The Grand Duke's Son Is A Heretic-Chapter 269

At the center of the training field, Kael stood, holding his sword in a grounded stance. His feet were planted shoulder-width apart, right slightly back, knees bent in a relaxed coil. His blade hovered diagonally, gleaming under the afternoon light, as if poised to leap from his hand. His breathing was steady. His gaze—sharp and focused.

Before him stood Vic, Barret, and Chris—all experienced and respected fighters in the territory. All of them had drawn their blades, a serious look in their eyes.

Kael’s posture was disciplined, but as his ears caught the whispers from the onlookers, one brow twitched.

His stance almost faltered.

"Genius... Reaching A-rank within 8 months, they think, is the work of a genius? Are these people idiots?" Kael cursed inwardly, exasperated.

Hearing the scoff in his tone, Vic and Barret’s lips twitched with amusement.

"Are you sure you aren’t acting tough just to draw more splendor?" Vic asked, raising an eyebrow. "Reaching A-rank isn’t as easy as you’re making it sound."

Kael’s lips curled upward into a half-smile, mocking yet calm.

"How long did it take for Adele to reach here?" he asked without blinking.

Vic thought for a moment and answered, "As per what I’ve heard—it’s about 2 years."

"And you?"

Vic scratched his head. "Five years."

Kael pressed his lips into a flat line.

’These guys are simply frogs at the bottom of a well,’ he thought dryly.

His mind drifted back to memories he tried not to revisit. That bitchy sister of his had done it in just five months. And that son of a bitch hero had done only three.

Yeah, sure, they were blessed by the gods. But wasn’t that still part of their strength?

Truthfully, Kael wasn’t satisfied with his progress. He could’ve used Devour to reach A-rank within two months—but that would have required many sacrifices.

The main problem was where to find so many A-rank. He can’t prey on his people, can he?

His original plan was to use the northern grounds to power-level after things settled down—but he had completely messed up the transportation situation.

And now the real issue: Devour didn’t work properly unless he consumed someone of equal or higher rank. Devouring anyone below B-rank had no effect at all.

They can’t even be considered starters now.

That was the hidden downside.

In this world, everything comes with a price. Now, to even rise by a minor realm, he needed at least 7-8 A-ranks of his level. And it only got worse from there.

With a long sigh, Kael raised his sword again, shaking away the gloomy thoughts and dark memories clouding his mood.

He adjusted his footing, tightening his grip.

"Let’s go..."

Hearing his call, the knights around stopped their breathing and looked ahead.

The wind stood still.

A faint tension hung in the air as Kael shifted his weight, one foot pivoting smoothly in the dust. His sword lowered slightly, its edge tracing a subtle line in the dirt—almost as if it were tasting the field.

Across from him, Vic, tall and broad-shouldered, raised his sword with both hands. His posture was classical—an iron stance forged through years of battlefield experience.

Next to him, Barret, a burly B-rank knight, circled to the left, while Chris, lighter and more agile, flanked from the right. They moved as a team, seasoned in coordinated strikes, and a blink—they charged.

Chris lunged first. His sword came from below—a rising arc aimed at Kael’s ribcage. Barret, slower but heavier, brought his greatsword down in a hammering vertical strike.

Kael didn’t even blink. With a single sidestep, he rotated his body, letting Chris’s blade graze air. At the same moment, he twisted his sword like a ribbon around Barret’s, catching it mid-air and redirecting it diagonally, throwing Barret off balance.

Chris tried to recover, striking again from behind. Kael dropped low, pivoted on one knee, and let Chris’s blade pass inches over his head before snapping his elbow backward into Chris’s ribs. A muffled grunt escaped the C-rank knight.

Vic stepped forward, his presence like a mountain. Their blades met—steel against steel, and a shockwave rippled through the training ground. Dust lifted in rings around them. Kael’s arm didn’t move back an inch.

Vic gritted his teeth. "You’ve got strength," he muttered.

"But can you handle this?" He struck again—a series of wide slashes, each heavy, deliberate, and backed by sheer force.

Kael danced around them like water, never colliding directly, and never using force too much. He was all slither and curve, stepping in tight spirals, leaning at impossible angles, and redirecting momentum.

Then Kael countered. He slid forward like a shadow, his sword gliding along Vic’s like a snake winding through grass.

In a single motion, he used the side of his blade to deflect Vic’s slash, spun on the balls of his feet, and twisted his wrist—striking the side of Vic’s ribs with the flat of his blade. Vic stumbled. His eyes widened. "The hell kind of swordplay is that...?"

Kael didn’t reply. His expression was cold. Focused. He stepped again, left foot forward, then twisted, the blade moving in a spiral dance. His sword didn’t clash; it slid, curved, wrapped, and struck in strange trajectories.

It was like watching an eel swim through rocks in a violent stream—no wasted motion, no rigid forms.

Seeing Vic on the back foot, Chris and Barret joined again. Chris feinted a stab while Barret charged from behind with a shoulder rush. Kael didn’t even look.

He leaned sideways, letting Barret pass, and raised one leg—stepping on Barrett’s back as a platform to vault over Chris. Mid-air, Kael twisted, landed behind them, and gave a single light tap with his blade to Chris’s shoulder.

"Dead," he said coldly.

Chris turned around in disbelief, only to find Kael disappeared already locked again with Barret.

Barret tried to rotate swiftly, turning his waist with a slick sound but as soon as he moved,a sword swished before his eyes landed straight on the nape.

Barret gasped in shock cause if he moved even a little it was gonna pierce him.

"Dead.."