Stray bullets flew across the air.

But before they could reach Marquis Valcarez, a towering wall of water surged up in front of him.

“What the—?!”

A massive wall of water, like a tidal wave, had materialized, completely blocking the bullets. None of them even grazed Reynard. It was as if the miracle of Moses parting the Red Sea was happening before their very eyes. The soldiers of the 3rd Prince, who had lived their entire lives in the capital, stood frozen, dumbstruck by the overwhelming power of Reynard’s supernatural ability.

The water’s force was so strong that the bullets barely skimmed its surface before fizzling out, spiraling to the ground with a hiss. For a brief moment, everyone except Reynard stood there, dumbfounded.

Then, suddenly—

“Ahhh!”

The water that had erupted from the ground wasn’t just a stream. The floodwater surged more violently, rising higher and higher, as if it would swallow everything whole.

It was like detonating a bomb in the ocean and unleashing a massive explosion.

But this wasn’t the ocean; it was merely an open field with scattered trees and shrubs. Where had all this water come from? And how was it even possible for someone to summon this much water from dry land? The soldiers’ eyes bulged as they screamed in panic, unable to comprehend the situation.

In that instant, they understood why Colonel Reynard Denox was hailed as a war hero and a man of unmatched power. But that realization came too late. The soldiers were swept away by the explosive surge of water.

“Ahhh!”

“Help!”

“Noooo!”

The water roared like a flood, and the soldiers were helpless, tossed and swept away as if they were nothing more than debris caught in a raging river. It was as if they had been swept away by a flood during a monsoon. Within moments, all of them had vanished.

All but two: Reynard and Clifton.

However, only one of them could stand and move freely.

Reynard, his long coat billowing in the wind, walked calmly through the chaos, untouched by the torrent around him. His hair and clothing were completely dry as he approached his fallen opponent. The field was now a scene of utter destruction—uprooted trees, torn shrubs, and debris littered everywhere.

Amidst the destruction, Clifton lay soaked and covered in dirt, struggling to move. He was like a man trapped by unseen chains.

In reality, Clifton had been restrained by Reynard’s supernatural ability, his limbs bound by water that had risen from the earth, preventing him from moving.

“Let me go! Release me!” Clifton yelled, his voice laced with panic. Despite his pathetic appearance—soaked and dirty from the mud—he still tried to command authority. It was almost laughable. Reynard recalled how Clifton had often mocked the poor, calling them people born of the earth, destined to live close to the ground.

Reynard stepped closer, his boots squelching in the muddy ground, a smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth. He moved closer to Clifton, who was now lying on the ground, utterly humiliated beneath Reynard’s feet.

“Marquis, are you insane?” Clifton barked, still believing he had the upper hand.

Reynard stood over him, planting his feet on either side of Clifton’s thighs, looking down at him with his hands casually tucked into his pockets—a perfect image of victory.

The fight had been too easy.

From the moment Reynard had scouted the duel’s location, he knew he would win. The nearby Bronzel River flowed just outside Eldon, and the river’s underground currents ran beneath the battlefield. As long as there was water nearby, Reynard’s power was unstoppable. Only Reynard and his closest confidants knew this secret, which had ensured his victory from the start.

Clifton, who had never set foot on a battlefield and had only heard rumors about Reynard’s power, was blind to the truth. His arrogance had sealed his fate from the beginning.

“Did you really think you’d have the advantage just because we weren’t by the sea?” Reynard mocked.

“Grrr…”

Clifton writhed beneath Reynard, desperately trying to free himself from his humiliating position. He flailed in the mud, becoming even filthier in the process, oblivious to the fact that he was turning into the very thing he despised—a pathetic, writhing worm.

“You should have known how much your father desired the power you’ve so carelessly underestimated,” Reynard continued.

“Marquis…!”

“Prince, you’ve fallen into the very trap you set for yourself.”

“Damn it! This is unfair!”

“Unfair? You’re the one who brought soldiers to kill me under the guise of an honorable duel. The entire capital will laugh at your so-called honor. Thinking you could kill me with such a simple trap—how foolish.”

“You… you bastard!”

Clifton’s body convulsed as he tried to break free, screaming in frustration.

“I could turn you into a bullet-riddled corpse right here and now, but I keep my promises,” Reynard said calmly.

Promises? Clifton’s eyes widened, momentarily confused. What promise could Reynard be referring to?

Reynard withdrew his hands from his pockets and reached for his gun. The way he smoothly drew the navy officer’s revolver from its holster showed how familiar he was with the weapon. His large hand removed the cylinder, loaded the bullets one by one, and then clicked the cylinder back into place.

“I didn’t even get the chance to load my weapon earlier, thanks to your lack of courtesy during our ‘honorable duel.’”

The revolver clicked as Reynard spun the chamber and locked it into place.

“Marquis! You’re making a mistake!”

“Mistake? You tried to kill me, but when I aim my gun at you, it’s a mistake?”

“You dare threaten an imperial prince?!”

“Looks like I’ll have to put a few holes in the prince.”

*Bang!*

Without even a warning shot, Reynard fired. The bullet tore through Clifton’s thigh, and his scream filled the field.

“Arghhh!”

“That one’s for Valentin, Prince.”

“Grrr…”

Even though he was writhing in pain, Clifton couldn’t break free from the water that held him. His body shook with agony.

“You dared to hurt Valentin and insult him. You should have known you’d pay for that.”

“You won’t survive this, Reynard…!” Clifton growled through his gritted teeth.

“I’d worry more about your own survival, Prince.”

*Bang!*

Another gunshot rang out, this time hitting Clifton’s other thigh.

“Arghhh!”

“That’s for my daughter.”

Smoke drifted lazily from the revolver between them.

“You poisoned my daughter, killing the heir to the Denox family.”

Reynard leaned down, staring coldly at Clifton as he toyed with the revolver’s hammer, his voice steady.

“Your legs are nothing compared to what you did, but as I said, I keep my promises.”

“Grr…”

“I am not like you. I keep my word,” Reynard said, resting the hot barrel of the gun against Clifton’s forehead as if he were carelessly swatting a bug.

Even though Clifton was convulsing in pain, his pride wouldn’t let him stop resisting. He shook his head violently.

“So, this is the imperial prince you always boasted about, huh? Even now, your pride is intact. Impressive.”

Reynard tapped the prince’s forehead with the barrel, mocking him.

“As for your final breath, that’s for someone else to take.”

Reynard recalled the day Clifton’s partner, Evner, had come to him in tears, begging for mercy.

[Why are you going this far?]

That day, Evner had handed over evidence, pushing the papers toward Reynard with trembling hands, saying:

[If this isn’t enough, I’ll stake my life on it. Maybe then you’ll believe me.]