Down below, Duke Jacob Crowell moved like a shadow given form, each sword stroke a perfect marriage of power and precision. Around him, a half-circle of armored knights mimicked his movements, their swords glinting like polished fangs. The air shimmered faintly—mana spilling from their bodies in visible waves.

Roman's eyes narrowed. The man was a mountain in motion, a predator among wolves. And yet… the system had the audacity to chime in at that exact moment.

[SYSTEM ALERT]

New Task Generated:

Duel twenty knights of the Crowell Duchy.

Defeat the Captain of the First Squadron.

Defeat Duke Jacob Crowell.

Penalty for Refusal:

Immediate transfer to the Darkness Realm for indefinite torture and immobilization.

"What the hell…?" Roman muttered under his breath. His hands tightened into fists. "If I were in my real body, I'd wipe the floor with them. But now? This weak shell will snap like a twig."

The system pulsed in his vision.

[WARNING]

Task refusal detected. Penalty initiation in 30 seconds.

Roman's stomach twisted at the memory of the darkness. The suffocating stillness, the agony of a body that would not respond, the whispered things that slithered at the edge of hearing.

"…Fine," he hissed. "You win. Just… don't send me back there."

His armor lay in the corner—dented, straps frayed, plates mismatched. It looked less like battle gear and more like a relic from a forgotten war. Still, he strapped it on, wincing at the weight. The metal felt heavier than it should, dragging on his shoulders as if mocking him.

The corridor stretched ahead, lined with cold marble and flickering sconces. Lyra appeared at the far end, her skirts whispering against the floor.

"Young master?" she asked, brows knitting. "Where are you going?"

"To the training grounds," Roman said flatly.

Her eyes widened. "You're what?"

"You heard me."

"Young master…" She paused, exhaled. "…I'll prepare first aid. And a healer. Just in case."

"You think I'll lose?"

"One hundred percent."

Roman didn't answer. He pushed past her, boots ringing against the stone.

The training ground gates creaked open, spilling sunlight onto rows of armored men. Swords froze mid-swing as the knights turned to stare. One stepped forward, helm tucked under his arm.

"Young master…?" he said, disbelief clear in his voice. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to train."

The knight barked a laugh. "With that frail body?"

Up on the viewing platform, Duke Jacob turned. His gaze was sharp enough to cut steel. "Get out of here, Roman. You've disgraced me enough."

"I'll leave after I'm done," Roman said, voice calm but edged. "Twenty strongest knights. Now."

The Duke's jaw tightened. The head butler leaned in, murmured something.

Jacob's lips curved in something between a smirk and a threat. "Fine. If you lose, you will never set foot in this yard again."

Roman's reply was a low growl. "I'm not here to lose."

The twenty knights formed a loose circle around him.

"Come at me. All at once."

The Duke laughed outright this time. The knights hesitated, glancing at each other, but at his nod they surged forward.

Steel rang as the first wave hit. Blades slashed, boots thundered. Roman's body lagged, but his mind remembered. He was a king once—not a ruler of halls and politics, but of battlefields drowned in blood.

The first knight overextended—Roman pivoted, caught his arm, and wrenched him to the ground. A second's sword met his gauntlet; he twisted, slammed the hilt into the man's visor.

Five fell within ten minutes. Murmurs spread like wildfire through the spectators.

"Don't hold back!" Roman barked.

The knights obeyed. Aura flared along their swords, the air thickening with killing intent.

Then

[SYSTEM ERROR]

Combat techniques incompatible with local mana patterns.

Integrate previous world's combat data?

[Y/N]

"Yes," Roman thought without hesitation.

The world blurred.

[Integration Process: 15 minutes]

Progress… 100%

System Interface Updated.

The pale-blue display dissolved into shadowed gold. His veins hummed. Mana surged—not the thin, brittle energy of this world, but the dense, god-forged power he'd once commanded.

A golden aura ignited around him, threaded with coils of black like smoke from a divine forge. His sword caught both colors, one edge blazing gold, the other swallowing light entirely.

"Bend," Roman said.

He swung.

The ground screamed. Training barriers splintered, walls cracked and fell. The blast of pressure knocked men off their feet.

Silence followed—thick, stunned, disbelieving.

Then the world tilted. His knees buckled, and the sword slipped from his grasp. Darkness closed in again—but this time, it was only sleep.

Knights rushed forward.

On the platform, Duke Jacob's hand tightened around the railing. His eyes were fixed on the crater where his son had stood, and his voice was low enough that only the wind heard it.

"…Impossible."