"Winner! Arsen Bern of the Second Guard!"

Victory after victory, all of them overwhelming.

The final preliminary round ended no differently. Maxime, standing in front of the First Prince, who looked at him with anticipation, and the Second Prince, whose gaze was full of disdain, defeated his opponents effortlessly, securing his place in the main tournament. He let out a small sigh of relief.

The first objective had been achieved.

It would have been disastrous if he had been paired against Theodora, but the organizers had deliberately avoided matching knights with outstanding skills on the first day of preliminaries. After all, their primary concern wasn’t fairness but how to make the tournament as dramatic and thrilling as possible.

“Congratulations on making it to the main tournament.”

The judge who had been watching Maxime’s match quietly offered his congratulations. Maxime responded with a slight nod. His opponent, meanwhile, was standing with a defeated look, his sword tip dragging on the ground. It had been such a one-sided and quick match that Maxime didn’t feel it appropriate to offer a handshake, and he was about to leave the platform in silence.

"Ah, it was an honor to face you!"

As Maxime turned to descend, his opponent, speaking in an awkward tone, extended a hand for a handshake. Maxime, recognizing the sincerity in the knight’s expression, returned the handshake with a slight smile.

“Well fought.”

“Next year, I’ll train harder and come back stronger.”

The knight, brimming with newfound resolve, walked down the platform ahead of Maxime. Maxime cast a glance toward the platform where Theodora had fought. She had already secured her place in the main tournament, and other knights were now clashing in her place.

You’re getting closer, Theodora. Slowly but surely.

He spoke those words to her in his heart, sheathed his sword, and left the platform. As he descended, the First Prince, who had been watching from the VIP section, eagerly approached him, a rare, wide smile on his usually stoic face. Maxime returned the smile, sharing in his joy.

“I didn’t expect you to make it to the main rounds so easily.”

“It may seem easy, but it was all over too quickly to say so,” Maxime replied, adding a bit of humor, making the First Prince chuckle softly.

“You were magnificent. I felt proud just watching your swordsmanship.”

The First Prince lavished praise on Maxime’s performance. With most of his knights unable to participate due to untimely deaths, it was no wonder he felt a sense of pride in Maxime’s performance.

“By the way, is that sword on your hip the one you had newly made?”

The First Prince’s eyes were on the rather rugged-looking longsword hanging from Maxime’s waist. It didn’t seem to be made of the finest materials, and the prince’s expression showed mild surprise.

“…No. This one’s a temporary sword I bought at a forge. I thought the sword Your Highness had arranged for me might draw too much attention if I used it in the preliminaries.”

“Must be quite a splendid sword, then. I didn’t think you’d care much about appearances.”

“Not intentional, but it turned out a bit…ornate.”

The First Prince exhaled, intrigued.

“If it’s impressive enough for you to say that, I’m looking forward to seeing it. Has it been completed? Will you be using it in the main tournament?”

Maxime nodded.

“Yes. It’s finished and ready, waiting only to be unsheathed. Even the blacksmith praised its beauty, so I believe it will make a striking appearance.”

“Good. Take care to manage your condition leading up to the main tournament.”

Leaving those words, the First Prince returned to the VIP section. Maxime watched him go, then headed to the waiting area, where Dennis, who had also secured his place in the main tournament, awaited him. Upon seeing Maxime return, Dennis patted the seat beside him.

“Well done, Arsen.”

While not as overwhelming as Maxime’s performance, Dennis had also defeated his opponent with considerable skill. Maxime knew that despite Dennis’ usually relaxed demeanor, he changed when it came to actual combat.

“I already knew you were a monster, but seeing you again today, you’re the real deal. Here’s hoping I don’t face you too soon in the main rounds.”

Dennis shook his head with a playful grin. Maxime laughed openly at Dennis’ subtle competitive spirit.

“I could say the same for you, Dennis. You’re just as monstrous in your own right.”

“Stop with the compliments—you know they get to me. You keep that up, and I’ll start believing it.”

Dennis glanced around the waiting area, noting the knights who remained to watch the matches and those who had already left. A few knights, likely those under Count Agon, nodded to Dennis as his gaze passed them. He waved back and sighed before turning back to Maxime.

“Seriously, though, His Majesty could’ve chosen someone else for the tournament.”

Dennis sighed, feigning exasperation.

“What about the other knights?”

“This year, none of the First Division knights are competing. It’s obvious they want to pack the main rounds with supporters of the First Prince and Princess. It’s…tragic what happened with the First Prince’s people, but we’ll have to avenge them.”

“Does that mean First Division knights have competed in previous years?”

Dennis nodded.

“Traditionally, our guard sends a newcomer as a representative. Last year, Charlotte made it to the semifinals. Damn, so that’s why I got sent this year.”

Dennis grumbled, scratching his head in frustration.

“You seemed to enjoy the matches, though.”

“I enjoy the fights, not the circumstances.”

As they chatted, the next match began, and the judge called the names of the contestants with a somewhat tense expression.

“Next up! Ian Bate of the Cedar Knights and Javier Franco of the Crescent Knights!”

With the knights’ names and affiliations announced, and as they stepped onto the platform, Maxime narrowed his eyes. It wasn’t simply because Javier Franco was part of the Crescent Knights, under House Bening.

“That Crescent Knight… something feels off.”

Dennis, noticing the same strange atmosphere, murmured his agreement. Javier Franco’s eyes were vacant as he stared at his opponent. The knight from the Cedar Knights looked confident, yet unable to hide the tension in his eyes.

“Competitors, prepare!”

Javier Franco slowly drew his sword. Maxime couldn’t shake his unease as he watched. He didn’t know what hand Bening was planning to play, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the strange aura surrounding Franco’s blade. As soon as Javier unsheathed his sword, a heavy silence descended over the arena. The judge, sensing the tension, looked back and forth between the two competitors before finally raising his hand.

“Begin the match!”

Ian Bate of the Cedar Knights launched the first move, a quick, straightforward thrust meant to test his opponent’s reaction. Fluid and natural, it was a swift strike with no unnecessary preparation. At that moment, Maxime felt an ominous chill. He shouldn’t have attacked.

Slice.

A sound, like a nerve being scraped along the edge of a blade, echoed. Maxime caught every detail of what had just happened. It was as if Franco had anticipated this test of skill from the start and hadn’t cared at all. Javier Franco’s sword grazed Ian Bate’s body.

A fountain of blood spurted into the air. Ian Bate collapsed, unaware he had even been struck.

“Stop, stop—!!”

The judge shouted urgently. According to the rules, attacks intended to maim or kill, particularly severing limbs, warranted disqualification. But as the judge rushed toward Ian Bate, Javier Franco’s low voice interrupted.

“I avoided the vital points.”

As he said, Ian Bate had pressed his hands to his wound, his face pale and trembling. The cut, though shallow, stretched between his shoulder and chest. Not a severe injury, the judge realized, feeling embarrassed by his own alarm. Clearing his throat, he declared the match over.

“Winner! Javier Franco of the Crescent Knights!”

Dennis’ face twisted in disgust. While the judge hadn’t noticed, both he and Maxime sensed the murderous intent in Franco’s swordsmanship. The blade, which had been aimed at Ian’s neck, had lowered to his shoulder only at the last second.

“That guy… he’s dangerous. No joke.”

Maxime nodded quietly. Javier Franco sheathed his sword slowly, his vacant gaze returning.

“What is that count planning?” Dennis muttered under his breath.

Javier Franco’s gaze shifted toward the waiting area. Dennis tensed, and Maxime met Franco’s stare with equal intensity. Franco’s empty eyes held an eerie, wavering look as his lips moved in a silent warning.

It’ll be your turn soon.

Dennis read his lips and clenched his jaw in anger.

“What’s that supposed to mean? You’re next, you creepy bastard.”

Javier Franco descended from the platform, but his hollow gaze lingered on Maxime, leaving a lingering unease. Maxime stored Franco’s name in his memory, a name to bring up with Adeline later, as he turned his attention to the next knights stepping onto the platform.

As the main tournament approached, the capital city was buzzing with excitement for the year-end festival. Out of every ten passersby, eight were engaged in conversations about the upcoming martial tournament, eagerly exchanging rumors about the participants.

“They say someone finished the preliminaries in record time.”

“I heard a famous knight from the no-man’s land is competing.”

“It’s not just for rookie knights this time. Rumor has it it could even turn into a battle of pride between the First and Second Princes.”

Rumors had become a battle of information. The royal family and Count Bening’s faction were each fiercely working to shape public opinion among the capital’s citizens. False rumors, unverifiable gossip, and deliberately planted misinformation became standard tactics. Meanwhile, in a secluded room of the knights’ quarters, two people who had no desire to be the subjects of such rumors were engaged in a private conversation.

“So, how is it looking?” Christine asked suddenly.

Maxime looked at her, his brow raised in mild confusion.

“Looking? Are you talking about the tournament?”

Christine shook her head with a slight pout, then prodded him in the chest with her finger, precisely in the center of the scar crossing his chest.

“This. The damn curse, of course.”

Maxime touched the spot where Christine had pointed. Since that day in the no-man’s land, he hadn’t given the scar or the curse much thought. While it imposed certain restrictions on his use of mana, it didn’t cause him discomfort, and even the memories that had been fading started coming back.

“It’s practically nothing now. I could almost say it’s gone. I haven’t felt any pain since…well, once.”

There had been only one exception: a fleeting pain when he and Adeline searched through a dungeon filled with the evil aura of dark magic. Even then, it only triggered a memory of the pain, and while Adeline had been overwhelmed, he hadn’t fallen into a panic or felt the curse’s resurgence. Christine, aware that the curse had been inflicted in the act of saving her, looked down, guilt shadowing her expression.

Her finger, which had been poking him, softened into a gentle touch. Maxime was reminded of the time when her hand had once encased his chest in healing light. While that light wasn’t present now, her cautious, tender touch was the same.

“That curse was dispelled by a mage who risked their life to pour magic into it. It’s only natural you can’t feel even a trace of it anymore,” Christine said, her tone playful but certain. Maxime smiled slightly and nodded.

“Thank you, Christine.”

Christine sighed, seeming slightly disappointed by his response.

“…I’ve told you before, I’m not worthy of your gratitude. There’s nothing noble about healing a wound I half-caused.”

Maxime chuckled and, noticing her head droop slightly, reached out to pat her head.

“Stop worrying and hold your head up. It doesn’t bother me.”

“Do you always have to say things like that, making it impossible to stay mad at you?” Christine looked up, her cheeks flushed. Before she could display any more of the usual affection she tried to hide, footsteps sounded from the main building. Christine immediately adopted the expression of a proper junior knight, stepping back from Maxime just as someone entered.

“Sir Arsen Bern, are you here?”

The person entering wasn’t a member of the knight’s guard. Maxime looked at the newcomer curiously.

“Yes, I am Arsen Bern.”

The visitor took a deep breath, and with a voice tinged with nervousness, delivered their message.

“Count Leon Bening requests an audience with you, Sir."