A Dual Crest Summoner In Infinite Summoning World

Auren walked through the tense standoff, stepping near Hanzo and Kenzo. Kenzo noticed Auren, and the anger in his eyes decreased a little. Still, he stood right beside his father.

"Ignore the bastard! Get that bitch first!" the blonde-haired teenager said to his two knights.

The women stood straight, keeping Katla behind them. They were clearly scared beyond reason, yet they stood their ground. The men and women gathered around tried talking the angry kid down.

"Young Lord, she had no idea who you were.."

"Yes, she made a terrible mistake raising her hand, but she is still just a kid.."

"It's those women's fault for keeping such a young child in there.."

"SHUT UP! SHUT UP, ALL OF YOU!" the noble boy screamed. "How dare you talk back to me? I am the heir of Whitestone! What do you illiterate fools even know of Baron Wallace Thornfield? He is coming tomorrow—I will remember all these faces who think they can talk back to me! Now move the fuck away and give me that wretched girl!"

The gathered villagers immediately took a step back upon hearing the name Thornfield. Even three out of the five women protecting Katla did—only two of them, whom Auren assumed were her aunt and cousin, stayed, along with Hanzo and his son Kenzo, Elder Tamun, and Elder Olda, who had still remained standing where they were.

Baron Wallace Thornfield of Whitestone was the strongest Baron of all seven under the Earl of Lowfield. Wallace Thornfield was not just any Baron; he was the Banner-Lord for the past fifteen years. If he challenged a Baron for the raid, chances were the opponent would most likely be defeated—no matter who among the six Barons it was.

The reason was the animal staring down at the whole crowd, its two-meter-long wings open wide, seated on the young lord's shoulder—a White-tailed Eagle.

The rumor was.. as an Orange Rank Summoner, Wallace Thornfield could partly transform his hands into these giant wings and literally fly above the battlefield. No animal summoner was the guy's match in battle.

No one said anything this time as the two knights holding longswords took a step forward. Auren looked at the two Elders—they were standing with Hanzo but were clearly too afraid to speak up before the too-angry-to-be-reasoned-with son of a Baron.

"She has the right to present her case to our Lord before you punish her for whatever offense she might have done," Auren spoke up, moving a few steps forward to stand between the two towering armored knights and the three women.

"Did you not hear me, you little piece of shit?" the boy growled. "Move the fuck away or die!"

Auren remained standing, staring back at the noble brat. His white-clothed sword rested comfortably in his hands.

As a commoner, one could not raise hands against a noble, no matter the circumstances—unless it was genuine, witnessed-by-many self-defense. Which a commoner could never prove before a higher-ranked lord, because no one was mad enough to become the witness and make that lord forever his or her enemy. Money and fear kept their mouths shut. Thankyouforreading.ThiswasbroughttoyoubyM|V|L*EMPYR.

But more than that; a commoner could not survive long enough to present their case to a higher-ranked Lord unless he or she was insanely strong—or backed by a strong companion.

And even if they somehow proved the wrongdoing, the noble in question would only receive a punishment of paying a measly penalty in gold.

But Auren was not a commoner. There might be no noticeable difference between his family and any other in the village, but Dante was still a knight—the first step of nobility. A fight between two noble-blooded men, especially between a Lord and Knight, did not need a witness to be called valid self-defense if there was evidence of injury. It was truly a he-said-she-said situation, and whoever had more power and support could create the story to suit the facts.

If Dante was here, this would have never happened. Messing with a noble brat was not ideal—there were too many ways this brat and his father could get back at them—but Auren could not just stand aside as the villagers under the care of the Goatshield family were harmed.

Dante's name would forever be stained if some child died in the village protected by him—whatever the reason may be.

"This is the last warning," Auren said with a quiet and dangerous tone. "Leave the child alone, or whoever tries to touch her will die today. This village and its people are under our protection. I swear by the name of the First Goat, my words are as true as the Sylvarun's beard."

"The brat of Dante Goatshield?" the Thornfield boy said arrogantly. "You sure have your father's guts, but without power to back it up, your oath is mere dust in the wind."

"Make a move and find out," Auren challenged.

Both knights were Black Crest Summoners. In a Baron's service, most knights were Black Crest ones. Blue Crest knights were awarded land and title and treated like invaluable assets by the Barons.

The two knights, receiving a command from their young master, stepped forward, raising their swords high—not really alert, more like coming to put a small animal to death. The noble brat was truly stupid if he thought killing a knight's son would solve his problems. Guess there really were no words that could calm down the arrogant brat. He'd have to do this—it was much earlier than he had expected to get blood on his hands but, well.. whatever.

Auren breathed in, slow and deep, drawing the world into stillness. He pulled Chi into his head, forcing it to flood the folds of his mind where precision and attention lived. The murmuring voices around him faded, drowned under the silence of focus. Even the rustling of the wind through the tall trees fell away, like someone had covered his ears with velvet cloth.

He saw Hanzo's mouth move. An elder stepped forward, speaking. Auren didn't hear them.

His eyes were locked onto the first knight. The man was already charging, armored boots hammering into the dirt ground, his longsword angled high and backward. Auren noted the arc of the blade, the tilt of the wrist, the strain in his shoulder—it was too much weight, held too high, too exposed. A single moment of wrong timing, and it would cost him.

Auren gripped the white-clothed sword tighter. The cloth around the hilt fluttered once, then settled. The sword was more than sharp enough to cut through the cloth. It did not flex. It did not chip. It did not forgive.

The knight roared as he closed in, blade coming down like a silver storm. Auren moved a step left, his muscles pulsing with Chi drawn to his legs and shoulders. The motion was clean, minimal. One twist of the waist, a flick of the arm.

The white blur arced in a single flash. It didn't clash. It didn't spark. It passed through the knight's wrist along with the cloth like a breeze through a silk curtain.

There was a pause.

Then a hand landed on the ground.

The knight screamed, stumbling back, blood spraying in an uneven arc across the dirt. His sword crashed down a moment later, its weight now useless. He clutched the stump, falling to one knee.

Auren rolled the cut red-blood-stained cloth and once again wrapped it around his sword—the black of his particles was only visible for a few seconds.

Another knight leapt forward—faster than the first, younger, more reckless. His short sword came stabbing from below, aimed at Auren's ribs.

Auren's mind reacted first. Chi shot to his spine and heel, sharpening his reaction. He turned his heel, jumped high with unnatural grace, and raised the blade.

The second knight didn't see it coming.

The white sword kissed his throat.

A thin red line bloomed.

But Auren stopped, standing on the knight's armored chest as the big guy fell down on his back. Just as the edge was about to slide deeper, he pulled back. The knight gasped, blood dripping from his neck, but alive.

Auren's heart didn't race. His expression didn't flicker.

He jumped to the side, turned the blade in his hand once, resetting his grip. The cloth barely moved.

Behind him, someone called his name. A shout. A warning.

But the moment had passed.

Both knights were down—one howling, one wheezing.

And Auren stood still, unmoving, his sword pointed to the ground—not in mercy, but because there was no longer a need to raise it.

The young noble boy had his eyes wide as buttons, constantly shifting between one knight to another, then to Auren and his blood-stained wrapped sword.

The sword in the sheath attached to the noble boy's waist was held tight, but he was too shaken to even pull it out properly. The eagle on his shoulder seemed more worried about his own master than Auren in front of them.