“Are you threatening me?” He narrowed his eyes, a hint of amusement flickering in his ice-blue pupils. “I’d like to see what tricks you, sly fox, can pull.”
“When it comes to schemes and calculations, I’m afraid I have to concede to you,” Marcus suddenly opened his eyes. When his handsome face lost its smile, the darkness lurking in his lake-blue eyes surfaced.
“If you believe your brother’s death is related to me, then seek revenge on me, but don’t involve women.” His tone was chilling, devoid of any emotion.
“I think you misunderstand, General. I’m not approaching Khanyi out of personal grievances; our acquaintance was purely accidental. At that time, she was already taken, but now…”
“Now she is still taken.” He interrupted Marcus, his words gritted out, clearly suppressing his anger. He realized he could tolerate his opponent’s provocations and insults, but he could not bear to hear her name from another man’s mouth.
“Is that so? I don’t think so,” Marcus scoffed, his lake-blue gaze drifting to the church entrance.
A beam of bright moonlight shot through the door’s crack, illuminating a petite figure. “What are you doing?” The girl rushed in, somewhat flustered.
In the moon’s pure light, she clearly saw the slender man in black pointing a black pistol at Marcus’s temple, like a black wolf, his white teeth gripping the opponent’s throat. Without thinking, she shouted at him, “Ryan, let him go!”
He froze, furrowing his brow, his ice-blue eyes fixed on the girl standing five steps away, not noticing the Marcus he had firmly restrained, a sly smile appearing on his handsome face.
He knew that exposing his true thoughts in front of his opponent was an extremely foolish act, yet he could not hide the turmoil within.
Khanyi stared at him, tears streaming down her face. “Put down your gun; haven’t you killed enough people?”
Marcus glanced at the gun pressed against his temple. Although his head was firmly restrained, his close-combat experience told him that if he could change the angle unexpectedly, he could still resist, break free, and possibly counterattack successfully.
She stepped closer to them, her voice hoarse as she pressed him, “What do you want? What do you need to prove before you’ll stop?” Tears poured from her dark eyes. “You use everyone and everything around you… to achieve your goals by any means necessary!”
“Shut up! Foolish woman.” He barked at her. “You don’t understand anything!”
“Yes, I’m foolish, deceived and toyed with by you every time! Just let him go, and I’ll agree to anything you want. Do you want me to return to your side, to continue being your mistress, or do you want me to disappear forever…” Her dark eyes were fixed on the gun in his hand, her expression one of heartbreak and determination.
“Don’t do this, Gianna!” Marcus’s lake-blue eyes held a hint of reluctance. “Don’t come closer; this is between him and me, it has nothing to do with you. Get out of here.”
He lowered his eyes, an indescribable pain flickering in his ice-blue gaze. He hadn’t expected the situation to become so complicated; in fact, it was quite simple. He chuckled softly, slowly relaxing the grip on his elbow under her gaze, moving the gun away from the opponent’s head, his voice sounding oddly as he spoke, “I didn’t expect it to be for love. Then, there’s only one way.”
Marcus didn’t exert much effort to gain his freedom. He touched his neck, where his opponent had tightened his grip painfully, exhaling, “General Ryan, what do you think we are? Medieval barbarians?”
“According to the Empire’s decree, this is permitted, and young soldiers should take pride in it.” A flash of sharp light flickered in his ice-blue eyes.
“But I hold a low rank; how could I dare to engage with someone of your general’s stature?” Marcus maintained a calm tone, speaking without changing his expression, but it seemed he didn’t want to accept the challenge.
He sneered, drawing his sword from his waist, holding it in one hand, unbuttoning the collar of his uniform with the other, and unfastening all the buttons below, throwing the black uniform, adorned with the insignia of a general, cleanly onto the dusty ground.
Marcus blinked, watching the black uniform fall.
“No, don’t! This is too crazy,” Khanyi stared at him, then turned to the gentle brown-haired man. “Marcus, you mustn’t agree to him!”
Marcus shrugged and smiled at her, his eyes still filled with lake-blue tenderness. “I think I have no choice. Don’t worry, Gianna; although I can’t guarantee I’ll win against an Olympic pentathlon champion, my swordsmanship isn’t that bad.”
“I advise you not to treat this as a performance.” He said coldly, skillfully rotating his wrist, the broad sword making a decorative circle in his hand, the cold gleam of the blade pointing directly at the high bridge of his opponent’s nose. “Draw your sword.” The previously elegant swordplay represented—love and honor.
Marcus slowly drew a slightly elongated sword from his waist, the hilt adorned with blue eagle wings. He firmly gripped the hilt, slightly tilting it, and immediately held the sword upright in front of his chest for a few seconds, a deep gesture unique to the Pearl family before a duel, his calm lake-blue eyes now hiding a chilling murderous intent.
Khanyi couldn’t understand these gestures inherited from medieval knight traditions; she only knew that the two men were determined to fight to the death. Many men had died in such brutal duels. Although this time they were using swords instead of guns, she was well aware that his sword was not merely a decorative item.
