Arsen Bern remained on the podium, intently staring down at his fallen opponent even after the victor’s announcement echoed through the arena. His gaze was fixed on the defeated knight, as though searching for something within him.

“Is it perhaps my brother’s hobby to humiliate defeated opponents?” Kyle sneered, masking his boiling frustration behind a facade of calm and criticism. It was a disgrace—one he could hardly bear. Defeat was something he could come to terms with, but this crushing, humiliating loss was never part of the equation. For Daniel Wigan, who was defeated by this knight today, there would be no ‘next time.’ Though praised for his sharp swordsmanship within the 3rd Guard, he would be expelled from the knights before a week was out.

Arsen continued to hold Daniel Wigan in his gaze. Likewise, Daniel, caught in the grip of Arsen's overwhelming aura, seemed unable to move, trapped in place. Observing the scene, the Second Prince could no longer contain himself and sharply raised his voice.

“You there! How long do you plan to stand around like a fool? The match is over, so let’s move on to the next one already! Referee!”

At the prince’s outburst, the referee, sweating profusely, cautiously approached Arsen. But before he could say a word, Arsen abruptly turned and left the podium. The palpable tension he exuded upon entering had already dissipated.

"That damned black-haired brat!" The Second Prince clenched his fists, visibly shaking with anger. Meanwhile, Louis was absorbed in mentally piecing together the recent events.

‘Arsen has entered the tournament as my knight.’

While he would have liked to believe this was solely Arsen’s choice, Louis could easily infer that the king had been behind his enlistment.

‘Was his evasion about participating meant to prevent information leaks?’

With the string of recent incidents, Arsen’s name had undoubtedly reached Leon Bening as well. Had Leon known that Arsen would be competing on behalf of the First Prince, he would likely have done everything possible to interfere.

‘A small blessing amid the misfortune… perhaps.’

Louis felt a surge of disgust toward himself for thinking this way. Four knights had died trying to reach him, and yet here he was, focused not on mourning their loss, but on filling the void their deaths had left.

“Brother, it seems you’ve found yourself an impressive knight.” Kyle sneered in his usual manner. Louis, not meeting his gaze, murmured as he watched Arsen prepare for the next match.

“He is, indeed, an impressive knight. Almost beyond belief.”

Kyle clicked his tongue, clearly displeased. Folding his arms, he leaned back in his seat, showing no further inclination to mock Arsen. New contestants were ascending the podium. Suddenly, the arena began to stir. The knights' eyes were fixed on a single figure striding towards the center stage.

“Is that…?”

“The hero of the Wastelands… so they’re really participating in the tournament.”

“This hardly seems fair! That knight’s reputation extends not just across the kingdom, but to other nations as well. Why would they need to enter this tournament…?”

Kyle’s gaze fell upon Theodora, commander of the Crow Knights. Once a hero of the north, she had become a shining star of the east. Walking with a cold expression, clad in her jet-black uniform, she exuded an overwhelming aura as she approached the podium.

“Brother, do you see that?” Kyle taunted. “That is the closest thing our kingdom has to an invincible knight.”

Louis watched Theodora standing atop the platform, her platinum blonde hair cut short and shining beautifully. The sword she held lightly in one hand emitted a chilling aura. Over time, Arsen had honed his instincts as a martial artist, and they were now issuing a silent warning. Theodora Bening was powerful. Every sense within Louis told him as much.

"Both contestants, prepare!"

The referee’s voice resounded. Theodora steadied her breathing, fixing her gaze on her opponent—a member of the Red Wolf Knights, renowned in the western regions. The nervous tension was evident on his face, his anxiety plain from the very start. Theodora slowly extended her sword in preparation.

“…They say she once felled a Behemoth in the Wastelands.”

“…They say she cut down hundreds of beasts. She’s certainly earned the title of hero.”

“She’s stunning, just like the rumors. If only she hadn’t vowed to live her life with the sword as her sole companion.”

“Imagine becoming a hero after a single battle. She’s gained so much.”

Whispers about her reached her ears, many exaggerated. She had indeed faced a Behemoth, but it was Maxime who ultimately severed its head. She hadn’t achieved heroic feats in that war; she had lost far more than she gained.

Theodora began to clear her mind, focusing only on what she could do. She pictured her father’s face. His dispassionate voice, speaking as if her victory was a matter of course, echoed in her thoughts.

‘Win the tournament, Theodora.’

Victory?

Theodora gripped her sword tightly. She had no way of knowing whether her father truly desired her victory or whether those words had simply been uttered to push her. They could just as easily have been meaningless words. But if Leon Bening truly wished for her victory…

“Match, start!”

She was not inclined to grant that wish so easily.

At the referee’s command, her opponent charged with a loud battle cry, swinging his sword forcefully. His calculation was that pressing in with a strong offense from the outset might catch Theodora off guard.

“Uaaaa!”

Clang!

Contrary to the fervor in his shout, the sound of their clashing swords was oddly weak. Theodora stood rooted in place, effortlessly absorbing the knight’s blow without a change in expression or breath. Attempting to press on, the knight bore down with his sword, but he had chosen the worst possible option. Theodora had no intention of engaging in a protracted clash of strength.

“Huh?”

Theodora subtly withdrew her foot. The knight, who had committed all his weight forward, stumbled, looking around in panic. As he regained his footing at the edge of the podium, he found himself staring down the tip of Theodora’s sword.

“Guh!”

With a short gasp, he quickly retreated—completely forgetting he was standing at the edge of the platform. His foot slipped off, and he tumbled backward in confusion, still unaware of his predicament.

“Out of bounds! The winner is Theodora Bening of the Crow Knights!”

And so, the match ended unceremoniously. Leaving the bewildered knight behind, Theodora descended the podium slowly, the murmurs around her lingering.

“Did you see that? It ended so quickly you could barely blink!”

“Her body just flowed naturally, without a trace of wasted motion. It’s no wonder her opponent couldn’t react.”

Then she heard a remark that stopped her in her tracks.

“And yet, that wasn’t even the fastest match today.”

“Did they watch the same fight we just saw?”

“They say he’s from the 2nd Guard—Arsen Bern, was it? His Highness the First Prince has quite the fearsome knight by his side.”

The name caught her attention. Theodora subtly turned her head, searching the arena. Her gaze settled on a black-haired knight with dark eyes, who was staring back at her. A familiar face. She remembered passing by this knight once in the royal palace.

It was a strange feeling. Though she had barely seen him before, there was something inexplicably stirring. It felt akin to the tension of standing before a formidable martial artist or the feeling of facing someone she hadn’t seen in a long time.

Their eyes met across the distance, and neither of them looked away. In that moment, everything around them seemed to lose color and sound, leaving only Theodora and Arsen vividly present in the crowded space of knights and nobles.

“End of Preliminary Round 1! Preparations for Round 2 will commence shortly! Victorious knights from Round 1, please stand by!”

The head referee’s booming voice filled the air. Despite half the contestants being eliminated, the excitement in the arena remained palpable, only intensifying as they drew closer to the finals. Theodora attempted to refocus, yet the black-haired knight’s gaze lingered in her mind.

“Round 2 is starting! Ralph Baines of the 2nd Guard and Alice Bear of the Ashwood Knights, step forward!”

The referee’s call for the next round echoed. Theodora turned once more toward where Arsen Bern had been standing, but he was already gone. It must have been a coincidence. She pressed down the restless feeling in her heart and tightened her grip on her sword.

The news of the slain knights from the Wastelands reached not only the king and the First Prince but also Maxime, who was filled with fury. He knew the slain knights well. Though the Wastelands had not welcomed him warmly, they had ultimately fought side-by-side against the monstrous creatures.

‘…It’s likely the knights from my own unit who carried out these murders.’

Adeline, who relayed the news, wore a grave expression. Maxime clenched his teeth, unable to offer a response.

‘I don’t know their motives, but they were formidable knights—strong enough to stand against any warrior from the Wastelands. It could only have been them.’

Adeline looked fearful, and Maxime quickly deduced the source of her fear. Had the curse of Bening lingered upon her, it might have been her who committed the slaughter in the Wastelands.

‘I….’

Maxime placed a hand on Adeline’s head. She flinched at his touch, but as he gently patted her, she relaxed.

‘You’ve done well.’

His voice, however, remained laced with fury. Adeline spoke in an unsteady voice.

‘Maxime, please don’t overdo it. I know it’s selfish, but if you’re placed in danger over this… I…’

‘The risk began when Count Bening began to move, Adeline.’

Adeline nodded slightly, half-understanding. Despite not fully grasping the depth of his anger, she remained still, accepting his reassuring touch.

When the preliminaries began, Maxime wielded his sword with a cold fury. In this tournament, Bening would not achieve the outcome he desired.

‘Leon Bening.’

Maxime’s face remained hard as he watched Theodora’s match. Even if she were to become his opponent in the finals—no, with her strength, that outcome was almost certain—he had to win the tournament.

This wasn’t about reclaiming her. Maxime wanted to untangle the tangled threads between them, to meet her again without the burdens of the past.

As if sensing his gaze, Theodora met his eyes.

That simple connection rattled Maxime. Her unwavering, cold eyes, the unchanged short platinum hair—all of it held him captive.

Are you there, Maxime?

She hadn’t spoken, but he heard her voice echo in his mind. He bit down hard, tasting blood as he swallowed down his bitterness. Exhaling sharply, he shook his head. It was still the preliminaries—he needed to focus solely on the battle before him.

“Next match! Arsen Bern of the 2nd Guard!”

Upon hearing his name, Maxime rose.

“-and Leone Becker of the Crow Knights!”

He hadn’t expected to encounter yet another familiar face.