"I mean, look at you now. After all that bold talk, you end up like this. Aren’t you embarrassed?"

Dennis, wrapped in bandages and lying on the hospital bed, looked up at Maxime, Christine, and Charlotte with his usual nonchalant smile. Blood continued to seep through his bandages, yet his relaxed grin never wavered. Charlotte scowled at him.

"You fool! Why did you have to be so stubborn... What if something terrible happened to you—"

She couldn’t continue, lowering her head as her words trailed off. Dennis’s easygoing smile shifted to one of bitterness. Charlotte placed her hand on the edge of his bed, her shoulders trembling slightly. Maxime and Christine, sensing the need to give them a moment, sat back, keeping a respectful distance.

"Come on, I’m fine. I might look a little roughed up, but I’m alive, and it’s not like the match has been decided yet, right?"

Dennis’s brazen words made Charlotte lift her head abruptly to glare at him. Maxime, sitting beside her, could see her eyes reddening. Dennis let out a sigh.

"Did you think you’d leave me behind? Did Her Highness make you fight like you were ready to die?"

"...Sorry. I wasn’t being rational."

Despite Dennis’s apology, Charlotte’s face contorted as she continued to berate him.

"Honestly, it was stupid of you! Even if you didn’t win this tournament, there’s always another chance."

"I said I’m sorry. I just thought... if I held out until the end, an opportunity would come. It’s not like my opponent’s aura is unlimited, after all."

"And how many knights have died in the tournament with that kind of thinking?"

As Charlotte’s voice began to tremble, Dennis stopped playing coy and simply looked at her, his expression softening as he saw her on the verge of tears. He gently lifted a hand to wipe her eyes. Far from calming down, her gaze grew more tearful as she looked at him.

"Don’t leave me behind."

"I won’t. I promise."

An awkward silence filled the hospital room. Dennis glanced at Arsen and Christine, who sat a little distance away, clearly unsure whether to leave or pretend they weren’t there. Smiling slightly, Dennis spoke again.

"Well, anyway, Arsen and Christine are here, so... ugh."

Charlotte’s hand struck Dennis’s neck, and he coughed, deciding it was better to stop teasing. At this rate, Charlotte might actually kill him before his injuries did.

"Well, it looks like I won’t be making it to the semifinals. Will they call for a rematch?"

"A rematch? After that disastrous defeat? No way."

Dennis turned his head to look at the ceiling. If he fought again, could he win? He felt the weight of the answer tipping toward ‘probably not.’

"...I should have stopped him."

The regret in Dennis’s voice was unmistakable, and his face bore the same bitterness as someone forced to chew on gravel.

"I suppose... I still haven’t let go of those memories."

Dennis thought back to Hans, his former subordinate, lost long before Arsen. Charlotte nodded somberly. She knew she wasn’t the only one haunted by that day’s memories, even if it went unspoken. She was well aware that Dennis, too, still suffered from the pain of losing Hans.

"Arsen is strong, Dennis."

She placed her hand on his, hoping her words might comfort him, however slightly. Dennis let out a faint, deflated chuckle.

"Yeah, probably stronger than I am. Maybe even as strong as Deputy Captain Aaron. Though that man... I don’t even think he’s in the realm of humans anymore, so I won’t bother comparing."

Dennis glanced toward where Arsen sat. Maxime, noticing Dennis’s gaze, walked over and sat nearby.

"It’s not like I’m on my deathbed. No need to act so dramatic."

Dennis chuckled at Maxime’s swift approach but soon groaned as he clutched his wounds. The knight who had fought on his behalf lay without complaint on the bed, yet Dennis scowled as he looked at Maxime.

"What’s with that face? Don’t make that expression. I didn’t fight like that for your sake. And shouldn’t someone preparing for the semifinals have better things to do than hanging around the infirmary?"

"Oh, wasn’t it for my sake you fought so hard?"

"Get lost. I don’t want to hear that crap. I have zero interest in hearing such sentimental nonsense from another man."

Maxime let out a chuckle at Dennis’s gruff words.

"Thank you for your hard work in the quarterfinals, senior."

"My match isn’t over yet, so why are you thanking me? Just think of all the teasing Charlotte’s going to throw my way since she didn’t make it to the semifinals."

Dennis grumbled but laughed. He still carried a hint of unease, along with memories and regrets from that day that would never fade. But maybe, with this kid... maybe it would be okay to trust him, just a little.

"Make it to the finals. And win there, too, so you can fulfill the mission His Majesty assigned us for my sake as well."

Maxime nodded solemnly. As Dennis mulled over the reason his match had been halted, he couldn’t help but remember the sword that had intervened. It was a familiar blade, undoubtedly that of Theodora Bening, who wielded overwhelming skill.

"By the way, that sword that interrupted the match..."

As Dennis began to speak, Maxime’s face tightened, and he nodded. Dennis observed his expression closely, then shook his head. Now wasn’t the time to bring it up.

"Never mind. It’s not like she’d be disqualified."

Dennis looked back at Maxime.

"I don’t know how the quarterfinals will go, but I doubt they’ll wait until I’m fully recovered. Even if they hold a rematch, I’m likely to forfeit."

Dennis’s gaze met Arsen’s, his dark eyes holding something unreadable. But right now, those eyes seemed to convey an unspoken trust that made Dennis close his own.

"...I suppose I have no choice but to trust you, Arsen."

"Almost sounds like you didn’t at first, senior."

"Show me something worth trusting, kid."

With a furrowed brow, Dennis put an end to the sentimentality. He wouldn’t be moving forward. Count Agon’s knights had been eliminated, as had the knights of the First Prince and Princess, defeated by Bening’s forces. Only Arsen remained.

"Enough visiting. Take Christine and go. Get ready for the semifinals. The more I see your face, the more my wounds feel like they’re reopening."

Maxime laughed at Dennis’s dismissive wave and stood up. Christine quickly followed suit, glancing back at Charlotte and giving a small nod before closing the door to the hospital room behind them.

"At least things are a bit quieter now. Charlotte, maybe you should go back and rest too..."

But before he could finish, Charlotte clamped her hand over Dennis’s mouth. Her determined gaze and resolute hand made Dennis momentarily widen his eyes before sighing in reluctant acceptance.

==

Leon Bening looked at the figure bound to a pillar in the dungeon. Beside him stood Lilia Bergman, the witch, crossing her arms with a meaningful smile.

"I told you, if you’re not going to use him as a disposable pawn, you’re better off not modifying him too drastically."

The man bound in chains was Javier Franco. His eyes had lost all semblance of humanity, his body gaunt, reduced to skin and bones by the dark magic that had converted his life force into mana. His body, pushed past its limits, had broken bones and dislocated joints, looking as though he could collapse at any moment.

Count Bening gazed impassively at Javier, who reeked like a rotting corpse in a gutter.

"So, he’s of no further use?"

"If you’d like, I can turn him into a zombie. Though he’d be a pitiful sight, unable to wield aura or a sword, emitting only beast-like sounds."

The interference in the quarterfinals had resulted in greater losses than expected. The curse of subjugation still seemed functional, as Javier stopped whimpering and looked up at the count as he approached.

"I suppose it’s time to dispose of him."

Count Bening tossed the lantern he was holding at Javier. As it shattered, flames engulfed Javier, and the sound of burning flesh filled the dungeon. Javier’s screams echoed horribly.

"Be quiet."

At Count Bening’s command, Javier’s screams ceased. All that remained was the crackling of fire, like dry wood burning. Javier burned, bound to the pillar, as thick smoke filled the room. Standing across from Lilia, the count called another figure into view.

"Bernardo."

"Yes, my lord."

"Dispose of the body."

With that order, Count Bening left the dungeon. The time to act was drawing near; there was no such thing as perfect preparation.

"Tepid peace has come to an end, Georges Loire."

The count’s lifeless eyes held a steely resolve, as though filled with lethal intent.

==

The verdict was suspiciously swift. The third quarterfinal match was quietly swept under the rug, as though it hadn’t happened. Questions about who had thrown the sword, why it had been thrown, and why the referee hadn’t stopped the match earlier were all dismissed with a single statement from the organizers.

"They’ve ruled it was merely spectator interference, not an official intrusion in the match. As shameless as it is, they refuse to identify the culprit, even though everyone knows who did it."

Christine scowled in disgust. The organizers attempted to nullify the match and call for a rematch, but Dennis Amber, too severely injured, declared his intent to withdraw, burying the controversy around the third match. Soon, attention shifted as the fourth match began, an intense battle destined to go down in the tournament’s history.

"They’ll make sure she wins no matter what."

And in the first semifinal match that followed, Theodora easily defeated her opponent and advanced to the finals. Now it was almost time for Maxime’s match. However, no official approached him to summon him to the arena.

"...By the way, isn’t this delay unusual?"

Christine seemed to feel it too, glancing anxiously at the door before looking back at Maxime.

"What exactly are they plotting...?"

Just then, the waiting room door burst open. Maxime and Christine looked up, startled, as an official entered. He glared at them before speaking in an authoritative tone.

"Sir Arsen Bern, your assigned opponent for the semifinals, Sir Javier Franco, has withdrawn."

Maxime turned to the official in surprise.

"What do you mean?"

"Just as I said, Sir Bern. Sir Javier Franco of the Crescent Knights has withdrawn, so there will be no second semifinal match."

Clearing his throat, the official continued.

"In light of fairness, the organizers believe it’s inappropriate for you to simply advance to the finals without due process. Therefore, a simple ‘assessment’ will be conducted."

"Wait, an assessment? Who’s conducting it, and where?" Christine interjected. The official’s face twisted with displeasure as he answered her.

"Naturally, it’s an assessment of whether Sir Arsen Bern is qualified to enter the finals. As such, only Sir Arsen Bern and the organizers will be present."

"What in the world..."

Christine began to protest, but the official cut her off.

"If you’re dissatisfied, you can always forfeit. In that case, Lady Theodora Bening, the sole finalist, will claim victory."

"Seems like the finalist doesn’t need such an assessment?"

"There’s no need for an assessment when Lady Theodora Bening stands as the only finalist."

The official dismissed Christine’s question, then looked at Maxime with a faintly provocative tone.

"So, Sir Arsen, will you accept the organizers' ‘assessment’?"

Maxime met the official’s gaze head-on. There was no need to hesitate.

"Of course, I’ll take it."