Berserk: The Prophet

Led by the butler, Green and Seranti arrived at the guest room on the second floor of the lord's hall. Snacks were already prepared on the tea table, the tea set was neatly arranged, and the maids were ready to serve hot tea at any time.

“Please sit here and wait a moment. The Governor will be here soon.” McGill, the old butler of Penn City, politely gestured for him to enter.

The Lord's Hall was incredibly luxurious. In six years since I arrived in Swordwind, I had never seen a castle of such extravagance. It was more like a European retro-style palace. Barkley was truly rolling in money, Green couldn't help but marvel.

Even the waiting seats are made of retro wooden sofas and genuine leather, with two leopard skins as cushions. They're soft to sit on, and you can smell the fragrance of wood—is it sandalwood? It must have been a long time since I've sat on such a soft sofa. The life I had so easily obtained in my previous life is so rare here; it's practically aristocratic treatment.

"crash"

The sound of running water fell from the teapot in the maid's hand into the water cup, emitting a rich fragrance. However, the smell seemed somewhat familiar; it didn't smell like tea, but rather like something I had smelled in a previous life.

Looking curiously into the cup, he noticed the slightly bitter and rich aroma. The warm, brown liquid was still steaming. This was...coffee?! Green picked up the cup and took a small sip. The bitterness was unmistakable. Truly befitting a nobleman, even the hot coffee served was at the perfect temperature to drink without losing its rich flavor. He really knew how to enjoy life.

"squeak"

The door was opened by two servants, and a tall, handsome middle-aged man in aristocratic attire strode in. Sensing the familiar presence of his friend and the child beside Seranthi, he strode to sit on the sofa opposite him, dismissed all the servants and soldiers, and the door slowly closed.

"Is this the child who's causing you so much trouble? My old friend."

“Yes, this child is very important to me. Please teach him well how to become a true knight. Accept my old friend’s request, Trunks.”

"But he's not a real nobleman, is he? You should know what the rules of the Holy Dragon Knights are."

"Of course, I understand the conditions for commoners to become Holy Dragon Knights."

“Very well, I will take him there. If he successfully passes Pence’s test, I will do as you wish, old friend. Don’t blame me, this is my principle.”

"of course."

Of course, Green was more than just a nobleman. Seranti firmly believed this, and the two shook hands, reaching a consensus.

Trunks picked up his teacup and took a small sip; afternoon tea was definitely a good time to perk himself up.

"So, are you going to stay with me for a few more days?"

"Alright, I'll leave once he's settled in here."

"Hmm, is something you need to do? You're always so busy, Thranduil." Trunks put down his teacup, his amber eyes unable to hide his reluctance to part with his friend. He missed the days of his youth, but Thranduil seemed to have remained unchanged.

"You really think highly of this kid. It's getting late, how about having dinner with me later? How about we go to the training grounds now and have a match?"

“...Okay.” Seranti agreed.

Trunks smiled at Thranduil, and the two got up to go to the training grounds for a sparring session.

"Why don't you come and take a look too, Ryan?"

"Ok."

Green quickly followed Seranty downstairs, while Wild and the others noticed Trunks and the mysterious man walking together to the training ground outside the castle. Wild was puzzled as to why Trunks was hanging out with a ranger, but he learned that they had entered using the Holy Dragon Banner. Curious, he followed them and joined the two Holy Dragon Knights to watch.

...............

Ping, ping, pong

The clash of swords created a symphony of battle. Trunks wielded a double-edged greatsword, yet displayed astonishing speed and explosive power, while Thranduil, as always, used a seemingly nimble scimitar, emphasizing technique and agility.

The two exchanged blows at lightning speed, so fast that it was hard to even see what was happening before they moved on to the next move and reacted nimbly. Although they were using greatswords, they were far superior to any other greatsword user that Grimm had ever seen, especially against Seranty's scimitar, which was wielded with perfect agility and skill. Every swing of the greatsword was delivered with such force and yet the defense was so nimble and fluid. It was hard to believe that they could maintain a stalemate and distance with Seranty's rapidly changing scimitar at such close range.

Thranduil's skill lay in his ability to easily deflect Trunks' greatsword each time. The backbend of his scimitar entangled the greatsword, preventing it from being pulled back freely, and he controlled the blade to slowly move towards Trunks' arms holding the greatsword. However, Trunks' reaction was also quick. Both of them were looking for each other's weaknesses and exchanged blows for no less than a hundred rounds. In the end, Thranduil's swordsmanship in foot combat was still superior.

Thrandt moved faster, finding an opening in Trunks' sweeping attack and sliding to trip him. If it were a scimitar, Trunks would have lost his right leg. However, the fight continued. Just as Thrandt was about to put his scimitar to Trunks' neck, Trunks quickly rolled over and swung his greatsword. But this was still within Thrandt's expectations. He skillfully deflected the greatsword, and the 80-centimeter scimitar was still at Trunks' neck.

"you lose."

"...Hahaha, you're still as good as ever, Seranty." Feeling the coolness on the back of his neck, Trunks readily admitted defeat, lying back on the snow-covered ground to catch his breath. It had been a long time since he had fought so freely. After about a hundred rounds, both of them were covered in sweat.

Thrandt sheathed his scimitar. It was rare for him to fight so freely. He only needed to adjust his breathing slightly before returning to normal. He reached out his right hand and pulled Trunks up from the ground. Trunks also got up and pretended to brush off the snow off his body. Then, taking advantage of Thrandt's inattention, he threw the snowflakes in his hand onto Thrandt's hooded helmet.

Trunks: "Hahaha, uh..."

Trunks was laughing for a moment when Thranduil, who had been on edge for days, punched him in the stomach with such force that he almost vomited. Wilder was stunned by the sight, having never seen such a war god as Trunks get beaten before, especially by a seemingly unknown ranger.

Seranti: "..."

"Cough cough, why did you go so far as to kill me?" Trunks was in so much pain that his stomach hurt. He put his left hand on Seranty's shoulder and took a while to recover, after all, he wasn't wearing any armor.

"I didn't mean to," Seranti said helplessly.

"Well, never mind, the life of a ranger must be pretty stressful, right? Come on, how about a horse battle?" Trunks patted Seranty on the shoulder to show that he didn't mind and wanted to have another fight.

"...No, it's too wasteful of weapons and will cost money for repairs."

"Haha, I'll sponsor you!"

“I won’t fight, I can’t beat you.” Thranduil said coldly. Everyone in Barkley knew Trunks’ reputation as the God of War on horseback. His unique tactics, which combined superb horsemanship with the knight’s heavy halberd, were unparalleled.

"Give it a try...or how about you give me some pointers on my archery?" Trunks put his arm around Thranduy's shoulder and walked away, as if there was no difference in their status, and they were just two close friends chatting.