Long ago, there was an empire—a state that claimed dominion over the continent, fearful of no other nation under heaven. Yet, ironically, it was torn apart from within by a struggle for power and split into three. The Kingdom of Reint was established with the imperial capital, once the heart of the great emperor’s palace, as its royal city. This kingdom inherited most of the empire’s glorious legacy.

One of these legacies was a massive coliseum situated not far from the royal palace. For knights who sought romance in becoming warriors but found their ideals lost after donning armor, it was a place where they could reignite the fires within their hearts. For centuries, warriors bled here. It was a place where the fevered roars of the citizens echoed each year.

““Waaaah—!””

Under the deep blue December 30 sky, the coliseum, once crowned the jewel of the empire, was reclaiming its former glory.

Boom!

The first match of the main tournament’s round of 32 was intense. A knight from the north and a knight from the royal capital clashed swords, panting heavily. Citizens of the capital screamed their favorite knight’s name, urging them to lift their swords again. Through this, a knight’s name spread among the citizens and reached the ears of nobles, the patrons to whom they pledged loyalty.

“Hey! What are you doing, Edward? Raise your sword!” “North’s pride is at stake, Elin!”

With battle cries ringing out, the knights raised their swords. In the cold winter, the joints of their armor creaked despite being well-oiled, and even through their gauntlets, their hands felt numb from gripping their swords for so long. But as soon as their preliminary movements ended, their swords clashed with a speed that eyes could barely follow, striking sparks in the air.

“Yeah, good! Show that snob from the capital who’s boss!” “Bullshit! Show that northerner what the capital’s made of!”

The people screamed in excitement without fully understanding what was happening. Jeers erupted for whichever knight was driven back, with even louder jeers for whoever pushed forward.

Waaah... Waaah...

Closing his eyes, Maxime could feel the cheers growing distant. It wasn’t just the cheers. It felt as if the entire world was briefly distancing itself from him. Alone in the darkness behind his closed eyes, the only thing he could clearly feel was the weight of his sword, Baek-Ah. Its white fangs seemed to be slumbering peacefully, hiding their savagery for now.

He could feel his heartbeat, beating steadily as usual. He felt no tension. He would cross swords, counter his opponent’s moves, and win—that was all. Maxime opened his eyes again and let the noise of the coliseum wash over him. The sound of metal echoed rhythmically, then erupted once in a loud crash before subsiding. One of them must have broken free with a powerful thrust.

“Time to unleash their aura.”

Maxime foresaw the next steps in the match. Just as he quietly murmured to himself, someone’s shout rang out, followed by the crowd’s gasp of amazement.

Keiiing—!

A sharp screech like metal being torn pierced his ears. The sound of aura being drawn from the blade became a buzzing echo that lingered in his ears.

“Aura! Damn it, doesn’t our knight from the capital have any aura?” “Go on, north! Kill the spirit of those capital bastards!”

Despite one knight’s aura being unleashed, the other didn’t seem to respond in kind. It was likely that the capital knight couldn’t manifest aura. Maxime could already envision how this scene would unfold.

Boom!

The clash was different this time—a far louder impact. Though it hadn’t ended with the first exchange, the capital knight seemed to still be holding his own against the northern knight’s aura. Maxime could hear the sound of swords barely scraping past each other.

“Damn it! Isn’t aura cheating? I feel like the capital knight had better swordsmanship!” “If it pisses you off, use aura, too! Push harder!”

Boom! Boom!

Then—

Clang!

The sound of a blade shattering rang out. Maxime surmised that the match had ended. Moments of silence were soon replaced by resounding cheers that echoed throughout the arena, as the judge’s voice rang out clearly, announcing the winner.

“Winner! Elin Turan of the Red Wolf Knights!”

With the judge’s declaration, the cheers doubled in volume. Maxime slowly began loosening his body in preparation. His next match in the round of 32 would be against a knight from the western borderlands. Starting with his breathing, Maxime’s focus expanded throughout his entire body—a ritual to awaken his physical senses. His breathing steadied, and as he entered combat mode, the waiting room door opened, and a guide stepped in.

“Please prepare. You’ll be entering soon.”

Maxime nodded, securing Baek-Ah at his waist and standing up. His heightened senses made the ground feel closer. The background noise of the coliseum had faded into a steady hum, like clouds.

“Next up! Karl Dorian of the White Falcon Knights!”

Mixed jeers and cheers rang out. As the guide signaled for him to walk forward, Maxime stepped into the passage illuminated by bright light. With each step, the sounds of the coliseum grew sharper.

“And—! Arsen Bern of the 2nd Guard!”

Maxime emerged at the referee’s call, greeted by shouts that were a blend of cheers and jeers. He felt his body moving automatically, in sync with the roar of the crowd. Turning his gaze, he saw thousands, perhaps tens of thousands, of people packed into the stands, chanting his name and that of his opponent.

“As per the code of chivalry, both contestants will fight with honor…”

Ignoring the judge’s recital of knightly virtues, Maxime took a deep breath. The coliseum’s air carried the familiar scent of blood and earth. Slowly, he exhaled, letting the sharpness of the cheers blur into the background. Though his eyes were open, Maxime’s gaze was locked solely on his opponent.

“Both contestants, ready!”

His opponent, Karl Dorian, showed clear signs of tension, his hand gripping a sword that seemed well-crafted, a remarkable weapon by any measure. The crowd gasped upon seeing Karl’s sword, causing him to erase his nervous expression and smirk proudly.

“Impressive! Think he could slice through stone with that?” “He’s a merchant baron’s son, so it makes sense he’d have a sword like that. Wonder if his opponent will feel intimidated... huh?”

The crowd’s awestruck admiration turned to silence when they saw Maxime draw his blade. The bright sun cast its light on Baek-Ah, its pure white blade gleaming humbly, like winter snow, without arrogance. Murmurs of wonder spread among the spectators.

“What’s with that sword? Is that really a sword? Did he unearth some kind of relic?” “Hope his opponent doesn’t get intimidated by that thing.” “That knight’s sword might just be for show.”

The sight of Baek-Ah unsettled the spectators, and Karl Dorian’s smug expression faltered, his features once again tensing up. With their swords aimed at each other, both knights completed their preparations. The judge looked at each of them, raised his hand, and stepped back.

“Match start!”

With the booming declaration, cheers erupted so loudly they threatened to deafen him. Karl Dorian used the cheers as his springboard, lunging forward with his sword. Maxime chose to deflect rather than block the strike, letting Karl’s sword’s wind pass by his ear. Karl’s blade, hovering in mid-air, changed trajectory as it swung back toward Maxime.

Clang!

The first clash. Maxime felt Baek-Ah hum with joy, as though pleased to fulfill its duty as a sword. Perhaps it was delighted at finally being able to do so, guiding Maxime’s arm as if it were a living thing. Following the sword’s lead, Maxime moved fluidly, shifting from the upper left to the lower right.

Whoosh.

Karl felt a chilling sensation crawl up his spine. If he blocked this attack head-on, he’d be in danger. Before he could even think, his body reacted, jerking him backward. By a hair, Baek-Ah’s white blade passed by him.

Slice.

The slash left a scar on the ground. Karl, momentarily distracted by the sight, was soon jolted back as Maxime pressed his advantage. He moved in sync with Baek-Ah, flowing like the wind, with mana swirling in his veins, carrying him to the edge of speed.

Boom!

A strange sensation hit him. Karl realized Maxime was allowing him room to manifest his aura. His face contorted with prideful anger as he poured mana into his blade.

“Aura! Desperation forces it out!” “Damn it! Isn’t our knight using aura?”

Now… perhaps he could. Maxime’s gaze fixed on Karl’s aura. He’d never directly clashed blades with an aura user before, but now he felt he could shatter one head-on. Noticing the look in Maxime’s eyes, Karl grinned provocatively.

“Come on, then.”

Accepting the challenge, Maxime stepped forward, vanishing from sight. By the time Karl located him, Baek-Ah’s blade was halfway toward his own sword. With his aura blazing, Karl braced himself to cut down the approaching white sword.

Clang!

The sound defied Karl’s expectations, shattering his grin. Maxime’s grip tightened. It was possible. Baek-Ah and Na-Yira had taught him a sword style that could withstand this. His hold on the blade grew stronger.

“Am… I being overpowered?”

Karl panicked, the crowd’s murmurs swelling in his ears. He couldn’t let this slide. Desperately, he gathered his strength. If he didn’t counterattack, he’d lose the match.

“Ughaaah!”

With a battle cry, Karl unleashed a powerful aura blast, breaking free of Maxime’s press. Maxime had already vanished again, and when Karl turned to find him, nothing was there.

‘…Where?’

And then, a shadow fell over him. Karl belatedly realized Maxime was above him, swinging Baek-Ah like a comet across the winter sky.

Crash!

The clash was overwhelming. Karl’s bones rattled under the impact, his aura draining as he struggled to keep up with Maxime’s onslaught. The crowd’s bewildered murmur quickly transformed into cheers as they watched Maxime dominate the field.

“Do it! Beat him without aura!” “Show the capital’s pride!”

Maxime wielded Baek-Ah effortlessly, his movements flowing as naturally as breath. Slash after slash, his blade bore down on Karl with relentless precision. Though Karl mustered his aura one final time, it faltered in the face of Maxime’s unyielding offense.

“Y-you…”

“Well fought.”

With that, Maxime thrust Baek-Ah forward.

Thud.

The final sound was hollow. Maxime’s blade hovered just below Karl’s chin, and the crowd’s roaring cheer reached a deafening climax. The judge declared the victor in an equally roused voice.

“Winner! Arsen Bern of the 2nd Guard!”

Karl, clearly shaken, offered his hand, which Maxime shook calmly. Bowing slightly to the crowd chanting his name, he followed the guide out of the arena.

In the solitude of the waiting room, Maxime took a deep breath, gazing at his reflection in the mirror. Although cheers still rang from outside, his heart remained steady, his mind preoccupied with the conversation he’d had with the king before the tournament.

“I…”

His reflection, the face of Arsen, stared back. Maxime placed his hand on the mirror, recalling the king’s words.

==

“You passed the preliminaries impressively, Arsen.”

Though the king’s tone was reserved, his voice couldn’t hide his excitement. Despite his wearied appearance, the king, accompanied by Hugo, met Maxime with a pleased gaze.

“A fitting outcome, Your Majesty.” “I hear that Louis had a new sword made for you.”

“Yes, and I am deeply grateful for the first prince’s generosity.”

The king smiled approvingly, tapping the arm of his chair.

“Truth be told, I wanted to prepare a sword for you myself. Louis beat me to it.”

“I am honored beyond words, Your Majesty.”

The king laughed at Maxime’s reply.

“No need for such modesty. You may be a little arrogant for once; I will allow it.”

With preliminaries discussed, the king’s demeanor shifted. It was time to discuss the main matter.

“I heard that Leon Bening summoned you. Is that why you requested this audience?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Tell me what happened.”

Maxime took a measured breath and recounted his conversation with the count. The king’s brows furrowed as he listened, but by the time Maxime finished, his expression had returned to a calm neutrality.

“…I see. So the count has long harbored suspicions about your identity.”

“Yes. He’s likely half-sure I am Maxime Apart.”

The king’s gaze grew contemplative, his eyes sinking into deep reflection. He seemed to weigh a critical decision, then finally looked up, speaking with conviction.

“Between the strength of Bening’s forces and those loyal to the crown, a true balance of power remains elusive. Publicly, our forces seem evenly matched, but if Bening has other assets like Adeline, it’s impossible to gauge their true strength.”

The king’s eyes, however, held a glimmer of resolve.

“After this tournament, Bening will move in earnest, putting forth the second prince, Kyle, as his figurehead. This tournament, then, becomes our prime opportunity to thwart his plans.”

The king’s gaze met Maxime’s, his expression now imbued with a weighty trust.

“Arsen… no, Maxime. Leon Bening’s goal is to have his daughter, Theodora, win this tournament, thereby establishing all the grounds he needs to seize power. When he deems everything ready, he’ll draw his sword and drown the capital in blood.”

Maxime’s eyes hardened, his mind cooling, his resolve sharpening like a blade poised to strike.

“Raise your head, Maxime Apart.”

Maxime looked up, meeting the king’s gaze. In a solemn tone, the king posed a question.

“What do you feel? Can you achieve victory?”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Maxime nodded.

“Whatever may hinder me, I will achieve it. I am certain.”

The king, seeing Maxime’s determination, nodded.

“Then win. And if you win this tournament,”

The king’s voice echoed with a grave resolve.

“Reveal yourself to the world, and rejoin the royal knights, not as Arsen Bern but as Maxime Apart.”

The king’s eyes burned with the fire of intent.

“Then I will declare war on Bening to wrest this kingdom from his grasp.”