Chapter 426: Chapter 426

Medals like these were typically reserved for those who had made significant contributions to the Orthodox Church, or to favored heretics. Although higher-level honors existed, for someone of Jenkins's age, this was already a remarkable achievement. Since the awarding of these medals could be quite erratic—sometimes they were even given to strangers with no connection to the Church—he didn't have to worry about arousing suspicion over how he had obtained them. Besides, Jenkins recalled that Bishop Parrold had received similar honors in his youth; his predecessor's memories held recollections of the old man speaking of such things.

Just as he'd expected, an embarrassed expression flickered across Duval Galvin's face. Gasps rippled through the crowd; faith in the Orthodox Church was deeply ingrained in the people's hearts.

The Church didn't announce the awarding of its medals in the newspapers, but to lie about it in a setting was unthinkable. Young Galvin had never imagined, before striding over, that his first attempt at intimidation would fall so flat.

He narrowed his eyes, trying to change the subject.

"Yes. I'll be twenty-one at the end of next April. And you? How old are you, may I ask?"

Embarrassment flushed Galvin's face once more. As a man of noble birth, he never read the papers and thus had no way of knowing the details about the award winner. He had assumed Baron Williamette was eighteen at most.

"I ask you, are you Miss Windsor's escort?"

Having come this far, he couldn't back down. Inwardly, he cursed the friend who had put him up to this.

As he answered, it dawned on him that this was just a common case of jealous rivalry.

"Then why are you not dancing with Miss Windsor? Is it the mark of a gentleman to leave a beautiful lady to sit by herself at a ball?"

"And is it the mark of a gentleman to interrupt a ball for everyone else?"

Miss Windsor could no longer contain herself and was about to rise, but Jenkins gave her a subtle shake of his head. He needed to handle this himself, or everyone would think him a pushover.

Mr. Galvin was not a gifted speaker, certainly not a match for the master of theatrics that was Williamette. The impulsiveness of youth, coupled with the pressure of hundreds of pairs of eyes on him, drove him to make a decision he would regret a second later.

"I... I challenge you to a duel!"

He impulsively tore off his white glove and flung it at Jenkins’s feet, scarcely believing his own audacity.

"That is enough, Galvin! You are bringing shame upon your family."

Miss Windsor could bear it no longer. She moved to stop this absurd farce, worried the delicate-looking author would be hurt, but Jenkins acted faster.

"Littering in such a beautiful hall is a shameful act."

He bent down, picked up the glove, and declared, "But I accept the duel." Googlᴇ search noveⅼfire.net

After a moment of stunned silence, the ballroom erupted as if a bomb had gone off, the wave of noise nearly powerful enough to shatter glass. Not since 1857 had the Fidektri Kingdom witnessed such a formal challenge issued and accepted.

A host finally emerged to take control of the chaotic scene. The man who had organized the ball had no choice but to step forward and call for quiet. He was clearly a close relation of Miss Windsor's, and he asked Jenkins and Galvin three times if they were serious about the duel.

Despite the hisses from the crowd, the middle-aged man insisted on asking three times before finally announcing to everyone that the duel was formally accepted.

By now, Galvin was at a loss for words. His only thought had been that if he refused, he would forever be known as "Galvin the Coward." But now that he had agreed, regret washed over him. The high and mighty Galvin, after all, disdained the study of combat.

He glanced at his opponent and offered a silent prayer of thanks to the gods. The man was just a commoner, likely raised on scraps, and a writer to boot.

As if by prearrangement, a notary appeared on the scene to officiate the duel. The two men were surrounded by a throng of onlookers as they each signed their names and pressed their thumbprints onto a document. Immediately after, someone was dispatched by carriage to fetch armor and longswords.

By now, the fire in Miss Windsor’s eyes was uncontainable. She wanted to try reasoning with Jenkins again, but the set of his back as he faced away from her was unyieldingly resolute. Recalling his words from dinner the night before, she knew with certainty that he would not easily forgive the man who had insulted his honor.

"But you can't possibly win against him..."

She sighed in resignation, committing to memory the face of every single person who was egging them on. Then, she leaned over and whispered something into the ear of a nearby maidservant. The servant nodded, gathered her skirts, and hurried out of the ballroom.

The nobility of Bel Diran hadn't seen anything in years. While the men were out fetching the dueling equipment, word spread, and people began arriving from all corners of the city to witness the event.

By the time the duel was set to begin, the number of spectators had nearly doubled.

Although it was called armor, the protective gear merely shielded the vital areas and did nothing to impede movement. The weapons for both men were rapiers—the kind that could truly kill.

"Do you need me to review the rules with you, sir?"

A friend of Miss Windsor's asked Jenkins in a low voice.

"That won't be necessary. I've had some training."

Hathaway’s lessons, of course, had never covered the art of dueling; she could never have imagined what Jenkins would get up to in Bel Diran. However, the train journey had been dreadfully dull, and during his stay in Ruen, Jenkins had picked up a great deal of seemingly useless knowledge from the princess.

"Gentlemen, you may begin!"

The notary called out loudly. Jenkins and Galvin raised their rapiers vertically before their faces, saluting each other with a bow.

Mr. Galvin drew a deep breath, but it did nothing to calm the frantic hammering in his chest. The whole scene felt surreal. He shouldn't be standing here; balls and salons were his domain, not dueling grounds.

Even more unbelievably, the opponent standing before him charged first. His form was impeccable—more so than even the fencing master the great Mr. Galvin had dismissed for incompetence.

Another gasp rippled through the crowd. The startled Mr. Galvin only then remembered to block. Their rapiers clashed, but the agile author effortlessly deflected the blade and landed a firm thrust against the armor protecting Galvin's heart.

He was certain he hadn't imagined it: a split second before, the other man had clearly been aiming for an unprotected spot.

"Baron Williamette is the victor!"

The notary shouted again, and the crowd immediately erupted in a surprisingly unified chorus of hisses.

Jenkins executed a slightly clumsy flourish with his blade before pulling it back, watching as Galvin slowly crumpled to the floor.

"My apologies," Jenkins said coolly. "You fought well."