The Female Knight of Doom - TFKOD 42: One-on-One Duel

“I am.” Alice replied, “Are you the Reynolds they were talking about? Her Grace gave me the land here. Would you like to see the documents?”

“No need.” Reynolds’ answer was firm, “Duke Felix gave the land in this village to my uncle long ago, and it’s mine now. No need for documents to prove it.”

“That doesn’t make sense.” Alice said, “Whether it’s Duke Felix or your uncle, they’re both dead now. Now, Her Grace calls the shots.”

What she said was plain truth.

Reynolds turned red and shouted at her in a harsh voice, “I don’t care who lives or dies; this village has always been mine, and no one can take it away.”

“Then let’s fight.” Alice had long known that this situation was inevitable and calmly suggested, “Whoever loses will leave immediately and never set foot in this village again… What do you think?”

He gave a short, cold laugh, “Do you want to fight me?”

“Exactly, I am.” Alice said, “I was a high-ranking mercenary in the Mercenary Union and am now a knight appointed by Her Grace herself. There is no branch of the Mercenary Union here in West Felix, so you may not know my name yet… but I am quite well known in the royal capital. As a general rule, anyone who wants to take me on should first consider their own worth.”

Reynolds met her gaze, scrutinized her from head to toe, and did not hesitate to deliver a biting remark, “Your reputation means nothing; crossing paths with me is your greatest misfortune.”

Both parties, in their own way, appeared to be vying for dominance, exchanging words designed to intimidate and unsettle. Yet, beneath this veneer of bravado, both knew too well—this confrontation was unavoidable.

To outsiders, it looked as though they were merely trying to scare each other off, but in truth, each was carefully studying the other, seeking vulnerabilities.

Alice seldom faced opponents of such imposing stature. Over the years, only one other—DeWitt, the silver-helmeted mercenary—had measured up to this level of size and strength. The memory of DeWitt’s near-fatal assault lingered in her mind, casting a long shadow.

The man before her, even larger than DeWitt, was formidable in size, yet she could discern that his skill was lacking compared to her previous adversary.

DeWitt’s experience as a seasoned mercenary gave him an edge, while this man’s bulk was merely a physical advantage.

Despite his imposing presence, his armor—thick plate with a crest denoting a noble family heirloom—suggested a knightly heritage.

Though her greatsword was exceptionally heavy, its effectiveness against such dense armor was limited; an unenchanted blade would dull against it, even if it struck true.

This style of plate armor, typically used by cavalry, was ill-suited for close-quarters combat, rendering him less formidable than his size implied.

Based on Reynolds’ demeanor, it was evident that he overestimated his own strength and believed he could fully contend with this suit of armor. Despite not riding on horseback, he nonetheless chose to wear this formidable plate armor to confront his adversary.

Alice suspected that his intention might have been to augment his intimidation factor or perhaps stemmed from a fear of injury, which prompted him to dress so heavily.

The weapon Reynolds wielded was not a sword, but a massive, custom-forged flail—featuring a solid iron ball adorned with numerous protruding spikes, incredibly weighty.

Even with the enchantments woven into her chainmail, a direct hit from such a weapon would undoubtedly cause severe injury.

Alice’s unwavering resolve was to end the confrontation swiftly, not just to defeat Reynolds but to utterly crush his confidence, ensuring he’d think twice before returning.

With this purpose in mind, she signaled to her opponent, “Come on.”

Reynolds advanced, striking a commanding pose and swinging his chain hammer with great force. His skillful handling of the weapon indicated he was no novice.

Alice chose not to block but instead took a few quick steps back, expertly evading the heavy swings. Her movements remained light and nimble, and with the open space around her, sidestepping the flail was an effortless task.

Reynolds was very dissatisfied with her passive evasion.

“Draw your sword!” he sneered. “What are you waiting for? Are you afraid to move? You’re a woman, and if you surrender now, I won’t kill you.”

He tried to persuade her to surrender, but his hands showed no mercy as he violently aimed the heavy chain hammer at her head.

Alice dodged skillfully and moved behind him. Reynolds’ body was already heavy, and now, in the heavy plate armor, he couldn’t even turn around quickly.

She grabbed him from behind and tried to push him down. The idea is good, but Reynolds is like a mountain of flesh. His own weight, combined with the plate armor, is probably at least 200 kilograms.

She pushed him, and he moved only half a step forward before stopping. It seemed as if even the superhuman stamina Cecilion had previously granted her had reached its limits.

Under such circumstances, Alice should have abandoned this plan and considered another way to deal with the meat can before her, completely encased in iron.

But at that moment, she realized she wasn’t ready to consider another course of action.

Rage rose within her, hot blood rushed in her ears, and an inner impulse to take an even more astonishing step drove her to it.

Words she never would have thought she would utter suddenly escaped her, “In Cecilion’s name!”

The god’s name invoked a divine power beyond the limits of human strength, compelling her to perform an act that would normally be impossible.

Driven by a fierce impulse, Alice seized Reynolds and, with remarkable force, lifted him—armor and all—above her head. Though Reynolds was more than three times her size, in that moment, she appeared divine, almost otherworldly.

She held him aloft as if to demonstrate her dominance, then forcefully brought him crashing down. His helmet was dislodged, and the dented armor bore witness to her blow.

Standing above him, she awaited his attempt to rise. Yet, the weight of his armor, combined with his corpulent frame, rendered him dizzy and disoriented, incapable of resisting or recovering.

Recognizing his helplessness, Alice produced the land deed bestowed upon her by the duchess, pressing the bright red seal onto Reynolds’ nose.

“Take a good look,” she declared, “this is the duchess’ seal. The land of Ronald Village rightfully belongs to me. You’d better gather your belongings and leave immediately.”

Reynolds remained silent, his face flushing a deep crimson, and refused to meet her gaze, unwilling to acknowledge the documents or her claim.

“Please help me! I can’t breathe! Help!” His voice rang out in a high, plaintive pitch, amplifying the distress in his cry for aid.

Alice responded swiftly, delivering a sharp kick.

Her eyes then fell on the dented section of his armor, which, having fallen to the ground, happened to press against his neck.

In that moment, Reynolds was somewhat fortunate; any further deformation of the armor could have resulted in his suffocation.

This particular suit likely once belonged to his uncle.

The Reynolds family has always been known for their unusual physiques, and this inherited armor was notably larger than standard. Yet, even with its greater size, it proved a tight fit for Reynolds’s excess flesh, causing the armor to deform slightly and ultimately trap him inside, rendering him immobile.

Just as tensions between them escalated, a crowd of onlookers gathered nearby.

Many of Reynolds’ subordinates, a mix of local delinquents, were present—some even cheering him on. But when Alice lifted him high into the air, those who had been shouting in Reynolds’s favor quickly fell silent and retreated, wary of drawing the attention of this young, formidable, and strikingly beautiful knight.

The remaining villagers, fearful and resentful of Reynolds, never volunteered to help.

Alice would have gladly watched him suffocate, but Kent’s earlier suggestion still lingered in her mind. She, unfamiliar with politics, wanted to avoid any political turmoil.

So, with a heart of compassion, she slid her fingers under the collar of the armor, grabbed both sides of the breastplate, and yanked it open, ripping it down the middle, reducing this precious item to a pile of scrap metal.

The armor was forged from steel, and anyone with even a passing understanding of the strength of knightly armor would know that the strength Alice displayed was greater than that required to lift Reynolds.

However, the visual impact of this act was minimal, and none of the onlookers had any background in blacksmithing or soldiering. Therefore, they were not particularly surprised when they saw Alice lift Reynolds over her head.

She freed him from the armor and pointed at his nose in warning, “If I hear that you ever appear in this village again, your fate will be the same as this armor.”

Reynolds clearly grasped the gravity of the situation; he was already overwhelmed with fear, his panic causing him to lose all composure, leaving a puddle beneath him.

In his distressed state, anyone witnessing him would find him utterly repulsive.

Alice, recoiling in disgust, covered her nose and snapped, “Get lost!”

Reynolds had never encountered such raw power before, and it filled him with terror. Despite only being in his underwear, he instinctively crawled and rolled away, neglecting to retrieve the broken plate armor.

Nearby, the village chief, who had been concealed and observing unseen, finally stepped forward once Reynolds had fled far enough.

He exclaimed in amazement, “Goodness gracious! Thank the God of Agriculture and Herding—am I seeing things? You are truly strong!”

“That’s nothing,” Alice said, stretching her arms and massaging her aching muscles. “He’s just too weak.”

Her words carried a hint of boastfulness; she was well aware that it was actually Cecilion who had temporarily bestowed her with divine power. Nonetheless, the effect of her statement was quite successful.

Immediately, the sounds of teeth chattering echoed around them.

“There’s no need to be so nervous,” Alice assured, “I’m a reasonable person, and I dislike resorting to violence.”

Even she wasn’t entirely convinced of her own words, but they still had a calming influence, easing the tension among the villagers. The chattering of teeth around her diminished noticeably, becoming less intense than before.

Everyone was now looking at the village chief—they were all a little reluctant to look at Alice, who was the pillar of everyone’s life.

The old village chief was much calmer than the other villagers. He was a very practical person, very experienced, and not easily upset by what he saw.

He thought for a moment and then said to Alice, “You must be exhausted after that fight. Why don’t you rest at my house for a bit? I’ll have them prepare lunch for you.”