Chapter 52: The Duel Grounds

“Hahaha! But really, little Marlon, you don’t need to worry that much,” said the talkative officer, laughing so hard that his broad shoulders shook. “The odds of your brains getting blown out in a duel are actually pretty low! As long as your head stays mostly in one piece, the priests can revive you afterward—provided, of course, that your soul doesn’t feel too ashamed to come back.”

Marlon could only stare at him, dumbfounded. His expression must have been too obvious, because the boisterous man—Fourth-Class Inspector Faustin Egarl—finally noticed and tried to offer those words as comfort.

To Marlon’s ears, however, those words sounded all kinds of wrong.

He wanted to snap back, “May you be the one to have your head blown off in a duel! Hell, may your whole family get their heads blown off!”

But he restrained himself. Egarl’s tone was crude, but his intention wasn’t malicious. So, Marlon swallowed the outburst, feeling the sting of it burn down into his gut instead of his throat.

“Officer Elgar—” he began, trying to steer the conversation elsewhere.

“It’s Egarl,” the big man interrupted immediately, correcting him with a hint of pride.

“My apologies, Officer Egarl,” Marlon said, then quickly shifted the topic. “I heard that the duel is taking place at the city government plaza?”

“That’s right!” Egarl nodded enthusiastically, his eyes shining. “Right there in the square! The honorable duel’s set to start in less than an hour!”

He looked almost too excited, like a child waiting for a parade.

“Then,” Marlon said calmly, “would you mind taking us there to watch?”

“No problem at all! Come on, hop in! I’ll drive you there myself!”

Egarl yanked open the car door and beckoned them in, all smiles and exaggerated gestures. In truth, he’d been waiting for this moment—the reason he’d been so chatty all along.

Driving all the way to the orphanage at the edge of the slums would’ve taken ages. If he did that, he’d miss the duel entirely. By the time he got back, the blood would have dried on the ground.

Now that Marlon himself had expressed interest, Egarl wasn’t about to let him change his mind.

Unbeknownst to the inspector, before getting into the car, Marlon had quietly activated his Killing Intent Sense. Only after detecting no trace of hostility did he relax and lead the little fox girl, Amy, into the police car. Behind them, Musa Mein, carrying a heavy case, followed in silence.

“I think I’ll stay in the car and take a nap,” Musa Mein murmured in a low voice, leaning toward Marlon. “I’m not interested in this… ‘honorable’ duel.”

“All right,” Marlon replied, nodding. Then, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, he added, “Actually, I’m not going there just to watch.”

Musa Mein blinked, his red eyes—like those of a startled rabbit—full of unspoken questions.

Marlon smiled faintly, placing a hand on the metal case he was holding. Inside was the complete demonstration set of the “Crystal Cinema” patent apparatus, along with its written backups.

“You’ll understand soon enough,” he said quietly, patting the case. Then he clenched his fist. “This so-called ‘honorable duel’—I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen. At least… not to the real me.”

Musa Mein blinked twice, then nodded slowly, comprehension dawning in his crimson eyes. “Ah… I think I see what you’re planning. You’re trying to—”

Before he could finish, Egarl’s deep voice suddenly boomed from the driver’s seat. “Trying to what? What’s our little Marlon up to, eh?”

“Nothing! Nothing at all!” Musa Mein blurted, cutting in before Marlon could say anything. He wasn’t about to give away his secret.

The poor inspector, curiosity gnawing at him like a caged beast, glanced from Marlon to Musa Mein and back again. He wanted to ask—but even he wasn’t that clueless. If he pressed, they’d just clam up further.

So, he swallowed his questions and simply hoped Marlon would spill something himself.

“Officer Egarl,” Marlon said mildly, “if you keep hesitating like this, we’re going to miss the duel.”

That was all the motivation Egarl needed.

If this world had traffic laws, the man would’ve racked up a dozen speeding tickets before they reached the plaza. But there were no traffic police here, no limits—just a bone-rattling, teeth-clattering ride that sent Marlon lurching in his seat.

When the car finally screeched to a stop by the crowded square, Marlon staggered out, pale-faced. “Officer Egarl, you did that on purpose!”

Egarl raised both hands innocently. “Not at all! I always drive this way!”

He grinned, revealing bright white teeth against his dark skin. Then, with a sudden burst of enthusiasm, he bellowed, “Ah, it’s starting soon! Come on, follow me—I’ll get you right up front!”

Before Marlon could protest, Egarl plunged into the sea of people like a rampaging bull. His massive shoulders cut a path through the crowd, leaving chaos and curses in his wake.

Marlon had no choice but to follow—one hand gripping Amy’s small, furred fingers, the other clutching the heavy case. As he was swept along, he called back toward the car, “Alisa, lock the doors before you rest, all right?”

It wouldn’t do for Musa Mein to appear here in public; someone might recognize him.

He understood perfectly. Wrapped up in his “Middle Eastern” disguise, he simply nodded and pulled the doors shut, curling up quietly in the back seat.

At last, Marlon and Amy reached the innermost ring of the plaza—close enough to see everything. The noise was deafening, the air thick with sweat, perfume, and excitement.

“Inspector Bernard! Over here! Look—I brought your daughter and young Marlon with me!”

Egarl’s booming voice cut through the chaos. Heads turned, and a wave of curses followed—most of them directed at him. Clearly, many of the onlookers were familiar with the inspector’s boorish antics and despised him for it.

Through the jeers, Marlon finally saw the scene before him clearly—and his stomach sank.

Two men stood in the center of a magically cordoned space, dressed in gaudy formal suits so heavy they looked like armor. Their bellies strained against the buttons, and despite the thick powder caked on their faces, nothing could hide the sagging jowls and wrinkles of middle age.

Each held a small, gold-and-silver-plated steam pistol—so ornate it was almost grotesque. They stood ten meters apart, one hand on their hips, each striking what they clearly believed was a noble pose.

Behind them stood clusters of women in extravagant gowns, corsets cinched so tightly their pale bosoms bulged like waves against velvet. They fanned themselves, laughed, and gossiped as if attending a garden party rather than a duel to the death.

A bearded old magician in ceremonial robes stood between the two duelists, his sapphire-tipped staff gleaming under the sun. From the intricate runes embroidered into his robe, Marlon guessed he was a barrier specialist—the one responsible for protecting the crowd once the shooting began.

Egarl’s shout drew the attention of a stern-faced man standing between the duelists—Inspector Bernard. When Bernard spotted Marlon and Amy behind the inspector, his expression darkened immediately.

Excusing himself from the duelists with a curt bow, he strode toward them, his face a storm of disapproval.

“You little brat!” Bernard snapped, lowering his voice but not his fury. “I told Egarl to take you home, not bring you here to gawk at this madness!”

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