"The organizer’s lips curled upward in a sly grin upon hearing Maxime’s acceptance. Christine noticed this immediately, her own expression twisting in frustration as she pressed her objection again.

“If it’s supposed to be a transparent assessment, why does it only include the organizing committee?”

“As I said, if you find the assessment uncomfortable, you can always choose to forfeit.”

The organizer shrugged nonchalantly. Maxime placed a steadying hand on Christine's shoulder to prevent her from continuing her protest and then turned back to the organizer.

"When will it take place?"

“Today, of course, and immediately. To keep the finals on schedule, the quicker it’s handled, the better. The assessment itself won’t take long, though there’s always the possibility of unforeseen complications.”

Maxime stayed silent, and the organizer’s gaze became more insistent, pressing him for a response. Maxime nodded calmly, knowing there was no option to retreat. No matter how unfair the field Bening laid out, his only choice was to walk into it and shatter it. He met Christine’s gaze, pressing her shoulder gently as if to convey a silent message. She caught his signal and placed her hand lightly over his.

A subtle glow of mana flickered briefly, out of the organizer’s sight.

“Please, lead the way.”

"Ah, as expected of a knight who’s made it to the semifinals. Follow me then.”

The organizer gestured for Maxime to follow, and he turned to give Christine a meaningful look before stepping out of the room. She understood his wordless request as he left:

Report to the Honor Guard.

Christine nodded, confirming her understanding. She watched Maxime’s back as he followed the organizer out, worry etched in her gaze. She had managed to cast a tracking spell out of sight, allowing her to see exactly where he was headed.

‘Hurry, I must hurry.’

Before the Bening family’s schemes could envelop Maxime, before he fell victim to their plot, she had to reach him. As she took off running, mana enveloped her, sharpening her stride.

The sound of her footsteps faded.

Maxime confirmed the warmth and light from Christine’s tracking spell on the back of his hand. The organizer, completely oblivious to their silent coordination, led him out of the arena.

"And what about the spectators who were waiting for the semifinals?"

"A notice will be issued. It will state that Sir Javier Franco withdrew from the semifinals, so the second match has been canceled. Of course, there are plenty of other diversions in the royal capital to entertain the audience, so keeping them satisfied won’t be an issue.”

The organizer chuckled slyly. Maxime stopped in his tracks. Hearing the lack of footsteps behind him, the organizer turned with a feigned smile.

"Will Count Leon Bening be attending this assessment?"

“Why would you think the count would attend an assessment hosted solely by the tournament’s organizers?”

The carriage that the organizer had left open had an interior painted in a deep, menacing red, like the gaping maw of a beast.

"Please, get in. We should finalize the path to the finals promptly, don’t you agree?”

So this was what it felt like to be ordered to throw yourself into the fire. After a moment’s hesitation, Maxime ran a hand over his sword, Baek-Ah, then hardened his expression and stepped into the carriage. There were no other passengers. As soon as he boarded, the carriage took off without a word from the coachman, sharpening Maxime’s nerves. He had expected his road to the finals to be arduous, but he hadn’t anticipated this level of direct interference.

‘Did the count suspect my true identity?’

Maxime clenched his jaw. He had sensed the count’s suspicion during their private conversation. If Leon Bening had truly believed that Arsen Bern was Maxime Apart, he would have done whatever it took to prevent him from crossing paths with Theodora.

‘Absolutely not.’

The count wanted more than a mere tournament champion under his influence. He had been prepared to kill Dennis outright. If the count’s plan had succeeded, could Maxime have proceeded to the semifinals?

One way or another, his path to the finals was fated to be fraught with obstacles.

His heartbeat thundered. Maxime suppressed the murderous intent rising within him, gripping Baek-Ah more firmly. The sword let out a low, calming hum, as if to soothe him.

“Step out.”

Maxime followed the coachman’s direction, feeling as if he were being led to a gallows disguised as a building. Was he nervous? No. His heart was not unsettled. He would survive Bening’s trap, reach the finals, and repay his opponents with victory. Maxime entered the building with that unwavering resolve.

“Arsen Bern.”

The organizers and court nobles sat on an elevated platform as though presiding over a trial, their gaze cast down upon Maxime. He met their eyes without a trace of fear. He would not lose. Until he could face Theodora in the finals, he would not accept defeat.

“I am here for the organizers’ assessment.”

One of the leaders cleared his throat and spoke in a mechanical tone. Each one wore a hood, giving the impression of a scene from a grim tribunal.

“The assessment will be straightforward. You will engage in a match to determine if your skill with the sword is suitable for the semifinals.”

Maxime scoffed.

“If it was a match you wanted, you could have simply held this assessment in the arena.”

“Of course not.”

The official’s voice was tinged with a cruel smile, as if he saw no need to hide their intentions anymore. His tone mocked Maxime openly.

“We can’t let you overshadow the real star of this tournament. And if you were to actually win, how would we handle the aftermath?”

Maxime let out a hollow sigh. It seemed this setup had confirmed his elimination even before the assessment began. The official’s words made it clear that even if he passed this test, they had no intention of letting him compete in the finals. Maxime turned to face the knight standing opposite him, wondering if he was merely another of Bening’s puppets. His opponent’s skill appeared formidable.

“Well then, shall we proceed with this ‘assessment’?”

A subtle shift came over Maxime’s expression. That voice, that mocking tone—it felt disturbingly familiar. Maxime began to suspect who his opponent among the organizers was.

"Knights, prepare."

The voice of Emil Borden rang out. Maxime drew Baek-Ah, the blade emitting a sharp, resonant sound that made his opponent flinch.

‘It seems their standards for assessment are surprisingly low.’

"Commence the match."

At the official’s command, Maxime sprang forward.

==

“What do you mean, you can’t help him…?”

Christine stood face-to-face with Hugo, the captain of the Honor Guard. Hearing her describe Arsen Bern’s predicament, he simply shook his head, refusing to intervene.

“Unless His Majesty intervenes directly, the decision cannot be reversed. It seems His Majesty does not think the time is right yet.”

Christine’s face twisted in frustration. To her, Hugo’s stance sounded like an abandonment of Maxime.

“So you’re willing to abandon Sir Arsen? His Majesty himself stated that winning this tournament was crucial for gaining the upper hand in the coming conflicts.”

Ignoring protocol, Christine argued vehemently, making Hugo’s face tighten in discomfort. He didn’t scold her, though, but addressed her more calmly, explaining the situation.

“It’s true that we need to focus on this tournament. However, don’t forget the incident involving the border marquis’ knights, who were killed while en route to the capital for the tournament. That tension nearly broke relations between the marquis and the royal family.”

Christine bit her lip. The tournament incident had almost disrupted the alliance between the king and the border marquis.

“Of course, winning the tournament is important, but right now, the priority is to quell the unrest in the no-man’s land to the east. The royal family can’t afford to be openly involved in the tournament, or else we might face serious backlash.”

Hugo glanced around and lowered his voice.

“Once the tournament ends, His Highness the First Prince will head for the no-man’s land. A few of the First Guard’s senior members have already started eastward.”

Watching Christine’s scowl of dissatisfaction, Hugo sighed.

“And we haven’t abandoned Arsen. I said we couldn’t assist him directly, not that we wouldn’t help at all.”

Christine’s expression shifted from urgency to a blank look.

“What do you mean by that?”

“If the organizers are conducting this assessment, Arsen will likely be fine.”

Hugo’s tone hinted at skepticism. Christine twisted her lips into a bitter smile.

“The organizers are filled with Bening’s people. How can you be sure that my senior will come out unscathed? Do you simply trust his skills?”

“Arsen’s abilities are impressive, no doubt. But do you think that’s my only reason?”

Hugo gave Christine a sharp look, as though testing her resolve.

“No further questions. Christine, I understand your concern for Arsen, but know that the royal family values him more than you might think.”

Christine stood there, looking as lost as a child.

“How can you be so sure?”

“You’ll see soon enough. Although, it requires one specific condition.”

Hugo reached into his coat and pulled out a vial filled with a blue liquid that sloshed within.

“To meet that condition, there’s something you must do.”

Christine took the vial with a bewildered expression. It seemed to be an alchemical potion, though its exact purpose was unclear.

"...A transmutation elixir. The same type Arsen has been taking.”

Christine’s eyes widened as she examined the vial.

“Why would you give me such an important elixir…?”

“Can you use it to create a restorative that can regenerate scars?”

At Hugo’s words, an image of someone’s face flashed through Christine’s mind.

==

Clang!

The impact of swords echoed through the building. One sword wielded aura, the other did not. Even though they shouldn’t have been on equal footing, Maxime’s unimbued strikes were overpowering his opponent’s aura-laden blade. The organizer's faces were filled with shock as they watched Maxime’s overwhelming performance.

“Is that… is that even possible?”

“He’s completely overpowering an advanced aura user?”

Maxime didn’t hear the murmurs that spread among the organizers. His focus was solely on driving his opponent back.

‘I don’t know what tricks they’re hiding.’

Winning this match didn’t guarantee he would face Theodora in the semifinals. For now, his only choice was to dominate his opponent without leaving any room for reproach.

Clang! Clang!

The knight facing Maxime had started with a confident smirk, but his face had now twisted with pain. Each time their swords clashed, his complexion paled as though he were about to vomit, struggling to block Maxime’s fierce attacks.

‘More. I need to overwhelm him even more.’

Driven by a relentless focus, Maxime’s strikes grew faster, stronger, more overpowering, leaving no chance for complaint.

His opponent, unable to withstand the pressure, raised his sword high, but Maxime didn’t evade. Baek-Ah slipped between the aura’s path and cut through.

Shing!

A distinctly different sound filled the air, and Maxime felt a slight resistance as his blade completed its course. His opponent’s shattered sword clattered to the floor.

Silence fell over the assessment room. Maxime’s cold gaze moved to the organizers. In the center sat Emil Borden, adjusting his posture with a disturbingly calm demeanor.

“The assessment… is complete.”

Emil’s twisted voice filled the silent room. Maxime noted the absence of surprise in his tone. Before the verdict was given, Maxime saw Emil’s mouth curve upward in a smirk, ready to declare the end of this rigged trial.

“Arsen Bern, you are…”