“By the count's command, I, Bernardo Lennon, have completed my mission and returned,” the knight knelt before the count, his figure immaculate despite single-handedly dispatching four knights from the wasteland. Not a single scratch marred his body. The count, looking down at him, had an unusual glint in his eyes—something rarely seen in the typically emotionless, mechanical gaze of Léon Benning.

“You've left no traces, I presume?” Benning asked.

“Indeed, my lord. No evidence was left behind.”

But that glint quickly vanished, leaving only the familiar coldness in the count’s eyes as he fixated on the curse mark gleaming on the knight’s hand. The mark hadn’t faded, and Benning couldn’t be sure what had happened with Adeline. However, one thing was certain: she had rejected his absolute command and broken the curse of subjugation.

The chill around Benning deepened. It was too risky to split his forces to track down the now-missing Adeline, especially given the recent setbacks due to the Magic Tower incident. For now, his focus needed to remain on the upcoming martial tournament. Theodora must win and become the kingdom's idol, binding her to the Second Prince. This required meticulous preparation, even if it meant spilling an ocean of blood. Benning was fully prepared to commit any sin necessary without hesitation.

Glancing at a servant who had approached him, the count asked, “Are all of the Count Agon’s knights being monitored?”

“Yes, my lord. There are no issues,” the servant responded.

“And the knights of the First Guard Division? Any unusual movements?”

“None, save for Dennis Amber’s recent transfer to the Fourth Guard Division. There have been no notable actions.”

At this, Léon Benning's brow furrowed slightly. “What of Arsen Bern? Has he shown any signs of movement?”

“No, my lord. He continues with his usual duties of teaching the First Prince swordsmanship. There have been no signs of any orders.”

“Keep a close watch. If anything seems suspicious, report immediately.”

“As you command.”

The servant hesitated, curious as to why the count was so focused on a single knight, but dared not voice the question aloud. The aura emanating from Benning was enough to dissuade any further inquiry.

As the servant hurried out of the room, Benning’s gaze returned to Bernardo Lennon, still kneeling in front of him, displaying his unwavering loyalty without a word.

“…How bothersome,” Benning muttered to himself as a cold wind slipped through the window, creating an eerie whistling sound.

 

“What do you mean?” The king's face turned pale as he heard the report of the massacre outside the capital gates. Beside him, the captain of the Royal Guard, Hugo Bern, stood silently, his face hardening with anger. The knight delivering the report knelt before them, his voice trembling as he continued.

“They were slaughtered, Your Majesty. The knights sent by the Border Count were all killed.”

“Even the coachman?” the king pressed, his voice rising.

“Yes, Your Majesty. His body was found in a similar, mutilated state. The evidence suggests a brutal battle before they were killed.”

The king ground his teeth, his face twisting with fury. The war had already begun. He hadn’t anticipated that Léon Benning would so brazenly draw his sword even before the tournament. He realized he had been far too complacent.

“Is there any concrete evidence that Count Benning was responsible?” the king asked, his tone tight.

“None, Your Majesty.”

“You're telling me that after facing knights from the wasteland, the perpetrator left no trace behind? What about dark magic? Any signs of magic usage?”

The knight hesitated, clearly uncomfortable with his answer. “There was… no indication of magic use, Your Majesty.”

“So, this was simply a fight between knights, without any magic involved?” the king muttered, his voice heavy with disbelief. “This means they’ve chosen to no longer hold back their strength, though I wonder if this was truly their full effort.”

The silence in the room grew stifling. Hugo kept his head bowed, hiding his expression, while the king buried his face in his hands. His muffled sigh echoed through his palms. When the king finally lifted his head, the shock of the report had faded, replaced by a cold determination. He couldn’t afford to be swayed by Léon Benning’s provocations any longer.

“Send word to the Border Count immediately. Allocate all available forces from the Royal Guard to support him,” the king ordered.

“If the Border Count inquires about the cause of death, how should we respond?”

The king closed his eyes. Léon Benning wasn’t just aiming for this tournament. The alliance between the king and the Border Count was tenuous at best. If this incident caused the Border Count to withdraw from royal affairs, the kingdom's balance of power would crumble.

“Tell him the truth. Inform him that we suspect Count Benning’s involvement. I’ll write a personal letter. Have the knights’ bodies been recovered?”

“Yes, Your Majesty. Thanks to the adventurers, the knights' bodies were retrieved.”

“And the adventurers? Did they return safely?”

“They were a bit exhausted, but none were harmed.”

The king exhaled a sigh of relief. The worst-case scenario would have been the adventurers encountering the same beast that had killed the knights. At least Benning’s schemes hadn’t progressed that far.

“I understand. You may go. Once you return, instruct the First Guard Division to remain vigilant throughout the tournament.”

“As you command, Your Majesty.”

As the knight left, the king rubbed his temples. There was only one way out of this situation: Maxime, as the First Prince's officially recognized knight, had to win the tournament and imprint the First Prince’s future claim to the throne in the minds of the kingdom’s citizens.

“The only hope now lies with Arsen Bern. Other knights may not even make it past the preliminaries,” Hugo commented, as if reading the king’s mind.

The king nodded, his expression filled with concern. It was a long shot, but if Maxime could defeat all the remaining knights and claim victory, the public would remember him, and by extension, the First Prince.

“It’ll be a heavy burden for Arsen. Do you truly believe Maxime can win the tournament?” the king asked, turning to Hugo.

Hugo stroked his chin thoughtfully, but his deliberation was brief. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“And you're telling me this with complete honesty?”

“I have never lied to Your Majesty. I speak the truth now, as I always have.”

The king pressed on, seeking more reassurance. “Why do you believe that?”

Hugo shrugged slightly, then gave an answer that would have seemed absurd coming from anyone else.

“When I fought him at full strength, he was the only one I couldn’t defeat within thirty minutes.”

 

Meanwhile, Michelle stood in the training hall of the First Princess’s palace, watching the knights spar. The knights sent by Count Agon were formidable. It was clear that the elite knights serving great nobles were in a different league. Even the First Princess’s own guards struggled against them, and some had even lost.

However, what truly surprised Michelle was not the prowess of the knights from Myra.

“Just one more match, please!” a knight, victor of eight consecutive matches, said with a playful grin. This was Dennis Amber, a knight sent by her father as a temporary transfer from the First Guard Division to the Fourth Division, which Michelle belonged to.

“Don’t exhaust yourself before the preliminaries,” Dennis said as he lightly tapped his wooden sword on the ground. Despite the persistence of Count Agon’s knight, Dennis firmly rejected the request for another rematch.

Michelle’s thoughts drifted toward her father. She felt more confusion than gratitude. If he was already supporting Louis as the heir, why was he offering her such strength as well?

In truth, Michelle understood the decision. Overinvesting in Louis could lead to the creation of another Count Benning. Louis was no fool like Kyle, but politics couldn’t be changed by a single well-meaning individual.

But, Michelle thought, I don’t want to get caught up in this bloody whirlwind.

The pressure of having ambitious knights like Dennis fighting in her name might be too much for her to bear.

“Your Highness?” Dennis called, breaking her from her thoughts. She realized that the knights, including Dennis, were looking at her.

“Yes? What is it?”

“Would it be alright to grant Victor’s request for one more match?”

Michelle glanced at the desperate-looking knight from Count Agon’s retinue, then at Dennis, who appeared mildly amused. “Very well. Allow one more match, then I think we can conclude today’s training.”

“As you command, Your Highness.”

Dennis readied his sword once more. The knight from Count Agon’s forces, who had initially shown signs of excitement, now appeared tense as he faced Dennis again.

“Let’s do our best,” Dennis said with a sharp smile. Just before the two could cross blades, a visitor arrived at the training hall.

“…Louis?”

It was the First Prince, looking somewhat pale, accompanied by his attendant. He approached Michelle, nodding slightly as if to signal that the sparring could continue. Dennis glanced at the prince, but refocused on his match with Victor.

“What brings you here suddenly?” Michelle asked. “Shouldn’t you be training at this hour?”

“The Border Count’s knights won’t be participating in the tournament.”

Thud!

The match between Dennis and Victor began, with Victor immediately losing ground. The outcome seemed clear from the first clash. Victor’s face twisted as he retreated, while Dennis prepared to launch another attack.

“What happened? Did the Border Count change his mind?” Michelle asked.

“They were killed,” Louis said, his voice tight.

Michelle’s eyes widened in shock. Louis continued, his jaw clenched.

“They were attacked on the road before they could reach the capital. The bodies have been recovered. They’ll be returned to the Border Count.”

“What about the tournament…?”

“The captain of the Second Guard Division has been tasked with filling the ranks. He’ll know better than I do who should participate.”

Dennis’s relentless strikes battered Victor’s defense. The knight from Agon’s retinue, though significantly larger than Dennis, was being overwhelmed by Dennis’s speed and precision.

“Be careful, Michelle. Benning is treating this tournament like a full-scale assault. There’s no telling what might happen to your knights.”

Though it was Louis offering these words of caution, it was his own face that bore the signs of worry. He knew, as Michelle did, that this tournament would be the battleground where the power struggle within the palace would be decided. It was the signal flare that would bring the hidden battle for the throne into the open.

“Louis, if we can’t manage, maybe our knights—”

“No. It’s fine. We don’t know what will happen, and I can’t afford to pull your knights away from you. Besides, Father wouldn’t want your forces to bleed into mine.”

Louis spoke calmly, though his heart was heavy. If this tournament led to his downfall, he would accept it as fate’s cruel joke.

“I’ll be fine, Michelle. But what worries me is that you haven’t yet gathered enough strength to face the coming storm, and I may be taken out before you’re ready.”

“Don’t say that, Louis. It’s not over yet.”

“You’re right, Your Highness,” came Dennis’s voice as he approached them. Louis looked up in surprise. The match was over. Victor stood off to the side, his expression sullen, while Dennis, ever composed, faced them with a grin.

“Apologies, Dennis. As someone training with the sword, I regret missing such a fine duel.”

“It’s impossible to always focus on the sword, Your Highness. And if I may say so, it’s far from time to despair.”

Dennis’s words brought a faint smile to Louis’s lips.

“The human heart is not so easily steadied. But thank you for saying that, Dennis.”

As Louis grappled with his feelings of hopelessness, Dennis considered revealing the truth—about the monstrous knight who would soon be fighting for Louis in the tournament. But he decided against it. The prince would find out soon enough when the preliminaries began.

 

“Next match! Victor Dragunov of the Second Guard Division versus Natasha Hall of Liss!”

The referee’s voice echoed through the arena. The vast indoor training hall was buzzing with activity as knights clashed in intense matches. The atmosphere was heavy with the scent of steel and the sound of grunts and swords clashing. It was a stark contrast to the cold winter outside.

“Winner, Shane Roe of the Third Guard Division!” another name was called out as knights were eliminated one by one.

Of the hundreds of knights competing, only thirty-two would advance to the finals. The preliminaries were a brutal process, designed to whittle down the numbers in just a few days.

“Winner, Paola Simon of the Raven Guard!” A cheer erupted from the Second Prince’s faction as their knights continued to dominate the preliminaries.

“This tournament is as good as over. The Second Prince’s knights are simply too strong. We can already declare his victory,” one of the court nobles said obsequiously, bowing deeply to Prince Kyle.

“Of course,” Kyle sneered. “If my knights and Benning’s knights don’t win this tournament, it would be a disgrace. Our goal is to fill the finals with my men and then announce to the kingdom that my era has arrived.”

He smirked, casting a glance toward his brother, Louis, who sat further down, watching the matches with a shadowed expression. The Second Prince’s knights had already eliminated most of Louis’s Second Guard Division. It was almost embarrassing to think he had once considered his brother a rival.

With a mocking grin, Kyle sauntered over to Louis. The First Prince didn’t acknowledge him, his gaze fixed on the arena.

“Well, brother, it seems this tournament is going to be a bit too much for you, doesn’t it?” Kyle’s voice was dripping with arrogance.

Louis didn’t respond, continuing to watch the matches.

“Don’t be too disheartened just because your knights are dropping like flies. It’s not their fault they’re up against my men. Though it seems they’re not just losing to us, are they?”

Kyle laughed loudly, dropping into a seat next to Louis.

“Where’s Michelle? Didn’t she even bother to show up to watch the preliminaries? She doesn’t know how hard her knights are fighting for her?”

“Shut your mouth,” Louis said quietly, his voice carrying a dangerous edge.

Kyle paused, surprised by the venom in his brother’s tone. It was the first time he had ever felt genuine hostility from Louis—an intensity that only a true warrior could exude. Nervously, Kyle shifted away slightly.

“Come now, no need to get so worked up over a joke, brother.”

“You didn’t think that making a joke about your family was inappropriate?”

Kyle sneered again, trying to regain his composure. “I was merely pointing out that you should focus on your own problems. From what I’ve seen, even Michelle’s knights are outperforming yours. She’d laugh at you if she saw this.”

Grit.

Louis clenched his teeth, the sound barely audible, but Kyle took pleasure in pushing further.

“And even if Michelle’s knights somehow scrape through, they won’t win. Not when they’re up against my men. Just look—”

The referee’s voice cut through the arena once more.

“Next match! Daniel Wigan of the Third Guard Division!”

Kyle’s grin widened. “Ah, Daniel Wigan. One of the top swordsmen in the Third Guard Division. I doubt your knights can stand against him, brother.”

Behind Kyle’s smug words, the referee called out Daniel’s opponent.

“And Arsen Bern of the Second Guard Division!”

What?

Kyle’s expression froze as the name registered. Louis’s face, on the other hand, shifted into one of disbelief.

“That name… where have I heard it before?”

Kyle muttered to himself, trying to place the familiar name, while Louis stared blankly at the arena, watching as Arsen Bern stepped forward. The black-haired knight moved slowly but with a commanding presence that couldn’t be ignored. Kyle’s face twisted in confusion, and Louis’s expression remained frozen in shock.

It’s really Arsen…

The ever-stoic knight was walking toward the arena. Though his face betrayed no emotion, Louis could feel it—Arsen was furious.

“Both contestants, ready!” the referee called.

The two knights drew their swords and faced each other. Kyle, still baffled, turned to Louis.

“You’re so desperate you’ve dragged your sword instructor into this, brother?”

Louis didn’t respond, his eyes glued to Arsen as he prepared to fight.

“Whatever. It doesn’t matter,” Kyle continued. “Daniel Wigan’s a skilled knight. He’ll make short work of him. Let’s just sit back and watch.”

Despite his confident words, Kyle couldn’t shake the unease creeping up on him. There was something unsettling about Arsen’s aura.

Could he really…?

“Begin!” the referee shouted.

In an instant, Arsen vanished from sight. Louis, Kyle, the referee, even Daniel Wigan—none of them could see him.

And then—

Boom!

A deafening shockwave rocked the arena, and when Arsen reappeared, the match was already over.

Daniel Wigan’s sword lay severed on the ground, the knight himself kneeling in shock. The referee, mouth agape, could barely process what had happened, while Arsen stood calmly, surveying the results.

Slowly, Arsen turned his head toward the referee. “Referee?”

The referee stammered, his voice trembling as he declared the winner.

“W-Winner, Arsen Bern of the Second Guard Division!”

It was the fastest match in the history of the tournament’s preliminaries.