Chapter 602 – Aura Clash.

The sound was like a hammer striking an anvil: sharp, clear, and far louder than anyone expected. Sparks burst in a violent spray as Hadrian’s strike was knocked off course. His mace twisted away, the head gouging a shallow groove into the packed sand instead of Roland’s chest. For an instant, the crowd went silent. Their laughter died in their throats as the “rusted knight,” who had looked so pitiful only moments before, stood tall like an unmoving titan.

“What?”

*BOOM*

Hadrian’s small eyes bulged as something slammed into his chest. He was sent flying backward as if struck by an ogre. His arms flailed, the spiked mace nearly slipping from his grasp, but he clung to it even as his body spun and crashed into the sand. He tumbled across the arena before slamming against the stone wall with a thunderous crack. Dust rained down, and the nobles gasped in unison.

A barrier of magic flickered to life around the jousting arena, shielding the nobles from the dirt cloud kicked up by Hadrian’s impact. The Aura Knight groaned, half-buried in the dirt at the very edge of the dueling ring. His gleaming mithril armor was no longer immaculate, dulled by dust clinging to every joint and crease. Slowly, he pushed himself upright, coughing, his face twisted in disbelief.

The nobles had expected Roland to be crushed within moments. Instead, it was Hadrian who now looked like a man thrown from his horse. To make matters worse, a large dirty footprint stained his chest, the mark of the kick that had sent him flying. While humiliating on its own, the true disgrace followed moments later.

As Hadrian staggered up, his headgear, or rather, the carefully trimmed bowl of hair that crowned it, shifted. Confusion rippled through the crowd as the wig slid sideways, then toppled into the dirt.

Silence held for a heartbeat before the arena erupted in laughter. The nobles could not contain themselves at the sight of the mighty Aura Knight losing his hair. Hadrian stood frozen, his bald head gleaming in the sunlight, dust clinging to the sweat on his scalp. His face flushed crimson, veins bulged at his temples, and his teeth clenched. The laughter only deepened his fury.

“Y-you bastard!”

He roared and spun about, shouting as his furious glare fell on his squire waiting just outside the arena.

“My helmet! Now!”

The poor boy scrambled, nearly tripping over himself as he rushed forward with the missing piece of Hadrian’s equipment. Meanwhile, the nobles were beside themselves, many of the ladies fanning their faces frantically as they tried and failed to stifle their laughter. Gentlemen leaned back with broad smiles, delighted by this unexpected comedy.

However, amid the laughter, a group of people remained silent as they watched the man sitting in the middle, Ivan Valerian. His face burned with embarrassment and his knuckles turned white as he crushed the crystal glass of wine in his hand. The red liquid dribbled across his fingers, but he either did not care or failed to notice in his rage. Every snicker and every muffled chuckle from the gallery cut into his pride like a blade.

Arthur’s lips curved upward ever so slightly. He tilted his glass with lazy indifference as though the laughter meant nothing to him, yet his eyes gleamed with delight. He glanced at his brother, who was fuming, then turned toward Roland, who stood motionless in the center of the ring, appearing not to care at all.

“Is he doing that on purpose?”

Arthur muttered to himself while watching Hadrian snatch the helmet from his squire. He rammed it onto his head with a metallic clang. His anger was palpable, and his aura flared violently around him. Crimson light seeped through the armor, and the magical symbols etched into it magnified the glow. The sand beneath his feet darkened and turned black as a wave of energy rippled across the dueling ground. The laughter of the nobles faltered as they realized the fight was about to continue.

“Enough!”

He roared, his voice raw with fury.

“No more tricks. No more mockery. I will crush you!”

Roland did not move. His mismatched armor looked duller than ever beneath the shimmering heat, yet the war pick in his grip remained steady. His masked gaze fixed on Hadrian, and he lifted his shoulders in a mocking shrug. Without speaking a word, he raised his shield and waited for the attack, daring his opponent to strike.

“The duel resumes!”

The judge, shaken by what had just occurred, urged the men to continue. Hadrian charged, faster this time, his body blurring beneath the aura mantle he was now covered in. His mace howled through the air as it descended on his enemy. The crowd gasped when sparks erupted from the collision. The ground beneath the two knights cracked, and a shockwave blasted outward in every direction.

The mace slammed into Roland’s shield with a deafening crash, activating the protective barrier around the arena. Some of the nobles fell from their seats as the ground rumbled beneath their feet. The force reverberated through the arena, yet Roland did not fall. His stance, though strained, held steady against the crushing power.

Hadrian snarled, wrenching his mace free and swinging again. He struck faster and harder, each blow raining down like a smith’s hammer. Yet the so-called rusted knight never buckled. His shield intercepted most of the strikes, and many others missed entirely. With quick steps he began retreating, moving backward while the knight covered in Aura chased him and shouted.

“Stand still, damn you!”

Hadrian’s fury grew as he failed to land a proper blow. Even though his opponent’s shield looked like a pile of rust, it refused to break. Instead, the spikes on his mace bent and lost their sharpness. The crowd saw a knight fighting defensively, and at first they cheered, but soon they began to realize that something was wrong.

“Is this how these fights usually go?”

“Lord Ivan’s knight is winning… right?”

“I am not sure.”

“He is an Aura knight. The other one should already be crushed!”

“Is he playing with him?”

Roland’s armor rattled with every sidestep. His mismatched plates clanked awkwardly, but his movements never faltered. Within his gaze, the enemy’s attacks unfolded as mana phantoms. Although Hadrian kept increasing his speed and power through aura, Roland’s skill allowed him to predict every strike. The force behind each blow was real and would cause serious damage if one landed cleanly, yet none of them did.

‘This armor will not last much longer. I should finish this soon.’

The armor was not truly rusted, but it was inferior compared to his usual runic equipment. He had focused on enhancing himself with stat-boosting magic and simple rune spells. That was enough to contend with this opponent, but if the fight dragged on, he would be in danger. His adversary was still a powerful Aura master who did not rely entirely on his weapons.

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As the fight continued, no runes appeared on his body thanks to the rune concealment skill. If this had been his past self, his entire armor would have been glowing like a beacon. He was constantly using runic magic, yet with the skill active none of it showed. The drawback was a constant strain on his mana. The drain had begun at ten percent and steadily increased each time he used a rune.