Even the Devil Regrets it - Chapter 83

The phrase “you probably won’t win” caught Braeden’s attention right away.

His eyebrows twitched in annoyance, though the man who said it didn’t notice. He was the type who often got told he lacked awareness.

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” said another man who clearly had better instincts. “It’s just that the past champions have been enormous, so my friend probably said that without thinking.”

Trying to smooth things over, the quick-witted man covered for his bear-like companion. Juliana, who understood what was happening, smiled and asked,

“What’s the prize for winning?”

“A crate of premium honey wine and three sacks of wheat.”

That’s it? Braeden nearly said aloud, but held back.

“There’s also a participation prize,” the clueless man added with a nervous laugh. He held out a bracelet made from wooden beads strung together, which looked rather rough. At the center was a small bird-shaped charm.

Juliana’s eyes lit up when she saw it.

“That’s a lovely bracelet.”

Braeden let out a quiet sigh. He couldn’t understand how something like that could be considered pretty.

“I’m sorry, but we can’t just give it away,” said the clueless man, now reciting the rules without any sense of flexibility.

The other man began sweating even more. He wanted to shout at his companion for having no sense of self-preservation, but this wasn’t the time or place.

“I’ll enter. Just give it to me,” Braeden said with a casual wave of his hand.

“Thank you, sir. But you’ll need to pay the entry fee of ten silver to complete the registration.”

The man stuck to the rules to the very end. Braeden never carried small change. His expression soured as he motioned to Lochlan.

Lochlan, who had been keeping a respectful distance to give the Grand Duke and Duchess privacy on their outing, came rushing over with the money.

Only after Lochlan handed over the ten silvers did the man hand Braeden the bracelet.

“I didn’t know you liked things like this,” Braeden said as he fastened the bracelet around Juliana’s wrist.

“Thank you. It’s pretty,” she replied, turning her wrist to admire it.

What she truly enjoyed was not so much the bracelet itself, but the cheerful, lighthearted mood of the festival. Still, she didn’t say that. She just smiled brightly, finding Braeden’s grumbling reaction amusing.

After walking around the festival for a while, the sound of someone beating on a metal drum rang out, followed by loud announcements that the arm-wrestling competition was about to begin.

People flooded toward the plaza. Judging by the size of the crowd, it seemed this event really was the highlight of the festival.

The preliminary matches were single-round eliminations, so they moved quickly.

Since no noble had ever joined an arm-wrestling match with commoners before, all eyes turned to Braeden.

Each time he crushed the hand of a burly opponent without hesitation, the crowd’s cheers grew louder.

“His Grace is going to win, isn’t he?” Juliana asked.

Lochlan, who was standing beside her and watching the match, shrugged with a faint smile.

“Unless something truly unexpected happens, yes.”

The crowd was amazed at what they believed was a nobleman showing surprising strength. If they knew Braeden’s true nature, they would probably faint. That thought made both Juliana and Lochlan smile.

The preliminaries ended quickly, and the main tournament began. Even in the final rounds, Braeden showed no mercy, overpowering his opponents with ease.

At last, the final match was announced. Unlike the earlier rounds, the final would be a best two out of three.

Braeden’s opponent was a man named Falco, who was known for having won the most arm-wrestling championships in the festival’s history.

Falco was intimidating at first glance. He was nearly twice the size of Braeden, and his thick forearms looked large enough to match the waist of a slender woman, maybe even more.

“You seem strong for a nobleman, but you will not be able to beat me. Even if you lose, there is no shame in it, so do not worry,” Falco said, laughing loudly as if trying to be kind.

“You should only say that if you win,” Braeden replied with a slight smirk, clearly unimpressed.

Falco’s laughter stopped immediately. Their eyes locked, filled with caution and tension.

“Now we will begin the final match. Both contestants, please take your positions,” the referee announced.

Braeden and Falco placed their elbows on the table and gripped each other’s hands.

Even though the match had not started yet, the force of their grip was already intense. Neither showed any mercy.

The referee gave their joined hands a quick shake to loosen them slightly, then signaled for the match to begin.

Falco’s arm muscles swelled as if they might explode. He had purposely worn a sleeveless shirt to show them off, so every twitch and strain was clearly visible.

Braeden, dressed in the formal clothing of a nobleman, looked calm and still. Although he was not small, next to Falco he appeared almost slender.

Most people watching assumed Falco would win. But the match did not go the way they expected.

Their hands stayed perfectly still in the middle. Neither arm moved in either direction.

From far away, it might have looked like they were simply holding position. In reality, it was a fierce contest of strength. Falco began to groan under the pressure.

Veins bulged on his forehead as he used every last bit of strength he had. But Braeden’s arm would not move.

“Look at that. Even if you lose to a gentle nobleman, there is no shame in it,” Braeden said with a relaxed smile, repeating Falco’s own words.

Falco could feel that Braeden was not using all of his strength, and that realization filled him with frustration.

“Stop holding back!” Falco shouted, his pride wounded.

“Is that what you want? Very well,” Braeden replied calmly.

Without any sign of struggle, he pushed Falco’s arm down to the table.

He is a monster.

Falco was stunned by the overwhelming difference in power. The crowd, unaware of his thoughts, broke into applause and cheers.

“The winner of the first round is the nobleman. We will now begin the second round,” the referee announced.

Falco, now pale, rubbed his arm. He had pushed himself so hard that he could no longer feel it properly.

Looking at Braeden’s calm expression sent a chill down his spine. If he tried again, he was sure he would tear a muscle.

“I surrender. I have lost,” Falco said, stepping back in fear.

The crowd began to boo, not understanding why he had given up.

“Be quiet. What do you know? If I lose my arm, are you going to take care of my family?” Falco shouted at them.

The honey wine and sacks of wheat were valuable, but if he injured his arm, the damage to his future would be far worse.

Since one contestant had given up, the referee followed the rules and announced the final result.

“We now declare the winner. The champion is the nobleman.”

A wave of cheers and applause followed. A cart was pushed forward carrying the prize, which included a crate of honey wine and three sacks of wheat. Braeden looked at it with clear disinterest.

“Congratulations on your win,” Juliana said with a warm smile.

“Is that something you would like?” Braeden asked, pointing his chin toward the prize that held little value for him.

If she liked it the way she had liked the bracelet earlier, then even this unimpressive reward might feel worthwhile.

“Since it is a festival, why not share it with the people? That way everyone can enjoy it.”

“What? That little bit is not nearly enough for this entire crowd.”

Braeden understood perfectly well that the prize would barely feed a few people, let alone everyone gathered there.

“Couldn’t we add more supplies from the Grand Castle?”

Juliana answered casually, as if she already knew the solution and simply expected it to be done.

Unbelievable. Braeden let out a soft laugh and nodded, then gave the order to Lochlan to do exactly as she said.

“His Grace, Grand Duke Ortis, has decided to donate not only the tournament prize but also enough food and supplies from the castle so that everyone can eat and enjoy the festival properly,” Lochlan announced to the crowd.

There was a sharp intake of breath as everyone gasped at once.

“Wait, that nobleman was the Grand Duke Ortis?”

“I cursed him during the match… do you think I’ll be okay?”

“Isn’t this the first time His Grace has ever appeared at a festival?”

For a moment, whispers and murmurs filled the air. Then someone began clapping. The hesitant applause quickly grew into loud cheers and thunderous applause.

“Long live His Grace! Long live Her Highness!”

The people gathered in the plaza began to chant Braeden and Juliana’s names with joy, thrilled by the unexpected banquet that was now promised.

“My skills haven’t gone rusty after all. How could I possibly beat the Black Reaper of the North?” Falco said, laughing loudly. With his pride restored, he was once again cheerful.

“Festivals in the North are truly wonderful,” Juliana said, smiling with a bright, innocent expression that Braeden had never seen on her face before.

Braeden rubbed his chin, caught in a strange feeling he could not quite explain.

Even after using his strength and giving away his money, he did not feel like he had lost anything. That alone was a rare and curious experience.

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