.

I raised a hand, drawing Kael's piercing gaze to me.

"That's all understandable," I said, keeping my voice level. "But wouldn't it be alright if Richard just returns? He wants to train. He wants to learn the right way."

Geralt face hardened. He shook his head. "No. Richard defiled the honour of a Shadow Fighter. A true Shadow Fighter doesn't run after defeat. He lives to fight another day. We take pride in our losses and use them to grow stronger. That's Richard's problem—he's impatient, arrogant, and unwilling to bleed for his lessons. He thought strength was a title to be inherited, not a skill to be built."

"I agree with you," I said, and I meant it. "But everyone deserves a second chance."

That was when Geralt gaze shifted, locking onto me. His eyes narrowed. "You're Archer, aren't you? The boy who bested Richard."

"I am," I confirmed. "But I'd prefer not to be known just as 'the one who bested Richard.' We're... friends now." I glanced at Richard. "Wouldn't want to hurt his feelings."

The corners of Geralt's lips curled into a challenging smile

"Friends. Interesting." He uncrossed his arms, gesturing to the open sparring circle in the center of the hall. "I'll make you a deal, Archer. A duel. You and me. If you beat me, Richard can return. No questions asked."

"And if you beat me?" I asked.

"Then you join the Shadow Fighter Society," he said, his grin turning predatory. "A talent like yours shouldn't be wasted. We'll make a real warrior out of you."

The entire society was watching, waiting for my answer.

I tilted my head slightly, a small grin tugging at my lips. "Fine."

* * * *

The circle of the Shadow Fighter Society widened as the members gathered, forming a tight ring around the central sparring circle.

Dust rose faintly from the packed earth beneath our boots, the late afternoon sun slanting down across the training courtyard, setting the scene for a duel that had everyone's blood humming.

Geralt and I stood facing each other in the center, the worn floorboards beneath our feet.

His eyes locked on mine burning like someone who lived for combat. His lips curled into a smirk as he gestured at the weapons rack.

"Choose your weapon, Archer," he said, his voice booming across the yard.

I moved to the rack, scanning the choices. There were broadswords gleaming in the light, jagged axes, polished spears, and even a pair of nunchucks swinging lightly in the breeze.

I wrapped my fingers around the smooth haft of a long spear.

Its weight fit me naturally, and I gave it a quick spin, the air whistling as I twirled it around me.

My small frame wasn't intimidating, but the strength in my arms let me balance it with ease.

"I'm ready," I said firmly.

Geralt chuckled. His broad, scarred chest was bare, muscles rippling with every movement.

He walked to the far end and hefted a pair of massive weapons. They were hammers, but unlike any I'd seen—each head was a solid block of iron studded with short, brutal spikes.

The hafts were wrapped in worn leather.

"Iron Mauls," someone in the crowd cheered with clear respect.

Geralt crossed them against his chest and cracked his neck.

"A spear against my Mauls? You'll need more than twirling tricks to keep your bones intact," he mocked. "I'll even give you another chance. Pick a different weapon."

He spun the mauls in his hands as if they weighed nothing, the spiked heads cutting through the air with a menacing whoosh.

He was trying to intimidate me, all right.

My eyes scanned the rack again then back at my spear. I needed reach, something to counter his crushing power and keep those deadly hammers at a distance.

The spear was my only option.

I shook my head. "No. I'm good with this. Just tell me the rules."

Geralt's grin sharpened. "Simple. Whoever surrenders or is knocked unconscious first loses. First blood isn't enough here; we fight until one of us is truly bested."

I gave a nod. "Fine. And magic?"

"Of course," Kael said, a dark grin spreading across his face. "But just so you know… I'm going to use my Shadow Technique to finish this. That's how real warriors fight."

A murmur of excitement rippled through the onlookers.

Behind him, Richard swallowed hard, his eyes darting between us. I caught his tension but said nothing.

His voice finally broke the silence, steady but tight.

"Fight!"

Geralt exploded forward, his steps pounding like war drums.

One moment he was across the circle, the next he was upon me, his right maul coming down in a devastating overhead smash aimed to shatter my spear and my collarbone in one blow.

I sidestepped, the maul crashing into the floorboards where I'd been standing, splintering the wood.

But he was already flowing into his next move.

As I thrust my spear toward his exposed side, he didn't block. Instead, he whispered a single word.

His form seemed to dissolve into a streak of solid purple darkness.

In the blink of an eye, he rematerialized instantly behind me, the second maul already swinging for my ribs.

It was only my heightened reflexes that saved me; I dropped and rolled, feeling the wind of the weapon brush past my back.

I came up, spear whirling to keep him at bay.

So this was his Shadow Technique. It wasn't magic. It was a fusion of combat and shadow magic that granted him terrifying mobility and unpredictable attacks

He came at me again, a series of crushing blows from his mauls.

"Shadow Step!" he roared.

Suddenly, there were three of him. Two violet-black silhouettes mimicking his movements.

Each carried phantom versions of the Iron Mauls, swinging in perfect sync with the real Geralt.

I spun my spear into a guard position, sweat prickling down my temple.

He was strong, incredibly strong, and his technique made him a nightmare to pin down.

The real Geralt raised both mauls high, the shadows following perfectly, and brought them down with a thunderous slam aimed for my head.

The ground shook as the Mauls struck down but I dodged on time, erecting my barrier to stop the shock wave from disrupting my balance.

"You move well, Archer," Geralt said proudly. "But you're no match for me. Surrender now and I'll allow you train under me as your senior."

"Thanks anyway," I smiled as I regarded him. I'm only doing this for Richard sake. While you were showing off your shadow technique, I've been studying your movements. I believe I finally understand what shadow technique is all about."